P. Power - Knight of the Realm

Things moved with a sickening slowness. He was buying time, but everyone needed more. Too many people could die if he didn't come up with something. What could he do though? Cutter? He could try, but they'd take him down without regard for their own lives. Tor probably wouldn't get more than one or two strikes in before they got him. If that. He had to hit them all at once…

Explosive?

One with him in the center.

He'd die, but so would they. Maybe. They were strong. But even if only hurt, it might be worth it. It could slow them down enough for everyone to flee at least and give them a small chance to live. Eyes open he drove himself deep, almost not noticing Trice, dark brown roots showing under the bleached blond of her very short hair. It looked cute on her, but he preferred her as a brunette. She had tears in her eyes so he forced a small smile to his lips and spoke just before he turned the shield off, almost not knowing what he said.

“I love you.” He handed her the truth amulet then, passing the glow to her, which she wisely turned off.

Tor leaned in to whisper, not certain how well the Larval heard, but figuring it was better not to take any chances.

“This shield is better than yours, they can't touch you in it. Sigil five and six on the weapon. Kill them all if they come for you. With these you can stop them. Say goodbye for me?”

Nodding she took all the amulets and flew straight up without pausing. Embarrassingly it left him naked, since she had his magical clothing too. He blocked it out though, no time for that, embarrassment, was there?

Only enough time to focus on one thing now.

The Larvals didn't hesitate, bright knives out they moved on him faster than he'd thought possible. At least twice as fast as a human being should be. When he felt the first knife, a slash of white pain, hot and cold that turned red to his mind, he triggered the field he'd been building. The world went white then. Painfully white.

It wasn't a chemical explosive, it was a wave of force that tore through the world in all directions, but, he found, canceled out in the direct center. Where he was.

After a fashion.

A really painful and hurty kind of balance in the middle. His eyes were pulped to destruction and his ears stopped working. He thought warm fluid ran from them but he didn't know for certain. Tor was on the ground, dying, crippled and broken, but so were the assassins. Except for one… of course.

There was always one in every group, wasn't there?

Stupid jerk, being all tough like that.

Tor figured it out when a blade bit into the side of his neck. Oops. He forced himself into calm and did what little he could, trying to feel the man with his mind. He couldn't focus enough to build, that time had passed. Now he had to hang on and fight, no matter how feeble his efforts. Tor weakly stabbed his shattered left hand into the man’s face, hitting nothing and getting a slash across the forearm for his trouble. But… while killing him the freak wasn't going after anyone else.

The razors edge started to bite his neck again, multiple slashes, over and over. It was done then, he realized. No way to live through that… Except for one thing. This man might still kill someone if he got free. His friends. Innocent people. That wasn't going to happen. Fight, he told himself.

Fight.

Right, Tor thought quickly, shield and cutter, basic things, make it happen, die later, fight now. Stop being so stupid. Just do it already. He didn't have to dive into dark and silence now, that made it easier, cut after cut hit him, then stopped. The man still swung, but when he hit the blade stopped hovering. Now, a weapon… It took time, and he didn't have it, he knew he was failing. Dying. There wasn't anything left.

Tor tackled the man and struck with his broken arms flapping uselessly, weakly, no strength in it at all. If he'd been in a combat rage he'd have the strength. Even he was stronger then, nearly twice as strong. But he wasn't even mad any more, much less raging. As he thought that, the knife caught between the small bones in his forearm. His shield was gone then. The left arm too, functionally, already pretty useless being broken. Pain lanced through him, reminding him of something.

Embrace the knife.

It was a fighter… well, legend was wrong, it was a real enough thing, the ultimate desperation move in combat, when you had no hope of winning or even living anymore, but couldn't let the other person simply triumph for some reason. Let them run you through and strike, killing them with one blow. Or take their weapon from them. Kolb had told him a story like that once, back at school, as Tor had pounded weakly at a pell with a practice blade.

Had the giant combat instructor known even then? Understood that if attacked, weak little Tor might need something that foolish and lethal? Or that he might reach a place where running away wouldn't work, and he had to protect someone else with his own life? Like his roommate, the heir to the realm?

Heh, that made a little bit of sense then, didn't it?

Tor twisted, fighting through the pain of the wound, locking the blade in place. The man let go in shock. Right hand barely working, Tor grasped the blade and freed it, gasping as it burned and seared. Then he stabbed wildly, barely able to find the man with his mind any more. He though he hit something. Maybe. Once, after a few seconds again, then a third time.

Then there was nothing.

That was nice. It was sort of peaceful. Empty, dark and… fuzzy, like being embraced by ephemeral velvet. For a moment Tor recognized it. He'd been here before. The bottom of the universe. Past the end of it. It was…

Everything.

And he was dead. This was what happened at the end? It was different than he'd thought. Bigger. Less shinny. Until it suddenly shrank again, into a brilliant pinpoint of white light.

Pain came, reminding him he was alive. Then after a moment sound too, a baffling mix of cries and shouting, when he opened his eyes, he saw Trice and Sara standing, no, kneeling, over him. He sat up slowly. The healing amulet? Well, it really did hurt when used then, and here he'd kind of thought people were just being whiners. Still, this was way better than being dead. As if nothing had happened at all Tor stood. Naked and still covered with blood. His clothing had gone away when he'd given Trice the amulet for it. He asked for it back, feeling a little sheepish.

“Moron.” Trice said, passing the amulet to him, crying, her voice a sob.

He couldn't respond really, she was right. He'd botched it all hadn't he? If he hadn't been so selfish, worrying about Smythe killing him, and given everyone good shields, the Larval wouldn't have been able to take anyone. If he'd armed them properly they'd have all been safe. But instead he was stupid and paranoid, valuing his own life above everyone else's.

Crap.

“Sorry Trice.” It was filled with emotion and contrition. As an afterthought he remembered to bow. It wasn't a low thing, but then, his failure hadn't wronged her that much at all. Maria Ward had nearly died for it. If he owed a real apology for this, it would be there, wouldn't it?

She pushed into him with a hug and cried loudly, like she did.

“I didn't mean it! God you almost die and you think I'm calling you stupid? How lame headed is that?” She sobbed the words loudly this time, not bothering with restraint any more.

Sara held him on the right, bloody and naked or not. All his blood at least. Most of it. He'd eaten about half of diner, but was starving, hunger actually trying to cramp his belly. At the same time the idea of food was repulsive.

When he looked around and saw what was happening, he heaved anyway, with nothing coming up, his body fighting for it, needing it because of the healing. Sara saw what he looked at and moved to shield his gaze with her body. A wall of white, almost see through, Ward traditional garb filled his view instead. It was a relief but…