“Fuck, they spotted us so quickly!” Eliot hissed, readying his bow as king Orlin snarled, the air ringing with the same exact twang as Eric last recalled from one of his favorite games as a six inch long steel spike shot free of the king’s gun in a burst of steam, slamming right into the aerial scout who wheezed with a bulging-eyed gasp when his polymer armor was perforated, blood spraying in the air.

  “Command, I’m hit!” The man sobbed as he immediately darted low, below the nearby buildings.

  “Assholes getting away!” Eliot snarled, the yard-long shaft notched on his full drawn bow glowing with eerie radiance. “I didn’t even get a chance to… Eric?”

  Eric scowled, hating how closed in and cramped things were as Orlin roared orders and his steam mecha pounded onto the blacktop, sending vibrations through the block.

  “Too fucking crowded. We need to take out that scout!”

  “Yeah I know, but… wait, you can fly?”

  Orlin snorted when Eric raced straight up, like he was sprinting up a hill before his eyes flashed with fierce vindication, now spotting the scout flying through the air… and the squad of heavily armored mercenaries rapidly approaching.

  “Company incoming! Four heavies!” Eric roared even as plasma fire flashed right at him.

  He couldn’t suppress the sheer sense of exhilaration flooding his veins as he was finally, finally able to let go and just be!

  He balanced himself as if he were on a level flattop even at a hundred feet in the air, thanks to Speed Racer, giving the 24 pound ball of silvery death in his hands a careful squeeze as he pointed his right ankle toward the squad of rapidly approaching assholes, pulled his pitching arm back, shoulder blades tightening, weight on his back hip.

  He stared at his target for a single heartbeat before pivoting his hips and shoulders and whipping his arm around to deliver a high overhand throw.

  Absolutely nothing at all like the last time he had pitched a baseball.

  That last Saturday afternoon had ended with a shouting coach, mocking jeers, and him shifting roles from backup pitcher to left-fielder.

  Needless to say, he hadn’t bothered with baseball after that one fail season.

  But if he had been able to throw like he could now…

  Well, they still would have lost the season because they’d all be dead, thanks to the sonic boom Eric unleashed when his ball cracked through the air. And as much as Speed Racer meant that air resistance didn’t adversely effect his movements at all, the second his tungsten osmium carbide ball left his fingertips… the air exploded with a sonic boom that shattered windows over who knew how many blocks, the air itself catching ablaze for a single hot second in a streak perfectly matching the projection of his ball.

  A projectile that streaked right above the quartet of startled Bronze-tier mercenaries… because stat boons aside, Eric hadn’t tossed a fastball in half a decade.

  “Unknown weapons projecting extreme velocity rounds are in play!” One merc screamed in his comms in hyperspeak.

  Eric winced, deliberately ignoring the too cheerful interface message about collateral damage, absolutely refusing to look… just knowing that he needed to be careful. His Strength and Quickness weren’t 200, like Eliot.

  They were both over ten-fold that amount.

  And sonic booms severe enough to shatter thousands of windows and maybe rock countless fragile mortal brains, unleashing projectiles causing the very air to heat up and erupt, even if just in a momentary flash… risked making him the very unfeeling titan he swore he’d never be.

  He re-centered himself, taking full advantage of the mercenary squad’s momentary panic to plant his foot upon a pitcher’s mound in the air that only he could sense, and switched fast balls for curved, unleashed at speeds that didn’t risk absolute catastrophe for any desperate family forced to shelter in this hot zone.

  And that moment was all he needed to reestablish a connection to the person he most wanted to hear from, his tense features immediately easing into a relieved grin.

  “Bunbun. You there?” Eric immediately sensed his familiar perking up, tucked snuggly in the tender arms of a certain Silver-tier seductress holding counsel with both Grim and her children.

  All of them turned to focus on Eric’s familiar, as if sensing her connection to a certain Contender.

  “Eric! Shit, you’re back! Finally! I was so fucking… never mind. Grim senses that you have the key we need. Yay! Is it go time?”

  Eric grinned as the air filled with fresh blaster fire, arrows and steel bolts. “Damn right it’s go time! Does Grim think our crazy plan will actually work?”

  “Umm… he says it’s worth a shot!” Bunbun’s excited voice turned worried. “Eric, if Grim does this, party-linked to us as he now is… there will be a cost. Are you sure?”

  Eric winced.

  Another power-armored merc was firing his hyperion blaster at an all too familiar figure roaring challenge. “Central command! King Orlin’s taking the field! Request we bring the full regiment here sir!”

  The man’s words were then cut off by a stream of glowing green arrows and steel bolts that only dinged the armor of the heavily armored commando, unlike the far lighter armored scout, which King Oberon’s bolts had cut right through.

  “How bad a cost, Bunbun?”

  “Eric, he’s going to be casting some serious old school magic! The kind of shit that made him famous, if you know what I mean. If you’re really going to let him ride you… it’s going to cost half.”

  Eric’s eyes bulged as he casually weaved past the streaking blast of hyperion death aimed for his face.

  “Half? Are you serious?”

  “Command! We have an elite speedster on the field—It’s the Contender! Eric Silver!”

  “Yes, fearless leader. Half of your Soul Reserves. Temporarily, of course. But… this is the important thing. You can’t leave New York until it’s done.”

  Eric’s gut clenched from something other than the shrill shrieks of his foe’s comms. “Fuck… fuck! But if there’s a chance it makes a difference…”

  “Yup. Countless pieces we won’t have to slaughter.”

  Eric’s lips pressed in a firm line as he glared at the four heavies that would have to go.

  How many elites would end up blazing on a pyre to a psychopath’s power fantasies of absolute dominion?

  How guilty did a tiny corner of his mind still feel at all the saps he had dragged through a portal and into Grim’s ruthless arms? Seeing husband and wife shrieking their last as they were drained to dust for the sake of friends whose lives should never have been imperiled?

  Fuck.

  It was a stupid, high risk gamble. But it was one he was sure he could win. Because if he couldn’t… he’d have fallen to Song anyway, so fuck it. Besides, expensive as it was… the knowledge that he could slip into soothing sleep and not be plagued by nightmares of a certain terrified couple begging him to spare them… yeah.

  Totally worth it.

  “Do it.” Eric whispered.

  He could sense his familiar’s cheeky smile a full realm away. He could even see Natasha smiling in his direction, Grim giving a solemn bow as Eric crashed to his knees, choking back a howl as over five hundred Soul points were torn from his reserves in a feat that, in a different era, would have required the sacrifice of fifty subjects.

  Note! You have WILLINGLY surrendered 604.375 Soul Reserves to a fellow party member for Ritual Sacrifice!

  You’re Soul Reserves have been temporarily halved.

  Greater Ritual has been enacted!

  You have FAILED to save versus stunning blow!

  WARNING! If you fail to achieve VICTORY and claim New York before the new moon, loss may become permanent!

  Yet now, with the powers of ascending Terrans and the System… the ritual sacrifice required only a single would-be Conqueror stumbling in unexpected agony as his body blazed with hyperion fire.

  “I got him! Command, I got the—”

  “You missed, idiot! Stay focused!”

  Excited words were cut off with an abrupt clang when a 24 pound ball ripped through the air at cannonball speeds, slamming into the heavily armored shooter’s powered chest plate with a massive clang, sending him windmilling through the air.

  The trio of still uninjured mercs twisted their armored bodies his way panic evident in the supersonic comms, even if their armored face plates gave no sign of their expressions whatsoever.

  “Flying Contender’s launching projectiles with artillery—”

  The desperate whine of the comms link cut off when Eric instantly resummoned his soul-bound toy and whipped out an overhand fastball, this time at Mach II.

  The air cracked, but it only shattered a few windows as the ball smashed the closest merc’s reinforced helmet at gear-shattering velocity, and Eric got a message that almost made the dizzying vertigo he was still coming to terms with worth it.

  Almost.

  Congratulations! You have successfully unleashed multiple fastballs that wouldn’t just strike out every MVP ever, but would utterly obliterate them!

  Who needs a pitcher when you got a cannon!

  Megajoule kinetic energy much?

  You sure as hell are now!

  You have successfully quantized baseball pitching and Cannonball Throwing at Rank 9!

  “Fuck!” Eliot hissed from below. “My bow still can’t pierce the heavies!”

  “Relax, boy!” Orlin hissed. “We’re just drawin’ them in. Now around the way, for cover!”

  Eric smirked, grateful that he no longer needed to hold back his awareness of absolutely everything being said in close proximity to him, his allies pinging a light blue on his Dominion Interface Map as a certain ace in the hole was revealed.

  “Raul, Ven, Use your stim-packs! The freak still can’t penetrate our armor, no matter his kinetic perks! We take him out with combined fire on my mark!”

  Eric smirked, giving the now three mercenaries focused exclusively on him all the seconds they needed to lock onto him with their blasters while their fourth, battered and stunned, looked like he was struggling just to stay aloft.

  Because as long as they were focused on him, they weren’t paying any attention to the surprise now waiting for them below.

  “The fool dares to mock us? We fire on three! One, two...”

  The man’s words were cut off when the air filled with the clanging roar of multiple rail-line guns firing at once, steel spikes tearing through the air far faster than what the king’s own bullpup variant allowed, the closest enemy merc screaming when tungsten alloy bolts tore through his wrists and knees in splashes of blood as metal warped and bent and the reinforced chest plate was ignored entirely.

  Eric, not being an idiot, used every bit of his speed to race out of their kill zone as the air flashed with death. Because even if he was shocked by just how effective his Hyperion Blazer Elemental Resistance was… he wasn’t so stupid as to give multiple Bronze-Tier elites the chance to lock onto him and fire in unison.

  Just in case his foes had even one deadly trick he wasn’t expecting, like the entire deck he could pull on them.

  Fuck that.

  When he spun around, he was surprised to see that the top floor of the building right behind where he had been hovering behind was just gone, and pleased to see that the mercs lining up a second unified shot on him quickly found sniping him to be the last thing on their mind when massive tungsten bolts clanged through the air, cracking exotic hyper-reinforced battle suits, the air filled with panicked shouts and screams on comms as well as the sound of tortured metal.

  Eric smirked at the sound of Zachary’s tinny laughter.

  “Got you, motherfuckers! Who put too many perks in an overly specialized build now, huh, assholes? Because it sure as fuck wasn’t me!” He screamed as his twelve foot battle suit took on a glare that was almost blinding when the trio of power armored mercenaries managed to turn their focus onto him… and Eric was more than impressed to see the conjoined streams of hyperion blaster fire reflecting off Zachary’s field as effortlessly as mirrors reflecting beams of light.

  “Central Command, we’ve got unknown Contenders in play!”

  “Steve’s been hit! He’s injured! Multiple Contenders are resisting or reflecting our blaster fire! Yes, we’re using the Hyperions! Request backup immediately! We’ll try to hold them—no!”

  The wounded mercenary howled as blood continued to spurt from his shattered wrists, hands only intact thanks to a few crackling wires connecting the gloves to the body, right knee impaled by the steel rail spike stuck right into it. His desperate shouts turned to a panicked scream when a rail spike slammed right into the bug-eyed man’s face plate at supersonic speed, leaving hairline cracks as the spike clanked and bounced off.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Steve, retreat, you idiot! Just get out… Steve!”

  The still intact mercenaries who were unfazed by a cursing Eliot’s arcane arrows and a roaring Orlin’s far smaller steel spikes lurched away from their fourth when his head abruptly jerked back, faceplate shattered as a steel spike punched right through the man’s faceplate and skull.

  “Steve!”

  “Steve’s gone. Retreat, ret—”

  Whatever else the lead mercenary was going to say was cut off when he was sent flying as certain ball of hyper dense alloys blasted into him at Mach III.

  A by no means fatal blow, but Eric felt a fierce sense of satisfaction when the sonic boom was far quieter than it should have been.

  He was at the cusp of something significant. He could taste it!

  He would taste it.

  Immediately resummoning his ball before lashing out with one fastball pitch after another, striking center mass as the desperate, panicked mercenary was jerked and tossed through the air, screaming for quarter on comms he had no reason to think Eric could understand, Eric paying no mind. Not even when his knuckle ball ended up beaming the man on the back, right where his anti-grav pack was secured, in an explosion that sent the shrieking man hurtling through the air in an arc that would see him crash right into the ground.

  Before a final fastball cracked out to smack the mercenary right in the reinforced helm.

  Only this ball didn’t bounce off.

  It plowed right through.

  Without any sonic boom at all.

  Eric whooped with fierce delight at the message flashing across his mind’s eye.

  Congratulations! You have achieved Rank 10 in Cannonball (and baseball)

  Throwing! Strength, Quickness, and Finesse have each increased by one point! (Modified by all applicable boons.)

  You may now choose from a selection of the following perks. Piercing Strike, True Strike, Enhanced Hunter’s Accuracy, Enhanced Hunter’s Throw, Hawk Flight, Precise Shot, Void Piercer, Frictionless Throw.

  You have chosen the perk: Frictionless throw!

  Thanks to your Unique mastery and evolution of Speed Racer, you understand how to slip past all air resistance to whatever degree you desire! You now understand how to give this gift to the most primal and earliest of a mankind’s arsenal, throwing stones at your prey!

  Your projectiles now enjoy frictionless passage through any gaseous medium!

  Your projectiles will suffer no air resistance, nor unleash any sonic boom whatsoever!

  NOTE! This skill evolution will NOT effect your target, once hit!

  Eric howled with fierce delight, his mind flashing with sudden insights, realizing how easy it would be to make his wonderfully deadly ball of Tungsten Osmium Carbide ball so slippery that it cut right through the air with a tiny 4-D spin to the ball. Skipping right through the air and right into his target.

  “Yes! I fucking did it! Exactly the perk I wanted!”

  The remaining pair of power-armored mercenaries spun around in shocked alarm, savvy enough to at least orient on the wildly grinning madman winding up another fastball special.

  “You!”

  Eric winked at the trembling man jabbing his blaster rifle right at him, so filled with terror that he actually missed.

  “Me.”

  Before flashing a predatory smile and Eric realized he had been outfoxed when the both men locked onto Eric with triple sniper perks, now firing with everything he had.

  Mental Warfare skillcheck: FAILED!

  “This ends now, freak! Lord Song wants your—oh fuck, that’s impossible!”

  Eric scowled down at the hole in his mithril and padding, the skin underneath reddened like a sunburn. “So this is the shot that took out the top floor of that building? Wow, you actually got through. And I was stupid enough to let you two synergize your shots and apply all your delicious perks. Together. Time to make up for that.”

  “No, fuck, I had you zeroed in! You’re Silver! Fuck, you’re a Silver Contend—”

  The man’s words were cut off when multiple steel bolts from a madly whooping Zachary punched into his face plate.

  “Woohoo! Got another one!”

  The final Bronze didn’t even waste time screaming in his comms, turning off his anti grav to fall to the ground and out of line of fire as fast as he could.

  Not nearly fast enough, Eric thought as he happily wound up and threw once more, whipping his body around to beam the final merc in the face with a spin that felt so fucking right, when the ball left his hand.

  Right enough for even his Interface to acknowledge as the hyper dense crimson ball left his hand in perfect silence with no blazing streak of fire from ignited air at all, and at absolute maximum speed, Mach 17, at no risk of bursting a single innocent bystander’s ear drum.

  Right before the air cracked with a sonic boom more than strong enough to shatter whatever glass he hadn’t already broken when the final mercenary’s head exploded like a pomegranate struck by fiery grapeshot, fragments of brain and bone slamming into the nearby buildings with enough force to crack concrete.

  “Hell, boy! What are you throwing?” Roared king Orlin

  “Still fine-tuning things for urban warfare!” Eric cheerfully declared, catching sight of the panicked scout doing all he could to flee. Already a distant speck as Eric flipped his soul-bound rune-covered sling from storage and twirled the bigger ball of doom. Reveling in how good it felt, when he could feel the buildup in his forearm, even with 2000+ Strength, when he truly began to twirl his 100 pound shell. The sling didn’t shriek through the air in the least when he twirled it, a pleased Eric noted, and he supposed it made sense, no extra perk needed. Speed Racer was just doing its baseline thing. Air resistance wasn’t effecting the crimson sling any more than it did the armor covering his body when he raced through the air, or his swords when he cleaved through the air at fucking badass speed.

  He gave a satisfied nod, already knowing what perk he’d do his utmost to transfer from thrown projectile to sling, right now, while the revelations were still fresh, wondering if there was any chance that he could transfer it for free, just as when he had transferred his insights with Piercing Strike and Cleaving Blow from his bardiches to his saber.

  Still, he made sure he got plenty of attitude, racing up a good five hundred paces into the air as he focused on tracking his prey flying desperately through the air and his sense of the soul-bound tungsten osmium orb whirling in his custom-made sling, focused on how it felt to put the tiniest touch of a 4-D spin on his fastball special as he did his best to become one with the whirling instrument of death in his hand… waiting for the perfect moment…

  NOW!

  His sense of triumph turned to a wince when he let his missile fly with everything he had, knowing it was a beautiful shot, even if it had been months since he last cast a sling stone.

  But it wasn’t a perfect shot.

  Instead, it blazed through the air like a fiery meteor, the air ringing with a shockingly violent supersonic crack and boom and distant screams and angry dwarven shouts below, even with him hundreds of yards above street level for safety’s sake as the tiny fleeing scout Eric was insane to think he had a chance in fuck of hitting exploded in the blink of an eye.

  A shot that should have been impossible with any weapon but a sniper rifle. It was only thanks to his ridiculous Finesse score and actually investing in the Advanced Precise Shot perk that he made the shot.

  Even if it sure as fuck had been screaming through the air at Mach 17… and utterly obliterated the building collapsing in an explosion of rubble right behind the shredded scout, because Eric wasn’t parallel to the city line. No. He was five hundred yards up, throwing down into the city! And was Eric stupid enough to think he could blink a shell going 17 times the speed of sound back into storage fast enough to keep it from doing collateral damage to the building right behind the scout when he was already a mile away?

  Fuck.

  He was an idiot.

  And who knew how many innocents had paid the price for his stupidity right then?

  He could only pray it was none at all.

  You have successfully struck your prey at extreme Range!

  FATALITY!

  You have slain an additional Bronze-tier mercenary.

  NOTE! Significant collateral damage has ensued as a result of sonic boom backlash, collapsing infrastructure, and mercenary shrapnel. As you have declined experience from unintended innocents, you will be spared the details.

  You have successfully slain multiple Bronze-Tier mercenaries!

  Experience earned!

  Maximum potency to skill rank conversion in effect.

  Congratulations!

  Sling is now Rank 18!

  Chapter

  Eric squeezed tight the horror and regret of what he had done.

  Because they were at war, and they needed to finish this fast and hard and without fail.

  “Fuck. No time for guilt. I’m already risking way too much of myself trying to give a bunch of fools another chance. And if we do nothing... how many innocent lives are lost every day with psychopathic Song at the helm and those ravenous orcs?”

  Eric shook his head. Refusing to let regret freeze him to agonizing stillness. “We focus on the mission and we see this through. Then I’ll deal with whatever.”

  “Eric! You up there? What the hell are you muttering about? Get down here now. I want a full report on what you saw!”

  Eric took a shuddering breath before putting on his game face and letting himself fall to the ground, before stepping forward and instantly canceling the inertia that should have at least shattered the blacktop, even if it caused him absolutely no harm at all.

  He couldn’t help smirking at the sight of a scowling Orlin, Eliot gazing at him with dumbfounded awe, and Zachary hooting and dancing in the thankfully far wider and more spacious boulevard they now occupied, the fallen mercenaries quickly being gathered by armored dwarves and dragged into their domain below.

  “Did you fucking see that? I took out two of those armored fucks! Not one, but two!” Zachary hooted. “Told you I wasn’t going overboard, Eliot. I was doing it right!”

  Eliot gave a rueful chuckle. “Considering the fact that my arrows couldn’t even penetrate with all my enhancements… yeah, you’re doing it right, Zach. 100%.”

  Zach’s voice took on a consoling tone. “It’s cool, Eliot. Your build is so flexible and super ‘leet for the beasties we normally hunt down. Even the toughest Red Tier! And you have absolutely no problem in delves, even though Orlin said we’re not ready for those… whereas my steam power armor only works in certain types of delves, which is still a fuck ton better than the high tech trekky shit these losers used!”

  Orlin snorted, thick mustache fluttering with exhale. He gave an approving nod. “You did good, kid.” He then turned to Eliot. “And your arrows distracted, just as we had planned. It was a team effort. You all got experience evenly split between the three of us, right?”

  Metal creeked as Zack had his automaton nod. “Damn straight!” His mechanized eyes then caught sight of the final armored merc being dragged away. “Shit, that guys head plain exploded like a shrapnel bomb!”

  Orlin frowned at the body before turning to glare at a grinning Eric and the crimson ball he was once more casually bouncing in his palm.

  “Your doing?”

  Eric shrugged. “Could be.”

  “Ha.” The dwarf gave a slow nod as Zack stiffened in his suit. “Nice work.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Seriously, Eric?” Eliot gave his friend a pointed look. “You managed to do that, just with the ball you claimed like twenty minutes ago?”

  Eric’s smile widened. “What can I say? I work fast.”

  Zachary crouched down, bronze alloy creeking as he peered down at Eric. “Seriously? Dude, I had to invest five fucking nodes just to be able to do what I do with this beautiful beasty! And it still takes me multiple steel bolts to cripple their weak points and disarm them, before I can finally safely finish them off, blasting out their faceplates with however many shots it takes. But you? Fuck. That was a one shot kill. From a ball you threw, right?”

  Eric grinned. “Don’t get it wrong, it took awhile. I spent plenty of time just battering them with shots, keeping them distracted, just denting them.”

  Eliot nodded. “You did. Hell, you kept them distracted better than I could with my Soul-bleed arrows which made them scream but they’re just too tough for that to break them without dozens piercing their cored flesh. But that ball you kept slamming into them tenderized them perfectly for Zack.”

  He chuckled, eyes twinkling. “Glad you’re on our side, Eric. Especially if you hit well enough to trigger a self-destruct sequence!”

  “I know, right?”

  Zachary crossed his massive arms. “Let me guess, you were a varsity high school pitcher?”

  “JV. Middle school, actually. I didn’t go to high school that much.”

  Zack sighed, straightening himself once more.

  “Well, fuck. You’re clearly broken.” The air filled with tinny laughter. “Like I can talk with this beautiful mecha now tied to my soul.”

  Eric gave an approving smile. “A suit of dwarven steam-powered battle armor so epic it even stops hyperion blaster fire. And almost nothing stops hyperion blaster fire.”

  “Damn straight!” Zach’s mecha beamed, before turning to glare at Eric. “You wouldn’t also happen to be immune to Hyperion blaster fire, would you?” He glared pointedly at the hole in Eric’s armor.

  Eric calmly shook his head. “Nope! That triple perk sniper strike those two used in perfect tandem definitely left a mark.”

  “It looks like a sunburn.”

  “I know. It should heal up… oh goody. All gone.”

  Zack sighed. “I hate you.”

  “Ouch.”

  “And I see your fucking irreplaceable mithril armor is also repairing itself?”

  “Yup.”

  The king stiffened at that, turning to glare Eric’s way. “That should be impossible!”

  Eric grinned. “I know, right? That’s why I soul-bind all my choicest toys.”

  This earned a snort. “Careful, boy. If yer speaking of the magics I think you are… that can get very expensive, very quickly.”

  Eric gave a rueful chuckle. “Oh, don’t I know it.”

  “Sir! Eric’s all but immune to blaster fire! What perk evolution tree do I need to take to be able to—”

  Zachary’s anxious words cut off when the king clenched his fist and glared. “Don’t be an idiot, boy! Can’t you sense all the runes and blood magic infusing Eric’s gear? We already know he’s well off, with close ties to Blue Faction, and this proves it like nothing else.”

  The dwarf flashed a knowing smile. “The force of that blaster was mitigated at least 90%, maybe more, when it cut through mithril and enchanted aketon.”

  King Orlin somehow managed to cross his powerful arms, even with great shield and steam rifle still in hand. “Tell me you’d survive with no more than scalded skin if a Mark III Hyperion Blaster hit you point blank, Eric, without you wearing your fancy enchanted armor.”

  Eric chuckled. “I will tell you no such thing, sir!”

  “Of course not.” Orlin turned back to a slightly mollified Zack. “You feel better, boy? Good. You did a damned fine job. All three of you kids did. Now my scouts report that Song’s men are as riled up as bees in a hive, and they’re all at his base. No snipers are doubling back that we can spot. Which is good. Even better, the slow-ass Orcs are still sleeping away in their hangers. All twenty thousand of them. None of them have so much as moved. Remember, we’re living, breathing, and thinking at maybe a dozen-fold what they are. So let’s seize the initiative and claim the field!”

  Zack and Eliot hooted, before joining Orlin in giving Eric a look of surprised disbelief when he dared to shake his head.

  “Actually, guys, is it possible we could hold up off going for the kill?”

  Eliot blinked. “Eric, what are you talking about? Look, with you and Zack on our team we got nothing to worry about, and we haven’t even had to pull out all the steam mecha backup! We got this in the bag, Eric. Trust me!”

  Orlin glared. “Better not be getting cold feet now, boy. Not if you actually expect to even glimpse my key. I expected better.”

  “It’s not like that!” Eric snapped, before taking a deep, steadying breath, ignoring the sudden glares and deadly tension. “Look, you’re not the only one with scouts in play. My familiar made it clear that Song has over a dozen mercenaries at least a souped up as these guys, and a handful of human Contenders. Contenders just like Eliot and Zachary.”

  Eric paused, letting that sink in. “Kids who, by a simple twist of circumstances, might have been adventuring by your side, honored friends of the dwarves, if Song hadn’t grabbed them first, filling their heads with who knows what bullshit.”

  Orlin snorted. “Of course he did! But it’s not like anything we say or do is going to make a difference or change their minds, any more than some suspicious asshole coming up to you lot and saying Song’s actually a sweetheart and to switch allegiance and expect to be welcomed with open arms? Are you insane? No chance in hell that would work.”

  Eric actually nodded. “You’re absolutely right, Orlin,” Eric said, ignoring the odd look Zack and Eliot were giving him. “It would be absolutely ridiculous to think we could sway any of Song’s elites into our camp.” Eric tapped his head with a wink. “Unless, of course, we could show our future friends how much of an asshole their employer truly is.”