There wasn’t thumping release, or a twang, or even a blur of motion. The glowing blue “string” returning to its original position was the only sign the ballista fired, and even then it looked like it must have slipped the catch rather than ejected the bolt.

FWOOM

A shockwave knocked me to one knee, jarring my arms and wrists as I came dangerously close to face planting on the crystal cavern floor. I searched through the haze of the aftereffect just in time to see an outline of a human torso flying through the air. Slowly my mind connected the dots and I realized what had just happened.

The Crimson Nosferatu—a creature Azure described as so powerful it could level cities—was cleaved in half by the shadow bolt.

“Holy fuck,” I murmured, at a loss for words.

Ellison didn’t cheer or celebrate, his face a mask of barely contained panic as his armor extended from his neck, wrapping around his head and forming a helmet. “God dammit, too low. Damocles! Get the head—“

Before he even gave the order, the man sprinted forward almost too quickly to track, lugging a massive great sword behind him until he reached the Nosferatu and brought the sword down in a massive overhead strike, again and again, each impact ringing out like a sledgehammer on iron.

“Go, get Miles out now.” Ellison shoved me forward. As I ran, he called after me. “Make sure he leaves the ripple first!”

Why?

There wasn’t time to ask. Miles was up, staggering away from the crater. From his movements he was stunned, or injured, or both, but from prior experience it wouldn’t be long before he was up and running, dragging us both into more bullshit.

Off to the side, Ellison’s companion—Damocles—was still smashing the full weight of his sword across the creature’s throat, over and over like a lumberjack splitting wood, while Ellison bound its legs and arms with a silver wire, swearing loudly and shouting instructions.

I pulled my hand crossbow with and fired a torment bolt, aiming for the creature's exposed entrails, watching with grim satisfaction as it struck home and the Nosferatu writhed.

Right on cue, Miles’ head lolled in my direction and his eyes fixated on me. He drunkenly turned and lurched away from me.

I wheeled him around before he gained momentum, and pulling the blow at the last second, struck his nose with the meat of my palm. Cartilage buckled under my palm but didn’t break, and Miles’ head snapped back, his eyes hazy and confused.

“Use your goddamn brain. I’m trying to save your life. We all are.” I shouted, hoping I’d finally gotten through, and chanced looping his arm around my neck for support. This was a vulnerable position. If he had a mana garrote on him, it’d be child’s play to slip it around my throat. His feet dragged, slowing us down. “Run motherfucker.”

“Jesus Christ,” Miles muttered. He was staring at the Nosferatu, who—despite being bound, shot, bludgeoned, and losing enough blood to kill an elephant—had already regrown its legs and was slowly but consistently breaking free of its restraints. Finally, Miles seemed to conclude that even if this was some kind of con, getting out of the tower was the best course of action. His grip tightened around the back of my neck and his legs pumped, movements still clumsy and uncoordinated.

Eventually our movements synced, and we made decent time as we raced across the clearing.

“Felt like—” Miles’ devolved into a series of coughs. “Getting hit by a bus. Twice. Didn’t even hear it coming.”

“Might be your ears, considering all the goddamn gunfire,” I said.

“What is it?”

“Bad fucking news—Shit!”

Bad news got worse as screamed, and I ducked, dragging Miles with me, barely clearing a crescent wave of red. The Nosferatu’s claw-like hands pointed towards us, ignoring Ellison and company entirely, as it shrieked in an alien tongue with a voice full of rage.

Not good. If I had to guess, Ellison’s joint attack broke its rules of engagement, and now it had every intention of taking the slight out on the hostage.

We started running again at a slower pace, dodging the crescent blades of magic as they came. With every passing second, the Nosferatu seemed closer to escaping, more binds snapping free as it recovered its power.

As soon as it freed itself and had access to even a fraction of its mobility, we were done.

Flight Charm?

Using the charm would be an automatic tell. Miles would have almost definitive confirmation that Myrddin was connected to the Adventurer’s Guild, and it would undo everything I’d done to throw him off. I’d use it if I had to, but.

Maybe there was another option.

“That thing breaks free, we’re S-O-L. Anything in your back pocket that could help? Teleport spell, speed acceleration, anything at all?” I tried.

Miles thought hard, then his expression grew conflicted. “I… don’t think so.”

I held back a litany of expletives and let him reconsider.

Come on Miles. Think about it. It would have been so easy to let you burn, but here I am, dragging your ass out of the fire.

Another beat. Another nothing from Miles.

Fuck it.

I reached towards my inventory and prepared to grab the flight charm.

Before I could, our feet left the ground, crimson crescent passing beneath us as we elevated into the air. We rose vertically, about ten yards in the air until we plateaued and bobbed treacherously. Of course. They designed the flight charm for one person, not two.

Careful to mask the movement, I reached into my inventory and activated my flight charm. The turbulence ceased, and we smoothly rose and rocketed towards the exit.

Miles’ face was hard. But he didn’t shake me off, or attempt to throw me into the fathomless depths around the platforms below. Instead, he spoke. “Much as I hate to admit it, I was out of my depth.”

Same.

It made a certain sort of sense, though I couldn’t imagine doing the same in his shoes. I saved his life; he saved mine. That was the person Miles was. Unshakably fair. Even after everything he thought I’d done, and the fucked up things that happened between us, and absent a single witness, he refused to change.

Maybe that was the reason I couldn’t stomach the idea of hanging him out to dry.

I loosened my grip and slipped down a little as we approached the exit, maneuvering myself so I could follow Ellison’s directive and exit the ripple a split second after Miles. We rocketed out of the ripple and back into the main floor, veering to avoid the opposite wall and crashing into the mud, sprawling awkwardly across the ground.

A stream of notifications scrolled before me.

Beyond the text, a small ember of golden light etched an ornate white ring that seated an amber stone into existence, almost like it was 3-D printed. Just as it finished forming, I snatched it before Miles—still shaking off shock and slowly rising from the mud—could notice.

In ordinary circumstances, the advancement would have thrilled me. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the wording of the final notification.

Either Ellison was dead, or he wasn’t a User at all.