The intention, the hope maybe, had always been for Indy’s Axe to come at me directly. It was the fulcrum that the battle turned around. By leaving me unguarded, we freed Chowwick to do his worst on the field while I boosted the other members of the team. The expectation had always been that the Axe would come for me where I stood without protection.

  The obvious concern was that he would smell a trap. It was too easy, too obvious. Morningstar and company may have been able to boil the mistake down to my impetuousness and inexperience, but they would be well aware that I was surrounded by veteran Griidlords and veteran nobles who would counsel against such idiocy.

  Part of what had driven the Axe to me was as I had expected. With the additional leverage of Chowwick on the field of battle, with our brazen risky rush, the tide of the battle had shifted very unexpectedly in our favor. A 25 Flow Orb, with fragments, was a prize that was very hard to relinquish. The Axe was supremely motivated to put me down and attempt to shift the flow of the battle in the other direction.

  The other source of confidence for the powerful being that charged me was revealed as the distance between us shrank to a few yards. I was startled when the field rose around us. A sphere of some force suddenly formed, encapsulating the Axe and myself. Through the hazy surface of the barrier, I could still hear and see the carnage of the fighting, but it was dulled, as though moving through water.

  It was a skill. The Axe had a skill that allowed him to guarantee himself single combat, uninterrupted. Of course, he would feel confident to charge me so wantonly. Once he reached me, he was able to raise the field around us both, essentially guaranteeing that our fight would continue uninterrupted.

  The next two seconds felt like minutes. Through the racing panic of those moments, my mind found time to move through a torrent of thoughts. What if I missed with Axe-break? I hadn’t counted on this field. If I missed, then I would have no chance to escape. I would either need to yield immediately in the face of a higher-leveled Axe or face brutal damage to my suit and body. What if Axe-break didn’t do enough damage? What if it only slowed him? How would the battle play out with me locked in this field, battling an injured Axe? How would the others fare against a Sword as powerful as Morningstar? And if it all failed, would the men whose blood drenched the ground have sold their lives for nothing? It was a terrible weight I felt, choosing the gambits where the wagers were lives of people.

  Through it all, the image of the Axe, steps from me, weapon raised, all attack and urgency, remained frozen in my mind.

  But it was only moments that occupied all these thoughts and all that action.

  Axe-break surged in me as I reached for the skill. It was like CUT. A white light shrouded my sword, so dense and bright that it almost seemed like a shell had coated the blade. My CUT struck out on a horizontal arc. The Axe was charging, abandoning defense in the hopes of taking me unaware. More, he was fighting a Sword; he was little concerned about taking a blow from a low-leveled suit that was type-disadvantaged.

  I hadn’t known what to expect from the skill. I had been promised that it would be highly effective. I hadn’t been prepared for just how effective it could be.

  The blazing light-sheathed sword blade struck him in the head. The light suddenly burst from the blade, shattering and spearing in every direction. My own eyes were forced shut by the sudden brightness, the devastating recoil and sound. I couldn’t see his head, but an explosion of suit fragments filled the air, a cloud of devastation that made me flinch back. Blood too sprayed in a thick arc, trailing the intensely bright sword blade as I followed through.

  Instantly, the force field that had surrounded us blinked out. I staggered back, shaking my head from the shock, from the disorientation of the light, the carnage, the debris.

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  The Axe lay on his back before me. The head and neck of his suit were a wreck. It had been damaged so severely that I could see blackened flesh, cracked and oozing blood, through a gash that ran from his cheekbone to his jawline on one side. The chest of the man heaved rapidly, panting, agonized, and struggling.

  My eyes blinked rapidly as messages flashed across my HUD. I couldn’t spare the attention or the time to process the messages. Levels blinked several times before my eyes. I shook my head, trying to remain in the moment.

  I found myself staggering back, trying to process the enormity of what I had done. There was victory. This would completely turn the tide of battle. I had conquered an Axe. I felt the surge of base animal jubilation rushing through me. I felt devastating, I felt powerful. But there was a sobering reality as well. I hadn’t just put the Axe down. I had crushed him. This man was in mortal danger now. Every part of me wanted to move to his aid, to help him. But a moment wasted on this one man, this enemy, would mean dozens of Boston soldiers fighting and dying, and my duty was to them.

  I followed the plan.

  I was still exposed. Morningstar would have seen the field envelope the Axe and me. He would have seen it confusingly blink away in the next instant. Under SIGHT he would be able to see his comrade lying broken. He would probably suffer some confusion, some amazement even, that a rookie Sword had just vanquished a veteran Axe. But I knew the man a little. He would not remain confused for long. He would see the battle dissolving into certain costly defeat. If the Orb were smaller, he might call a retreat. But with 25 Flows to be won, he might gamble. The smartest gamble would be to make for me himself, and I had no hope of standing against Morningstar alone.

  Without hesitation, I sprinted onto the battlefield. Just as the Axe had been able to, I grabbed Footfield to help me cross the vacant space. Once I released the Field, I made a mad dash for the Orb. Chowwick stood near the Orb, smashing men from horses. Power weapons flashed around him as the knights desperately tried to bring his titanic form to the ground. His Shield suit was thick and strong; it bore several smoking wounds that would have crippled another suit.

  I joined him. By his side, I would have the protection of my Shield, hopefully dissuading Morningstar from pressing the attack. By his side, I could bring my own Power to bear on the battle.

  The knights were skilled warriors. But they couldn’t grasp POWER as I could and make a mockery of human strength and the mortal perception of time. I felt a frenzy as I leapt and CUT. My molten blade severed limbs and parted torsos. It was a terrible but brilliant rush of violence that fortified the animal heart in the moment and bled the human soul in the aftermath.

  The Indy Arrow would have yielded or been defeated by now. Magneblade and Tara would be making for Morningstar and his Shield. This would be a very risky proposition for the powerful Indy Sword. Tara would have advantage over the Shield, Magneblade advantage over Morningstar. Morningstar might have been powerful enough to compensate for the type advantage, but the risks would be immense.

  In a cloud of blood and the screaming of horses, the space around Chowwick and me was suddenly clear. The guns rattled behind us, each explosion crashing through my head, adding to the constant homogeneous roar of the sounds of the battle.

  Scrums of soldiers smashed into each other on the open field. The Indy line nearest us was folding. Indy soldiers fought with trembling panic as the weight of our line pressed on them, as the devastation and terror of the gunfire shredded their flank.

  A full rout was imminent.

  I leveled my blade at the line and pulsed BEAM. I relished this as little as I would have relished putting down a sick dog. It was an unspeakably cold act, a cringingly regrettable action, but a necessary duty. I owed it to my soldiers to kill their opponents.

  My BEAM joined the horrifying hail of bullets. The kinetic impact of my BEAM exploded bodies, gore, and equipment sailing into the air.

  The BEAM of a Sword was not effective against massed forces. It was a potent ranged attack but only impacted one being at a time. The morale effect of the blazing energy was more important. The already terrified men in the squashed crowd only suffered greater dismay as they felt the heat, saw the light, and witnessed the disintegration of their fellows.

  Then the horns blew, and the battle was ended.