My mind instantly analysed the possible options. To disengage from my own fight and rush over was physically impossible to get done in time. Throwing something to block the attack was also too risky - I had no confidence in my aim. Especially since the only objects I could throw were either my weapon or one of my opponents.

Fir’s teammates could only look in despair as the honed spearpoint approached him. Although human, Fir could nevertheless be counted as one from the top statistical percentiles that showed the best physical and mental fitness levels. And thanks to that, he managed to lower his hips while shifting sideways, just in time for avoid the spear.

Even then, the spear left a deep cut across the chest protector module of his armor. The resulting impact jolted him back, and he dropped his freshly-reloaded gun.

He quickly gathered himself and pushed off the floor. Backpedaling to take more distance from the warrior, he baited the enemy into the middle of SAS group formation.

Aitan, who had meanwhile rushed forwards, emptied his clip into the armored figure’s helmet, the resulting flashes disorienting and blinding it. Then he used his free hand to pull out the tactical knife, while smoothly holstering the gun. I somewhat reflexively checked his gun: polymer casing, ‘FN Herstal Belgium’ and ‘Five-Seven’ markings on its sides. Hm, a Belgian gun used by British SAS? It felt weird somehow, but probably the paranormal troops get supplied based on different set of procedures.

---

Aitan, whose body size rivalled the fully armored enemy, disregarded his own safety as he was going to go hand-to-hand against the deadly opponent. I had to admire the feeling of camaraderie in their troop, that was a real example of giving up one’s life for a friend.

Holding his knife in saber grip for improved accuracy, Aitan aimed at the tiny gaps between the adversary’s pauldron and breastplate plates.

Unfortunately, a human’s physical strength is limited. The armor enchantment barely pulsed as Aitan’s hand shook due to the powerful recoil repulsing his weapon. Just as he was adjusting his slipped grip, a sideways sweep from the spear threw him aside. He rolled several times, and then managed to prop himself up on his knees. He slouched, clutching his side, but at least he could somewhat support himself. The swipe had been too short and had no solid leverage, so most of the impact was absorbed by the combat suit.

Rabbi tried to stand up, but his legs had no strength in them and he dropped back on the floor. He had no way of evading the advancing warrior that was almost upon him and could only helplessly look at the spear aiming at his face.

I almost gave up defending my side on an impulse to help him, but then one of the figures hidden in the shadows finally acted. I had observed it for quite a while, as it had been sneaking around behind the positions of Bull’s Blood.

The figure ran towards us while tossing a number of small clay pots at the Bull’s Blood support backlines. Clouds of reddish brown dust rapidly expanded, covering hundreds of square meters at once and engulfing at least twenty mages within.

Without any loss of tempo, a thin scroll was thrown out. In the air, It rapidly unfurled and entangled the warrior that had almost reached Aitan. In the instant the scroll touched the armor, thin writings on it wriggled and reformed into complex geometrical figures.

Then, as if it were a pasta machine gone mad, it began splitting into thin stripes. These stripes stretched like rubber bands towards the other, shield-carrying warrior that was advancing towards Pine. As a result, SAS soldiers had a somewhat lost look while they watched a tentacle play for bibliophiles unfolding before them.

---

The figure quickly avoided the obstructions and approached the man who was helping the gremlin and the elf to unshackle the prisoners.

From underneath the hood, clear female voice quickly reported: “Mentor, the have sealed the entrance completely.”

The man from Akadem nodded, without diverting his attention from another manacle. Several freed prisoners were sitting, eyes closed, while some were trying to break the chains that attached the weapons to the fallen warriors of the Bull’s Blood. That was a colourful bunch, as some had tails, some had scales, extra limbs or very prominent, sharp teeth.

The man that was called as mentor said: “Good. Are they coming?”

The woman pulled off her hood, revealing her face. She shook her head to untangle her hair that had gotten a bit messy. She looked to be in her late teens, and under her mantle, the brown pullover that I remembered to be somewhat baggy, was now nicely bulging in the appropriate places.

Her arrival had broken the attack of Bull’s Blood, because the warriors on my side had retreated towards the dust-covered area, not daring to step in. I used that time to come back to the group.

I hummed as I asked: “Hmm, let me guess, Matthew Marsh, I presume?”

She flashed me a smile, her blond hair covering her eyes before she tucked it away again.

“Mattea in this form, please, sir.” - she winked.

Matthew-Mattea then turned back to her mentor: “Well, they should. But you know, those brothers-motherfuckers can be bickering again, instead of following the plan.”

The man raised his head to showed how he rolled his eyes: “No foul language here, please.”

She shrugged: “Everyone calls them like that, ~Men-tor~. I guess only you call them by their proper names.”

The mentor guy snapped his free fingers: “Mattea, focus. When?”

“Any moment. We better move the cages. In which cage are they anyway?” - Mattea waved her hands in defeat.

It was the man’s turn to shrug his shoulders: “This one seems to be full of elder races. Good luck trying two others, there is fifty-fifty chance that they are in the first one you pick.”

“And fifty-fifty to get my head torn off by some half-beast? Thankyouverymuch, but that’s against the basic rules you taught me.” - came the answer.

“Well, you get a pass for that one.”

I decided to intervene into that student-teacher banter: “You know, all that fighting going on? Any suggestions?”

The man Mattea called as Mentor, replied: “I suggest we move together. So remain nearby and just buy us some time. They will soon come. Oh, and Mattea, dear, give a hand to these brave men, alright?”

“Suure.” - said the girl.

She parted her mantle and revealed two plastic flasks in a jogging belt. One was filled with red liquid, another one with blue. I resisted an urge to facepalm, again.

Mattea hummed a small tune as she pulled out the red flask. Then she quickly skipped over to fallen Aitan, ignoring the nearby warriors. These were still struggling against the constantly-increasing amount of parchment tentacles. Rabbi Es did not resist as she poured several gulps of that liquid down his throat.

“Strawberry?” - he looked at her incredulously.

He had enough spare energy to comment on the taste, he was going to be fine.

“The only red colour I could find that doesn’t ruin the effect. Tomato worked too but that one was way too disgusting” - came the reply.

---

Another sliver of incoming energy reminded me about the deadly battle going on. The cloud of dust that Mattea had thrown out had begun to disperse, revealing the people of Bull’s Blood slumped motionlessly on the floor.

I had to admit, Mattea’s bombing had been exceptionally effective. From the impact sounds and vibrations caused by their steps, I determined that the armored warriors on my side had lost their buffs. They began retreating in an attempt to regroup with the rest of the forces, but I was not going to allow them that.

In a bare moment, I reshaped my poleaxe into the sword shape I was most familiar with - the longsword. I pushed off the ground, adopting a rather unconventional in longsword fencing posture of keeping the sword sideways with the point tilted backwards.

As I reached one of the retreating warriors, he tried to block me using his battered shield that I had crushed out of shape so badly that it had trouble reforming by now. I brought my sword forward and with a flick of my wrists, swept upwards with the weak part, also known as foible, of the short edge.

This brought my blade around the shield, diverted the line of the attempted counter of the spear and cut into the underarm of my adversary. I knew that the armor there had to be thinner to allow the necessary movement, and my aim was achieved when a barely noticeable spark and increased resistance indicated a successful armor penetration. His arm went limp and he dropped his shield.

I turned my sword around in a semicircle above my head to accelerate it and brought it down onto now undefended neck. With a light scraping sound, my weapon bit deeply into the thick neck guard, that even without magic infusion still retained its uncommon thickness.

The adversary swayed, the concentrated impact possibly having broken his neck, not to mention torn ligaments, burst vessels and displaced structures. All the energy of the blow went into cutting through the metal, otherwise the force would have been enough to blow him away. I instantly pulled my sword back, freeing it while simultaneously enlarging the wound. The movement dragged the enemy forward me.

I sidestepped his convulsing body, and with a wide turning step, repeated the hack at the neck. Now, with the full turn of my body and added acceleration, the sword had sufficient force to directly cut through the back of his neck, inevitably severing the vertebrae. A gush of blood poured from the cracks as the body fell with a loud clank of the armor. Another gust of energy entered me, another death becoming part of me, I thought.

The next warrior had a large, two-handed sword that he began spinning as he chose to advance towards me, letting his two allies to fall back. He seemed to be quite proficient in handling the spinning motions of the zweihänder. Unfortunately for him, without the magical boost from the backlines, he could not pick the speed up fast enough.

With my perception reaching perfection, I swept the tip of my sword, accurately mutilating his fingers and made him drop his weapon. With a quick step forwards-left, I approached the optimal attack range, and thrust my sword into his armpit. For a split second, a jagged feeling of consequent penetration hinted at the chainmail links bursting open and finally my blade sunk deep into the enemy’s ribcage.

He twitched, and tried to grab me with his ruined hands, before the final and only groan came out from him. The slowly accumulating energy was reaching the limits I could contain.

---

Meanwhile, the remaining two warriors had moved too far for me to chase. I still had the agreement with SAS, and I had enough on my plate without having to chase obscure occult evil organisations. I bent down and easily found the strap that fixed the last warrior’s helmet. A quick tug and I took it off.

First I saw my adversary’s face. It was completely hairless and covered in dark liver spots. The huge, hulking masses of armor were actually worn by gaunt, emaciated-looking figures. Well, they never reacted to pain, and were always silent. Some sort of mind control, was my initial guess.

The helmet in my hand was heavy. It was really odd, as considering the frail appearance of the warriors and the thickness of the armor plates, one would expect it to be some sort of light allow like titanium or aluminium. Instead, it felt as if it had a full weight of a complete, one centimetre thick steel helmet. Whole ten kilograms at very least. I held it in my hand as I hurried back towards the cages.