Battlecries echoed through the air.

Weapons were drawn from sheathes.

Thundar chanted his body enhancement spell as the seven dwarves roared as one, lowering their spears and charging the trio. Blunted axes hurtled toward the minotaur.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Theresa struck one from the air with her falchion, while Grimloch’s club smashed the other two to the ground.

Battlecries drew closer as the other teams came charging across the field, looking to overwhelm them. They’d be buried in enemies within seconds.

She cursed. “Grimloch, we’ve gotta move! There’re too many of them for us to protect him while he still casting!”

“Right,” the shark man growled, picking up the minotaur and tucking him under his arm. Thundar’s voice rose in surprise, but he kept casting. She and Grimloch sprinted from their adversaries. The pursuers picked up the pace, their boots slamming the ground.

Thundar’s spellcasting accelerated: magic to enhance strength, speed and endurance flooded his body.

Clang.

The crash of metal on metal echoed behind them, followed by shrieking and alarmed cries. Theresa risked a glance over her shoulder: the unarmed warriors had attacked the lizardfolk mid-charge and they were clashing on the field in a massive brawl.

The twin swordsmen—one who wore a braided top knot, the other a moustache with ends curling upward—and the dwarves weren’t far behind her, Grimloch and Thundar.

“How long until you’re done?!” Theresa called to Thundar.

A final rush of words completing his spells tumbled from his lips. “Done! Bring your weapons close, I’ll enhance them!”

Theresa held her weapons up as they ran, and he touched his mace, her falchion and shortsword, and Grimloch’s club in quick succession. Their weapons thrummed as the magic of his spell—Blows of Lead—infused them; they grew heavy like they’d doubled in weight before quickly returning to normal. Against their opponents, though, they would strike like they were twice their mass.

“I’m ready!” Thundar roared. “Toss me!”

“What?” Grimloch grunted.

“Throw me at those dwarves! Not on their spears! Aim so I land behind ‘em!”

Grimloch growled. “Don’t blame me if you go splat.”

“Then don’t splat me!”

“I’ll hold off those twins while you two take care of the dwarves!” Theresa shouted, skidding to a halt and wheeling around.

Abruptly, she charged the twin swordsmen, their eyes hardened.

Their weapons seemed to spark.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

‘No wait, that’s actually lightning crackling along their blades!’

Whooosh!

From the corner of her eye, she saw Thundar shoot through the air—just above the dwarves’ thrusting spears—flip and land on the grass behind them. His enhanced agility was working. Three dwarves spun to face him, spreading out and stabbing with their spears. Their rounded shields scraped against the spears’ hafts as they thrust them forward, but Thundar's mace batted the weapons aside with ease. The other four faced Grimloch, spreading out as the massive sharkman came roaring in.

Then, Theresa reached the swordsmen and her focus left her friends’ battle as she faced her two opponents. One cursed as she leapt to the side then lunged at him, her falchion flashing out while her shortsword hovered in guard position, ready to deflect his blows.

Crackle!

The man swung his sword up to meet hers.

Her eyes went wide as she jumped away.

Whish!

Electricity danced along his blade, barely missing her sword; she eyed the blade like it was a venomous snake.

Theresa remembered how Isolde had conjured iron spikes to use on the mana vampire. She remembered that she’d also used the spikes to conduct her lightning magic into monsters. Lightning did not mix well with metal, and she didn’t want to find out what would happen if their steel swords met.

The twins snarled and raised their blades, moving to flank her.

Crackle! Crackle!

Blue bolts of lightning cascaded between their swords, forming a rippling net of energy. They rushed in—prepared to hurl the energised mesh on her—but she glided backward, whipping her shortsword at the moustached one’s head.

The man shouted, ducking low, breaking the lightning connection between his sword and his twin’s; Theresa charged him as the connection died. Her falchion whipped out, cracking across the back of his hand and knocking the sparking weapon free. She caught it’s hilt as it was falling and-

Whoosh!

-threw it at his twin. The one with the top knot yelped and ducked down, but as the sword flew past him, electricity arced between it and his own blade.

Directly through his body.

Crack!

He gave a short cry and vanished, the spell-mark whisking him away. His brother reached for the dagger on his belt, but Theresa slashed her falchion across his face, blasting him from the contest. Even as he vanished, she was on the move: she bent to retrieve her shortsword, then pounded across the field toward the dwarven warriors.

Thundar and Grimloch were breaking their numbers. A massive swing from the sharkman knocked spears away, and another smashed a dwarf so hard, that he arced through the air like a rainbow until his spell-mark pulled him away.

His teammates began surrounding Grimloch, using their compact size to slip away from his strikes, but he was quicker than he looked. The swinging club kept them off balance, forcing them back while he kept advancing.

Thundar was also smashing spears aside using his mace and horns, but he wasn’t making much progress; the warriors kept shifting positions, surrounding him, limiting his movement. They hadn’t noticed her approaching yet.

‘Always watch your back.’ Theresa thought, rushing one of the dwarves from behind and connecting two quick blows with his neck through the gap between his helmet and chainmail.

He gave a low cry and the spell-mark instantly teleported him away.

Another spun to meet her assault, leaving one to battle Thundar. The minotaur grabbed the dwarf’s spear mid-thrust, ripped it from his hand, then stepped forward and slammed his mace down.

Crack.

It collided with the warrior’s shield, and Thundar grabbed the rim, yanked it away, and smashed a hoof into his opponent’s face. The dwarf vanished.

Things didn’t go well for the dwarven warriors as Theresa’s team concentrated on knocking the rest of them out of the contest; it didn’t take long for the sharkman to eliminate two, and she and Thundar to knock the other two out of the competition.

“Right!” Thundar yelled, his voice filled with excitement from the heat of battle. “These spells won’t last forever! Let’s go knock some heads while the magic’s still happening!”

“Agreed.” Grimloch grinned.

Theresa looked around the battlefield: all around teams were swarming each other in a massive, chaotic, melee. She clashed her falchion and shortsword together.

“Agreed. Let’s get them!”

The three fighters charged across the battlefield with weapons held high and leapt into the wave of combat. Enemies appeared one after the other. First, they jumped into the battle between the lizardfolk and the unarmed warriors who were still fighting each other. They came in hard, smashing some from behind then wading in to face the rest with weapons flashing.

It was a strange feeling.

The force of impact would shudder through Theresa’s arms as her blades struck armour, scale and flesh, but then she’d feel nothing as the opponent's spell-mark pulled them away. This fight was different from the attack on the patrizia’s estate, no one was going to die here. They might get messed up, and everyone knew that coming in, but they’d live to fight another day.

Soon, all the members of the lizardfolk and unarmed warrior teams had been whisked away, and Theresa and her teammates were left looking for more opponents. Again and again, their adversaries vanished to safety, and they moved on. The three of them were like an avalanche of metal and power, crushing everything in their path. Excitement surged through Theresa's gut, as she heard Grimloch’s laughter and Thundar’s battlecries beside her.

This was it.

This was the feeling she’d wanted when she’d entered The Games.

Struggle and victory.

Increasingly, their challengers had gone from roaring out challenges, to outright reluctance to fight them. When they came upon a group of human mercenaries, the sell swords actually tried to retreat, but Theresa, Thundar and Grimloch looked at each other and jumped right in. They were there for a grand melee, not for a grand retreat.

Two swings of her blades knocked out a pair of mercenaries and she closed on a third; he deflected her strikes with his shield and sword before he went down, then vanished.

The trio’s ferocious performance had been drawing eyes, both from the audience…

…and from other entrants in the contest who were seeing them as a threat.

Whooooooosh!

A whistle of metal on the wind saved her; she ducked beneath a spear that sailed past her head—almost parting her hair—and slammed into an opponent she’d been fighting; who ducked too late. The woman instantly vanished.

Theresa whirled.

Her jaw clenched.

A team of knights mounted on warhorses—the only type of companion allowed in the grand melee—were charging them. Their plate armour was thick, their shields broad, and the metallic tips of their lances shone in the daylight.

“Look out!” Theresa shouted. “Charging knights! Move!”

Thundar and Grimloch turned and leapt away as metal and churning hooves smashed both earth and mercenaries.

“Right turn!” the lead knight roared, and the line banked to the right. The ground shook as the warhorses wheeled around as one. They were a sight to see.

“Behind me!” Grimloch roared, grabbing one of the mercenaries who’d escaped the charge. He raised the struggling man and dropped him and his club in front of himself, using both as shields. Digging his feet into the turf, he braced himself while she and Thundar took up positions behind him with their weapons ready.

“We’ll sweep their legs!” Thundar said. “The spell-mark should teleport the horses out of the fight if they're about to take a bad fall and they’ll disappear right from under those knights!”

Theresa paused. “I’ve got an idea too.”

“What is it?”

“Remember what Grimloch did to the xyrthak?”

“Yea-Oh…oh!” Thundar turned around and grinned at her. “Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Theresa said, and bent her knees, preparing to leap.

She watched steadily as the line of knights pounded toward them. Three levelled their lances straight at Grimloch, while the others targeted him from the sides. The sharkman watched them, letting them get closer, and suddenly stood to his full height and—with a roar—threw the struggling, screaming mercenary at them.

Crash!

His body blasted two of the knights off their steeds and clipped a third, who managed to remain in the saddle. Grimloch set his club in front of him—sideways like a plough—and lunged at the line.

Bang!

Whatever he hit collided in a heap, then disappeared, as he ploughed through the rest. Thundar came charging from behind him, slamming into one of the horses, sending both horse and rider to the ground just before they vanished.

Theresa ducked under a lance and leapt, landing in the saddle behind a rider. The knight tried to turn, but she slammed her falchion’s pommel into the side of his helmet twice. He slumped from the saddle.

The horse began bucking, trying to throw her off, so she leapt, sailing through the air toward the next knight in line.

Her leg snapped straight out in front of her like a pole.

Crash.

Her boot slammed into his side, knocking him from the saddle. She jumped off the horse and catapulted toward another knight, pitching this one out of the saddle as he drew a flail. His foot caught in a stirrup and he was dragged along the ground—yelling—as she landed and rolled to her feet.

About fifty feet later, he disappeared.

Theresa took a breath, looking over their surroundings.

Grimloch and Thundar had finished off the remaining knights and were looking for more opponents.

The sharkman growled. “Look!”

He pointed toward an area of the battlefield where a bunch of warriors were struggling against a swordsman. Holding a curved sword in hand, a bald young man seemed to blur through every fighter around him, his blade snapping out like a cobra.

Each strike of the blade knocked a competitor out of the fight, and his rapid kicks and punches did the same. Even surrounded by multiple opponents at once, the man kept moving, never letting himself get cornered. A pair of teammates covered his blind spots with their shields and swords.

“Hanuman,” Grimloch growled. “I owe him some payback.”

“Figures he’d be in this,” Thundar said. “We’ve got two choices. We could fight some easier opponents and maybe hope someone else eliminates him…or I could recast my enhancement spells and we could jump him right now.”

Theresa thought for a moment. “He’ll probably be more tired later, but so will we. I think we should attack him while he’s busy.”

“Gang up on him,” Thundar said. “Knock out his helpers. I like it. Fine, then let’s go kick his ass.”

“Let’s go kick his ass,” Grimloch grunted.

“Yeah,” Theresa said. “Let’s go kick his ass.”