"The next man to approach me dies!"


    My words echo alongside a backdrop of thunder and the clack of iron on wood. The outlaws advance and I slink back, keeping the distance between us as even as I can given the slickness of the mud beneath our feet. With only half a shield and sporting an arrow''s kiss—the embedded iron even now grinding fresh pain from my flesh—I''ll need to think, to plan if I am to see my quest through.


    Battlefields are chaos, I understand that now. There''s too much going on and too little time to react let alone think. Knowing the proper steps to winning a fight when outnumbered is all very well and good, but it doesn''t matter much when the whirling battle-frenzy dulls the mind.


    My shield is good for one more hit, and that''s only if I''m lucky. Even when the shield is destroyed, though, I should still have the boss in hand. It''s good iron, strong and firm. It''ll do damage if I can nail someone with it. I might be able to get an opening if I throw it at someone, too, and I need a hand free to use my kunna so that could work out well.


    "Sven, take her legs!" The jar yells and the Spear-Outlaw''s weapon lowers, a certain something flashing behind empty eyes as it moves to obey.


    The Spear-Outlaw explodes into motion, his body wreathed in green ordstirr helping his charge along. A veritable missile of flesh and bone hurtles my way, the deadly spear shining as I force myself to respond.


    My feet leave the ground as I hop into the air and the spear''s iron head buries itself deep into the earth. Tattered shoes greet yellowed flesh as I drop a two-foot kick against the Outlaw''s chest. Pain shoots up my legs as my ankles scream in agony, his speed doing me harm even as his hunger-weakened bones crack!


    Momentum carries me forward as the Outlaw stumbles back and I follow him down into the muck. Mud splashes as he lands and I scramble quick to my feet, well aware of the approaching danger.


    Ignoring the protests of my ankles, six strands of crimson ordstirr wrap around my leg as I kick off the fallen man''s chest. Spear-Outlaw screams, my strike doing its work, and I throw myself away from the axe hewing towards my head.


    "Dammit, Gunther!" The jar swears as the Axe-Outlaw greets nothing but air, "What the shit did that spirit-whore even do to you?!"


    Drawing his axe back for another strike, the Axe-Outlaw makes no comment about his companion''s foul words while the Spear-Outlaw yet again picks himself back up from the muck.


    This isn''t going to work, I scowl as I duck another arrow. I''m wasting ordstirr on things that I''ve already tried, on things that haven''t worked. I need to reevaluate, need to figure out how I can change things up.


    Wait, spirit-whore? As in, someone who works with spirits, like a seeress? That must be how that outlaw''s soul got into tha–


    The Axe-Outlaw advances, robbing me of my chance to think as anger swells in my heart. You know what? Screw it! Thinking hasn''t helped me so far, might as well just go all out while I still can! Can''t use my Aspects if I''m fucking dead!


    So why the fuck am I hesitating? Didn''t I sacrifice my fear? Didn''t I sacrifice my hesitation? Didn''t I promise to never let my thoughts hold me back? Am I an oathbreaker? Did I make a false-sacrifice?


    Fuck.


    No.


    Between the heartbeats of violence, in the time the Axe-Outlaw takes to lift his axe up high, I take a deep breath and focus my will. At the end of the soul loom are three pieces of cloth within which fully half of my ordstirr is stored. Grabbing hold of the closest, the cloth unravels into so much thread as a crown of curling iron spikes sprouts upon my head.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Power surges through my body, the world blurring into streaks of blended color as I move. Axe-Outlaw''s head snaps back as I hurl my shield as hard as I can. The wood shatters on impact, but the boss carries on through the outlaw''s face and out the back of his head.


    Bone sprays as blood spills, the outlaw''s limbs growing limp as the jar makes worried sounds.


    "Gunther? Gunther!" The jar cries out as the Axe-Outlaw teeters on the spot, the axe slipping from numbing fingers.


    "Gunther''s fucking dead, you idiot!" I snarl as I kick the half-corpse over and twist to meet the charging Spear-Outlaw with my next Aspect already unravelling.


    A cloak of crimson cloth unfurls from my shoulders as the Spear-Outlaw lunges. Rather than dodge or block or any of that pussy shit that didn''t work, I step forward. The spear-tip splits my flesh yet I stay standing, stay moving as my virthing heals my body all the while.


    I stride forward, pushing through the cross-guard and driving my sax into the bastard''s shoulder. Using it to wrench him down to my level, I look him dead in the eye as I press palms against either side of his head.


    "Odin take you, you piece of shit," I curse through clenching jaw as flame-light flickers between my fingers. Ordstirr surges, crimson fire ignites, and the outlaw screams as his eyes pop and his head explodes in a shower of steaming, flash-boiled brains.


    My head snaps at an angle, an arrow taking me through one cheek and out the other. I lift a hand, curl fingers around arrow-wood, and calmly wrench it free in a shower of blood and skin. I''d frown if I could, yet it seems my face muscles have failed me.


    I turn towards my attacker, the spear following my motions, and fix the Bow-Outlaw with an arched brow. The empty eyes of the outlaw are the only response I get. That, and the creaking of his bowstring as he draws another arrow back.


    Well, I tried.


    An ethereal crimson blaze engulfs my body as I lift both hands, palms facing the outlaw. Fire gathers at my palms as Aspect-sourced ordstirr adds itself to my might.


    Twin arcs of ragged, crimson flames burst out from my grasp and hurtle across the space faster than the eye can blink. The first takes the outlaw from head to shoulders while the next takes him across the pelvis, splitting him into thirds. Or maybe fourths, I''m not really keen on counting that right now.


    The Bow-Outlaw collapses, dead, and I''m left victorious. Injured, yes, as the returning pain—huh, when did it leave?—is eager to remind, but victorious nonetheless.


    I take a moment to bask in the glory with as much of a smile as I can muster on my face. Ah, sweet victory, how good you are.


    Well, all that''s left is to finish my journey and– Now what do we have here?


    The jar rests face-down in the dirt, muffled noises rising all the while. "Sven? Harold? What''s going on? I can''t see!"


    I snicker to myself as I tip the jar over with a toe-prod, "Dead and dead, I''m afraid," I speak as best I can, my cheeks continuing to fail me when I need them most.


    The jar is silent for a long moment, "So..."


    "So indeed." You know, I was planning on just stomping him into dust, but I''ve been wanting a pet for a while now and Dad just never lets me have one. Mother''s allergic, or so I''m told. Speaking of which; "Do you shed a lot?"


    "I, what?"


    "Do you shed, yes or no? It''s an easy question." I rest my foot against the ceramic surface.


    "N-no! Of course not!" The jar replies, fear mixing with confusion and producing an odd sort of anger.


    "That''s good," I nod as I scoop the jar up and tuck him under an arm. "You''re gonna be my new pet."


    "P-pet?!" The jar squawks, "I''m a free-man, a Karl! You can''t just do that to me!"


    "No," I roll my eyes, "you''re an outlaw. You have no rights, no protections, so you can either be my pet or we can use you to hold cow shit."


    "...Is killing me not an option?"


    "And waste a good jar?" I laugh out loud as I continue towards Asvir. "Absolutely not!"


    Now, what was I doing before I was so rudely–


    Oh, shit.


    Dad.