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Corva’s heart sinks as she watches Jack faceplant and slide across the floor. Way to think ahead, genius. You’re sure to be a big help that way.

The use of his paralyzing speaker system was a good idea. When they last spoke about the array, there were apparently a few steps left in repairing the array’s control unit. That he got the thing up and running on the fly like this is impressive. His execution of that idea, however, is much less impressive.

She focuses her attention back on Thegn as the pulsing reverberations of the paralyzer array continue to roar in her head. The old Reaper appears to be struggling with the effects of the sound as well, though he seems to be making some headway against it. Ever so slowly, and with substantial effort, he’s straightening his posture and trying to level his scythe toward her. It comes in jerks and fits, but he’s making progress. Apparently his way of extending the scythe operates under the same constraints as the rest of his body. Even still, the scythe continues to extend, bringing its blade closer and closer to her.

She looks at his scythe, the black blade forged of his blood. It has a gloss on it that makes it look like it’s still liquid. She knows better. In this fight alone, she’s blocked and parried that thing enough to know how solid it really is, regardless of how much it shines. Can’t let him use that on Zeke. Not on any of us.

The vague images from her dreams—no, memories—of prior lives flit through her mind. She’s crossed paths with Thegn over and over again. His scythe. His cloak. His stupid beard. They always fight. She still doesn’t know why. All she knows is that she’s never won. And here she is, fighting him all over again.

Only, something’s off. Something’s different from those memories. In all those fractured images, those fragmented feelings, she was alone. Isolated. Even if there were others around her, they weren’t with her and she wasn’t fighting for them. It’s always been like that for her. Even in Fareburne where she had friends and family, she was still alone. Her only meaningful connection there was Avó.

But something has changed. She doesn’t have that feeling of isolation now. Granted, it’s not like she’s put down roots in this rock town, but her connection to Zeke is undeniable. Maybe even stronger than what she had with Avó. And even Jack has managed to weasel his way into meaning something to her. The little brother she never wanted. He helped her when he didn’t have to and since then, that awkward little schemer has grown on her.

She’s not just fighting for herself anymore. She doesn’t have to and she doesn’t want to. Corva isn’t alone. And she doesn’t have to lose again.

She rolls her eyes to her other arm, down to her hand. Move, damn you.

Summoning all her strength and willpower, Corva fights against her own muscles. If Thegn can do it, she can, too. She tries to manually overpower the pulsing waves that echo through her skull. Her efforts are rewarded with no movement in her arm at all. All her straining yields nothing more than a groan, to which her body reacts violently. She finds herself deep in a fit of gasps and coughing that causes her to violently double over.

Damn! This is absolutely useless.

She pauses, bent over and unable to straighten back to being upright. Wait a minute. I moved! Sure, she only coughed herself into a horribly vulnerable position. At this point, she’s only able to see the floorboards under her feet. She has no view of Thegn, Zeke, or Jack.

But she moved. If she did it once, she can do it again. Maybe this time she can do it with a bit more control. She has to do something fast, though. The scythe’s blade has already started to creep into her peripheral vision.

She concentrates on her feet. If she can get closer to Thegn, she can attack and save Zeke. The poor little monkey is still stuck in the Reaper’s hand. No doubt that Thegn is trying to squeeze the life out of him. She forces the thought out and puts her whole mind on her feet. At this point, even getting them to twitch on command would be a minor victory. But it’s the same as before. No matter how much willpower she exerts, her body only responds with pain and resistance.

She’s close to passing out—or is that the scythe that’s darkening the corners of her vision? One last push. That’s all she has left in the tank.

Corva takes a deep breath for her final effort, and immediately a wave of convulsions crack their way across her body, fiercely flexing and relaxing in rapid succession. The pain is unimaginable, like being a pincushion for every blade, needle, and pointy stick ever created. Corva’s lungs scream fire and her vision starts to blur. However, she can feel a slackening in the resistance of her muscles. It’s ever so slight, but there’s a sliver of control there that’s available for her to seize.

And then it’s gone.

What happened? For a fraction of a second, it almost felt as if she might be able to move, if only a bit and with an incredible amount of pain. Now her muscles shake under a weight of resistance just as they had before. She has to try again. But what had she done to get that feeling?

There was the straining in force of will she’d tried to exert, but that had been an entirely fruitless effort. This last push, she hadn’t even had the chance to get to try straining. The pain kicked in the moment that she took that deep breath while preparing to—

The breath! Somehow it has something to do with her breathing. Or maybe not breathing. Whatever it is, she has to make it work now. The blade of the scythe has passed her head. Thegn is going to rotate it and try to pull the edge across the back of her neck.

She’s got to make a big movement of some sort. A little foot shuffle isn’t going to cut it. Actually, maybe that’s exactly what she should do. If she can pull one foot in far enough, it should throw her off-balance and cause her to fall. Good. She has a plan. Now she just has to make it work.

With that, Corva tightens her lips and tries to pull in a deep breath.

Just as before, fits of pain immediately roll over her. But she’s expecting it this time. She holds her breath, waiting for the feeling, that thin crack of control that she can force her effort into.

And there it is! The second she feels the slightest bit of control, she focuses all of her effort on moving her front foot. It moves surprisingly easily, though with absolutely no authority over its placement. Her foot swings toward its instep with enough force to lift it off the ground, as if an invisible opponent had just swept it to the side.

She drops to the ground with a thud, body still half-curled from her coughing episode earlier. The pain of her impact with the ground blooms across her arm and shoulder. However, she’s out of the way of the scythe and she has a clear view of everyone else in the bar.

Thegn hasn’t changed position all that much. His back is straighter and his head is pointed more clearly at the space in front of the scythe where Corva’s head used to be. Zeke is still held in his hand, limp and unconscious.

Jack, however, is not at all in the position he used to be. Somehow, he’s managed to crawl his way over to being within an arm’s length of Thegn’s legs. He’s moving in a kind of staccato rhythm to get there, but it’s faster and smoother than either she or Thegn have managed. If it were possible for Corva to shake her head in disbelief right now, she would. But of course Jack would’ve practiced trying to move with the paralyzers turned on.

The pain he must be in has to be immense. Sweat rolls off his face as he reaches out to Thegn. Only he’s not looking at Thegn. He’s looking at Corva. And it’s not pain that’s showing on his face. It’s something else. Guilt?

He breaks the rhythm of his movement to lock eyes with Corva, his watering, hers confused. She sees him using tremendous effort to mouth the words, “I’m sorry.”

And then he places two fingers on Thegn’s foot.