For all the time it had taken them to get to the shelter, it seemed they had returned to the city in the blink of an eye. Sentir had thrown up a hand, still among the tree-line, and begun pointing out targets among the branches.

Mason could just make out traces of what seemed to be a hoard, further ahead. The large, yellow-skinned, multi-limbed brutes were commanding droves of goblins through the city gates. It was unclear how they had been destroyed, and how the city had been breached in such a short time, but the easy money was on the guess that they had used sheer numbers and brute force.

There was an unexpected degree of organization to the attack though. Without a spotter like Sentir, if the group had passed into the clearing between the trees and the city wall, they would have been bombarded and likely ripped apart by goblins armed with slings and crude bows.

But they moved methodically as a group, Sentir locating targets while Faynel moved into the trees, removing any goblins that the archers couldn’t easily gain a vantage point on.

Senkar was chuckling as he spoke quietly to Mason, the both of them largely useless in this operation. “She’s quite the sight to behold, don’t you think?”

The swordsman laughed a little louder when it became apparent he had caught Mason off-guard. “You will not be the first or the last to admire her. Even I tried my hand at winning her affections once. She almost broke it in return.” His smile was the likes of an old friend. He didn’t seem upset at all that his attentions had been rebuffed, nor did he seem to think of Mason as a rival.

It must have been long ago, Mason thought, for the man to be so open about it. But his carefree attitude helped the human relax. “She’s an excellent fighter, for as good as I am at judging these things.”

“She is that. Graceful, efficient. If she ends up anywhere near as powerful as Old Lady Sorynel, she’ll also be capable of bringing an army to her knees. That’s why your eyes are locked on her, I’m sure,” he taunted.

“If either of you does a thing to make Faynel uncomfortable I’ll wring both your necks,” Torysen called back from up ahead.

The two shrunk in place, unaware they were close enough for the captain to hear. It was unfair- Mason hadn’t said anything unsavory.

It was unsettling how normal everything became in The Trials. He could banter easily with a Marran as if they weren’t made of magic and from another planet, and he didn’t think twice that he was watching the execution of almost two dozen little green pests.

Not to mention the number of deaths he had been responsible for in the last day alone.

How was it possible to acclimate so quickly to such a strange world?

Glancing up, he saw Torysen staring intently across the field, and felt vaguely guilty for talking so casually about an ally at a time like this. The city was besieged, and given the state of the general populace, most could probably handle a goblin or two, but few could survive a swarm, and fewer still would be able to hold their own against a Corrosi.

Mason noticed the signs of anxiety hovering beneath the surface of Senkar’s face. It must have been on his mind as well. It would only make sense for these warriors to want to charge in and save the day, but they had to move carefully around such a large force if they weren’t going to throw their lives away.

Their caution prevailed, and goblins continued to fall from the trees, but the defenders at the gates were surely too preoccupied to notice the loss.

“There should be no more to ambush us. The rest of the opponents are either engaged or preoccupied. If we circle around to the east, we should be able to get through to the passageway,” Sentir reported when all was said and done.

Torysen peered out, sizing up the cluster of forces besieging the gates, and then looking down through to the east where there were few threats. Her fingers danced on the hilt of her weapon whenever she’d look toward the gate, and she looked ready to charge with reckless abandon.

But a fighting force of seven was hardly enough, especially since they were far better suited to holding a position or scouting than to flanking a siege force. Reluctantly, she acknowledged Sentir’s plan, and the group began to head away from where the combat was thickest.

They stayed to the tree line for a bit even though it made for a longer route. A few times an archer or Faynel were dispatched on Sentir’s direction to take out a threat, but no fight resolved to be more than a simple skirmish with the seven of them moving methodically through the woods.

In time, they forged a passage up to the city walls, far enough away from the fighting that no one in active combat noticed them, save for the patrols on the walls, who recognized and hailed the group quietly. They signalled danger, and the group hurried.

Once they reached the walls, Sentir and Torysen began to pace them with focused looks on their faces. From time to time, one would tap a section of wall, or probe it with a bit of mana, and eventually Sentir called Torysen over to a specific location. She felt it out, and then acknowledged his discovery.

A minute later, thick stone vines ripped a section of the wall apart. The tar-like substance didn’t crack or crumble, but seemed to warp around the hinges of a hidden passage. Large and powerful sigils were carved into the walls of the passage, and their presence gave Torysen something to anchor her magic into, enhancing the strength of her spell.

The group passed through, and the section of the walls closed back up, leaving no signs behind.

There was a silence to the group beyond merely what stealth required. Nobody expressed themselves, but the feeling didn’t really need to be said. The attack was sudden, unexpected, and by any judgment, devastating. Less than a day had passed away from the city but then everything they relied on in the world was at risk.

The city had been built up by a scared and desperate people that had been ripped from their homes on Marra. An impressive self-control had helped maintain order as they found ways to defend themselves and adjust. Torysen’s Roving Band existed to help defend their people, and now they had seen the city gates ripped open, and enemies flooding in.

They hadn’t even been there when it happened.

Uncertain of what they should be feeling, the Roving Band’s members knew only duty. They had to do their part to help. They marched on, quickly, with a lone human at their sides and armed with a readiness to fight.

They came out of that passage through an arched doorway that led right into the city streets. Signs of battle were all around, and goblins could be seen toppling mana-lamps, smashing crates, and breaking down doors. Like releasing tension from a spring, each of the Roving Band members launched themselves to action.

The surrounding streets were cleared momentarily, and Mason was in awe at the diligence in the assault. He hadn’t even fully processed what was happening.

A woman called from a building above, “Torysen! Great Source I thought those beasts were going to get in here, I owe-”

Torysen cut her off, “What of Lady Sorynel? Why has she not repelled the attack?”

The woman in the window stammered, “I-uh, I don’t know. The city was bombarded, and then the gates fell, and it’s been chaos. I’ve hidden here and don’t-”

Paying her no mind, Torysen turned to the group, “The rest of the Roving Band is under the authority of Freshal, and I trust them to coordinate properly with the city defense. Is anyone against heading directly for Sorynel’s temple? Something must be amiss if she hasn’t come to the city’s aid yet.”

“Affirmed,” said multiple voices. Torysen laid out a route verbally of the main streets they should take to get there, and they all set off at once.

~~

New Marra was a city fallen. Mason could tell that much long before his small group ever made it to Sorynel’s home. Buildings were shattered and the streets were covered in flaming wreckage and shards of the broken black stone.

The goblins running amok were a plague of sorts. They had no order and no strategy, but each of them ran as fast as its little legs could carry it as they spread. No door was safe from their clubs, and no Marran was safe from their knives.

But goblins could be fought. Even the most incompetent of fighters could defend themselves from a goblin, albeit most likely with some injuries. It was just that there were so many of them. If you killed a goblin, they might not split into two, but wait thirty seconds and you were sure to have run into two more.

Their volume stalled the Roving Band’s progress considerably even if it didn’t wear their energy down in a significant way. To the contrary, their efficiency and prowess actually drew more people to them. Mason wasn’t even sure how many people fought at their sides, but the band moved like a mob then, only loosely organized, but effective.

From time to time, someone would ask where they were even heading, or shout through sobs that they needed help to save someone- if only they knew where that person was.

Torysen led her band with quiet determination. They moved, and they fought, and they saved anyone they could on the way, often with a small dispatch of force, but no experienced fighter would be under the impression that this was a battle that could be won through conventional means. There were too many entangled civilians, and far too many aggressive enemies.

Even if the goblins could be hunted down and removed, the true danger did not lie with them. The Corrosi moved through the city in organized forces. They were the ones that had taken down the gate. They were the ones that had pushed through the defense forces and sent in the flood of goblins. They were the ones that Torysen’s band avoided at all costs.

Sentir’s incredible skills at detection made avoiding the powerful warriors a mostly simple feat, but even without him there, it wasn’t difficult to identify their presence. A single Corrosi was powerful. Three or four Corrosi were destruction walking. Buildings crumbled, Marrans ran.

Anyone could hear their rampage from three streets over, and if that someone were particularly slow, they might watch those three streets fall to rubble before their eyes.

So the group moved quickly, bound tightly together by a sense of duty and discipline, and more than a small helping of fear. And when one of the survivors would grow weary and begin to lag behind, Mason was made responsible for saving them.

“Here,” Senkar plopped a goblin down in front of Mason. The thing looked pitiful. A force spell had sent it skidding against the stone and rubble, and the remains were bloody and torn. Worse, it remained willful. It flailed against the stones either trying to regain its feet or kill itself, and each movement made it send up a shrieking, wailing noise that turned Mason’s stomach.

On the other side of the goblin, an older Marran panted heavily. His eyes drooped and his body appeared bent and warbled. It wasn’t a stretch to suspect that adrenaline was all that was keeping him standing. Mason gripped tightly to the staff at his hands, and looked between the two creatures.

And he knew almost nobody in the band would look at him directly. This was dirty work. Cruel work. But something only Mason could do.

He gulped, but mentally steeled himself. This was also necessary work. It would keep more Marrans alive to fight another day. His eyes met the half-lidded ones of the old Marran though, and he knew that wasn’t entirely true. This man would never be a fighter.

Still, Mason had been ordered to use his magic for the people. It was a penance of sorts for his crimes, even though the council had cleared him. Even though he had been chased unlawfully from the city. There was no erasing the undercurrent fact that the abilities Mason wielded were profane, but using them to help the city was a way to make good of them.

Mason activated Stamina Drain and smashed the defenseless, ruined goblin in the gut. It cried out and stopped moving as a deep energy was pulled from its body and directed at the old Marran. The man straightened, his eyes a little brighter, and he looked at Senkar. The swordsmen just nodded, and the man walked quickly to catch up with the pack.

Never did the man utter a word of thanks.

The Staff of Mardun felt perfectly natural to use in battle. Turning an opponent's strength into fuel was a satisfaction unto itself. But harvesting the last remaining strength from a fallen creature felt different. At first.

More than a dozen times Mason was forced to use stamina drain or life drain to bolster someone’s life or stamina. At first he had almost refused. He knew how people were looking at him. Even if it could help, he wasn’t sure it was worth it.

Then, it had begun to feel inconvenient. Why did he have to use his strength to save people who had none of their own? His skin began to hold fast to its reddish tint, even as Demon stopped putting the staff away between uses.

That’s when he began joining more of the combat. He stopped waiting for victims to be brought to him. He would charge into the fray and begin casting stamina, life, and mana drain as quickly as his own strength would allow. He buoyed the fighters, strengthened the survivors, and began to feed off the thrill of the battle.

And how he began to itch for a battle. He had never used his Mardun spells more than sporadically. Why had he always assumed they were only good in a worst case scenario? He could pull the strength and life from his opponents, and these goblins only had so much of either anyways. Demon didn’t hold to the backlines any longer. He was up front, standing side by side with Torysen and Faynel.

It didn’t bother him that they kept casting wary looks at him. It only bothered him when they would call him back.

“Mason, stop!” Faynel screamed as Demon rushed down an alleyway at a pack of goblins that were currently chasing after opponents unknown.

It was as if he were a block of iron between two magnets. He felt the staff urging him forward. There was a pounding, thumping call to power in him that told him this was strength. The goblins weren’t a match for him. Not when he used the staff. There was a fatigue deep in his body, but he could pour stamina and mana over that and forget.

And any weakness faded when he felt the pounding of his heart as he smashed and struck at the goblins.

“They’re destroying the city!” Demon shouted back. “I can keep up with you all. Why shouldn’t I destroy every last one of these things?”

Faynel stomped down the alley and grabbed his hand, “We will. We’ll kill them all. But stay with us. Don’t run off.” She reached for the staff and Demon pulled it away. “Mason, come on. Focus.”

He couldn’t see her. Not really. She was beautiful, and a brilliant fighter. Maybe not the strongest, or the most skilled, but her speed gave her an edge that saw her cleanly through most fights. He wanted her strength. “Come with me, Faynel.”

Her eyes tracked between the staff and his face. She had been against him using it flippantly from the start. Leornal had warned her when she first got involved. Teach him spells. Train him with the sword. Keep the staff away.

“Don’t you want to make sure Sorynel is alright? Think of the power she has to give us. You want to grow stronger, right? That’s what this is about, right?” She saw the way his eyes kept darting back to the end of the alley. Where the goblins had gone.

They might be too far to track easily by now. But there would be more. How far had the band gone? Not far enough, probably. They were moving slower now, overburdened with survivors clinging to them for safety.

“I want to fight, Faynel.” Demon was growling. He still felt torn between Faynel and the band, and his need to fight.

“You will. We will. Come on. Come with us.”

“Don’t touch my staff!” Demon saw her reaching again, and it took everything in him not to strike it with her.

“You know it’s doing something to you, right?”

“I feel fucking strong, so who cares? This city is being destroyed! You need my strength!”

Faynel’s glare was stony, “We don’t need you, Mason. We want to be your allies.”

If her expression was stony, Demon’s was granite. “Fight with me or leave me be.”

“Good luck, then.”

For a brief moment, Mason paled. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She had fought dozens of rounds with him. She must know the thrill of battle. She had to know why he wanted to fight, to kill.

But she was walking away. “I’m good at killing, but I don’t enjoy it. The human I agreed to help didn’t either. That staff might not give a damn, but I do, and you should too.”

“This is war!” he roared at her, but she kept walking. “I’m trying to help!”

“Drop the staff then!” she screamed.

His grip loosened for just a second, and his awareness flickered. He felt it then. Hot rage and battle fury tangled up in a deep sense of fear and confusion. What was the staff, and what was him?

The alley exploded, and fiery debris filled the air as Demon ran over to Faynel and stood between her and the chaos. He gripped the staff tightly and roared a challenge. Only one thing could destroy a building that handily. Corrosi.