The elite screamed, and whatever spell had held the gathered people on the street broke. Everyone present ran, save for two people on the opposite side of the street from Kaleb and List; a very annoyed looking Xigbar, and a fiercely determined Valerie, whose wristbow was still leveled at the elite.

The elite cursed for a few more seconds as red light poured out of the seams in his gauntlet before becoming tangible threads of power that wrapped around his wounded hand. When the bleeding from his finger stubs was staunched, his curses faded to a low growl.

"You're dead, girl," the elite snarled. "Drop the weapon!"

Valerie reloaded.

The elite stiffened, and a moment later, realization dawned on him. "Outsider."

"Afraid so."

The elite drew a sword with his uninjured hand, and ordered his urks, "Kill her!"

A whip cracked in answer, opening a gash in one of the urks near the base of its neck. It didn't go down, but it staggered back. List shot forward, red lightning dancing chaotically across her weapon and body, a look of pure rage on her face.

The urks charged, one going after Valerie, the other List, and the elite shouted something into his wrist that was drowned out as the fight broke out in earnest. Kaleb and Xigbar had a half-second each to make eye contact and acknowledge the choice being put in front of them. Kaleb ran in to join the fight.

Xigbar just ran.

As the Waymire sisters fought the urks, Kaleb rushed the elite, readying his shield as he ran and bringing it up just as the soldier drew his sword. The blade's edge hissed with the same glow as his armor, and his first swing bit deep into Kaleb's shield.

Kaleb gaped.

In all his time in Xykesh so far, he'd never actually had to go head to head with an elite of the Royal Regiments. Al-Sakr had fought some, but he'd made it look effortless. Only now, seeing the elite's weapon cut into the shield he'd used for years, did it occur to Kaleb that he might have just bitten off more than he could chew.

He tossed that thought to the back of his mind where it couldn't distract him, and shoved forward hard, dislodging the blade and slamming the elite dead in the chest. He may as well have shield bashed a brick wall. The elite was shoved back only inches, and his footing didn't falter in the slightest. A storm of slashes and stabs came at Kaleb as the elite went on the offensive. He took some on his shield, earning another nick and gash in the metal face with every hit, and dodged the rest.

Kaleb tried to counter, once, throwing a punch in a split second opening, but again he couldn't even knock the elite off balance, and he took a stab to the shoulder for his efforts. For the first time since arriving in Xykesh, a weapon punched clean through Kaleb's stone hard skin, and he screamed.

Desperately, he fought for focus, for calm. The split second of surprise and pain had cost him, and it took precious time he didn't have to reorient himself. He should have been dead. Every instinct and lesson from his training told him he was.

Except, Kaleb wasn't alone. Not anymore.

Valerie and List reacted at the same time. Their urks were dropping—Valerie's from four crossbolts to the chest, List's from a missing leg—and they had line of sight on the elite. Valerie's crossbolt punched into the elite's armor in the back, while List's whip cut a gash deep enough into his breastplate to produce a spray of blood.

Kaleb still hadn't gotten used to having people who would actually watch his back.

To his credit, the elite didn't go down without a fight. As the attacks hit, he swung his sword in a wide, sweeping attack. Flames leapt off the blade in a wide arc, rushing out to Valerie and List and forcing them to dodge.

Kaleb, recovered from the shock of the stab, attacked. Even as his shoulder screamed in protest, he went low, driving the edge of his shield as hard as he could into the side of the elite's knee. This time, he'd picked a good target.

The elite's knee gave a sharp crack as Kaleb's blow connected, and the armored warrior's stance buckled. Kaleb followed up while his enemy was off balance, this time with a fist straight to the elite's throat. The elite dropped to the ground, alternating between groaning in pain and choking on air.

Gregory had already gotten away. The enemies were down, if not all dead. They had a window to escape, and Kaleb was ready to take it.

List wasn't. She stalked toward the fallen elite, bringing her foot down on his arm to pin it in place before summoning a knife into her hand. Before Kaleb could even ask what she was doing, she lunged down, driving the blade straight through the visor of the elite's helmet. There was a single, wet tearing sound, a splash of blood, and the elite went still beneath List's looming presence.

On List's arm, the name Norman Okomoto glowed brighter than ever as the tattoo transformed once again, drawing a line clean through the name, striking it out like an item off an agenda. Like a name off a list.

For a few seconds, the only sounds were the trio's heavy breathing, and the awestruck murmurs of the few people who'd stayed close enough to watch the fight. There were a lot more than Kaleb would have expected, and now all those eyes were locked on the three of them.

The three of them, and the soldiers of the Chosen they'd just killed.

"We should go," Kaleb said.

"List?" Valerie prompted.

The hellborn blinked several times, the fury rapidly fading from her face as something else took its place. She stared down at her tattoo, and the newly crossed out name within it. Kaleb finally placed the expression taking hold of List's features. It was fear.

"What…?" she began.

"Urks!"

The panicked shout from someone in the streets cut off List's question, and the three outsiders stiffened. Too late, they realized what the elite had been doing when he had shouted into his wrist at the start of the fight. He'd been calling for help.

"We really should go," Kaleb stressed, and this time, the girls listened.

The three of them took off as the howling roars of the urks began to echo in the streets behind them. Kaleb's only thought was to get away, and it fell to Valerie to remind them they needed to regroup with Arden at least, and Xigbar if they could.

List responded they had bigger fucking problems than finding Arden and Xigbar, and though Kaleb stayed silent to save his breath for running, he was inclined to agree. Both Arden and Xigbar could take care of themselves. And it sounded like there were a lot of urks chasing them.

They ran for several minutes, trying to lose their pursuers while making their way out of town. List's breathing had gone ragged by then, and even Valerie was looking tired from the constant sprint. Kaleb tried to slow down so as not to lose them too, and that was what got them caught.

Too slow, they couldn't stay ahead of the urks, who seemed even more tireless than Kaleb, and on their next turn, they found themselves cut off. No less than a dozen urks stood in their way, and they were forced to a stop.

"Other way?" Kaleb asked.

"No," List practically spat. "Fight."

The decision was taken out of their hands an instant later by a brilliant beam of golden light that neatly sliced through nearly every urk from behind. Nearly every urk, save one at the far end of the formation that fell to the ground with Xigbar on top of it, and both of his daggers buried to the hilt in its neck.

"You came back," Kaleb said.

"I ran into him," Xigbar corrected, jerking his head to Arden.

The doctor shook his head. "I don't think you girls fully appreciate your talent for getting into trouble."

"Run now, lecture later!" List said.

"Just so," Arden agreed. "On me, all of you. Keep up!"

Reunited as five, the outsiders ran from the pursuing forces of the Chosen. As they fled, one thought hovered in Kaleb's mind above all the others.

So much for not picking a fight with the Chosen.

It should have been terrifying, knowing that someone with an army—and potentially every native born Xykeshan—at his command would want them dead now more than ever. And yet, for reasons he wasn't fully prepared to unpack yet, Kaleb found himself smiling as they ran.

With the departure of the five outsiders, the town had descended into something just shy of chaos.

A public punishment interrupted. An elite dead. And the symbol of the rebels still painted proudly on the stable claimed by the regiment.

All over, in every home, every tavern, every street, people could not stop talking about what had happened. The violence. The power. The audacity. The bravery. Some people cheered the outsiders for standing up to the Chosen's tyrannies and abuses. Others cursed them for kicking the hornet's nest and leaving the town to be stung. Poor What's His Name, who'd nearly been whipped by the elite, had gone from a nobody stablehand to the most famous person in town—and smartly disappeared to wait for this all to blow over.

The remaining forces of the Chosen in the city were mounting up, some to pursue the fleeing outsiders, others to sweep the town for any potential rebel sympathizers. Still others would be carrying messages to other units of the regiments, and nearby settlements.

Technically, it would be Jose's job to be among those messengers, delivering news to Catalina Zhao herself on what had transpired in this tiny nothing of a town. But as a spy working on behalf of the rebellion against the Chosen, his workload was double that of any ordinary messenger. On top of informing the Chosen's network, Jose would need to get word of the situation to the rebel leaders.

Their martyrs weren't just alive. Weren't just powerful. Intentionally or not, the outsiders had joined the fight. All they needed now was someone to fight with.

Before the Chosen killed them, of course.

Jose took a long drag from his too-long pipe. Truly, he did not get paid enough for this.