“I think we’re back in satyr territory.” We approach the defeated satyr.

  The satyr struggles to get to all fours. I go to it, put my hand to the back of his neck, and run a Life Siphon.

  Life Siphon: 27 vitality points, 13 received.

  Target drained.

  The creature lets out a long exhale, goes slightly gray and collapses.

  "Yeah,” Jes whimpers. “No vampires here.”

  “I’m maintaining both Sadie and Baco,” I note. “Pulled my shoulder a bit on that long distance throw, which was right on target, I might point out. After that, he’s out of his misery, and I don’t even ache. Win-win.”

  Jes bends to check the satyr’s toga. “I don’t think our friend here would agree with your definition of win.”

  “ANDRAPODON!” is screamed through the hallway.

  “Some sort of dinosaur?” I guess, readying my spear. Baco gets in front of me, as I hear the spikes extend on Jes’ hand and the distinct rush of Sadie firing up.

  “Here’s the rest of the war party,” Sadie points. “It’s a curse word that means 'man-footed'.”

  I look down. Whoever yelled it is not wrong. I squint up the hall and all I can think is this is a scrimmage line. Satyrs are smaller than humans, even if Sadie has grown. They’re charging three abreast up the hallway, another two right behind. I took out their scout. The rest of these guys are better equipped. They have fancier weapons, helms, and decent armor, not just togas.

  “You said ‘back’ in satyr territory,” Jes claims. “You’ve been here?”

  “Not this hall, no.”

  Sadie sidles up next to Jes. “Hold out your cestus and trust me.”

  Jes hesitates but holds her hand out as the offensive line closes in on us. She gasps when Sadie ignites the spiked fist.

  Jes turns and is gone. She’s a dozen meters away, landing a flaming uppercut into a satyr’s chin. The others stop, horrified.

  “Small Mu,” I call out.

  “What?” Sadie yelps. “How do we do the middle curve?”

  “Baco left, Sadie right,” I clarify. Maybe the letter thing isn’t perfect.

  Sadie starts hurling fireballs as a nitro-fueled pig blasts up the hall. A second liner is trying to stab Jes with a trident, but she’s suddenly ten paces away.

  “Duck!” Jes cries and the world goes slow.

  I can see Sadie’s fireballs splashing off the wall and into one satyr’s chest as it runs toward her. Another is swinging a leaf-bladed sword down on Baco, but he twists to intentionally take the blow to his armored skull and not a haunch. Spinning through the air at my face in a slow-motion disc golf lob is three heavy balls tied to a center weight. It’s a gladiator’s bolas. Aimed at the legs, the spinning balls would wrap around, effectively hog tying a target. A hit at the neck could strangle a man. I squat and thrust my spear straight up, all in a slow-motion ballet.

  The bolas catches around my spear. I brace the spear against the floor and my leg to catch the momentum. The three stone balls orbit the shaft of my spear in tighter and tighter circles until they clatter harmlessly into each other and my perception sense wears off.

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  I have a bolas.

  Satyr weapons have been pretty crappy looking things up until now, not worth trying to learn. But this…this is fancy.

  A satyr lunges. I swing my spear, now a morningstar flail with the bolas wrapped around the end, with an Improvised Weapon skill up appearing the moment those weights remove a chunk of the satyr’s temple. I spin the spear in defensive flair to find my next target and get my footing solid.

  Spinning a spear while it has a bolas wrapped on it is not a brilliant tactic. The bolas goes flipping off, wobbly and uncontrolled.

  Jes screams as my misfired bolas wraps her legs and she goes down. A satyr is on top of her, about to plunge a trident through her guts. The trident hits the floor, Jes in the exact same position she was, now four feet away.

  “What the hell, Dom?” she screams, scrambling to her feet. I throw my javelin and it goes completely through her attacker’s ribcage. He flails and falls, trembling and gushing fluids. At least two down, another with Sadie, and one more with Baco. There’s one I’ve lost track of. I break into a sprint to get my spear back.

  Jes flickers, a disturbing parody of an old black and white film reel. “Behind you,” she shouts as I’m retrieving my weapon.

  I turn, and my spear inscribes a clean bloody line across the chest of an attacking satyr. He’s got some sort of short sickle, the point of which ends up in my collarbone. I’m coughing blood. He throws his head back, three of Jes’ akon sticking from his neck. I pull the sickle from my shoulder. It’s only sharpened on the inner curve. I hack it into my attacker’s arm.

  No, I hack it through my attacker’s arm.

  A giant star flashes in my sight, with the word DISMEMBERMENT as his upper arm is severed and slaps to the tiled floor.

  Sadie makes the horrendous retching noise and moments later, a flaming satyr runs past me before crumbling to his knees. I scan the hallway.

  “Are we clear?” I shout. “Was that all of them.”

  I take a hit to the back of the head. I cock my spear arm and spin. It’s Jes. She hit me in the back of the head with the flat of her cestus. Baco charges over and bares his teeth, gnashing and spitting at Jes.

  “You almost got us killed,” she snarls. “Can you spend a little time considering the battlefield?”

  “I didn’t mean to fling the bolas at you,” I say. “It just happened.”

  “I’m out of Goeteia because you made me emergency slip away.”

  Baco growls and takes a threatening step toward Jes. Sadie trots up next to me. “What’s happening?”

  “I may have accidentally launched a weapon at Jes.”

  “May have?” Jes coughs. “Listen, I’m not part of your motley little crew. You cannot resummon me, you can’t sense where I am, and I’m not going to execute your unspoken commands. Do you understand this at all? If there was one more, just one more, I would be dead. Your weird letter football calls don’t work, you’re not aware of your surroundings and we’re doing everything by throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks.”

  “It won’t happen again,” I say. “I’ll be more careful.”

  Baco snorts aggressively, taking another step. I put my hand to the small of his back and he holds.

  “It won’t happen because you’re a danger. You’ve already died, you said it yourself. You are a detriment to my survival and I ain’t putting up with it one second longer. Kill yourself. Kill your minions. But don’t kill me.”

  “I had no idea it was going to hit you, I’m sorry.”

  “You’re uncontrolled,” Jes says. “Uncontrolled is dangerous. You can’t improv your way out of every fight. Especially because I’m not made of you – I don’t sense you the way they do. Someone is going to die.”

  “He slipped up,” Sadie says quietly. “It happens to everyone. “It could just as easily happen to you.”

  Jes sits cross legged and closes her eyes. “I need my abilities back. Before some monster or Dom decides to attack again.”

  “We’ll keep watch,” I offer. Looks like she has some sort of meditation skill to rejuvenate her energy.

  “And who keeps an eye on you?” Jes asks.

  Sadie grabs my hand and walks me away from Jes. “I’ll make sure he behaves.”

  I bite my lip and allow myself to go with Sadie to hold down the line of retorts and protests building in my throat.

  “Why do you humans need so much rest time?” Sadie complains.

  “My energy comes back slowly after each fight,” Jes says.

  “When Dom isn’t wounded, we don’t rest this much. We keep exploring all the time.”

  “I’m not Dom, and Dom isn’t a caster.”

  “Pretty sure summoning is magic,” I say.

  “That’s ritual calling, not combat casting,” Sadie says. “Fire Breath and Flaming Fists are combat casts. You don’t see me getting exhausted.”

  “It’s not just tired,” Jes says. “I need to get back Goeteia. It comes back slow.”

  “It’s going to take days if we have to keep resting,” Sadie says.

  “I hear you,” I say. “And no, we’re not leaving Jes. We’re sticking together for now. Step one of planning as a better team. Tired fighters are not good fighters. She says she needs rest, we rest.”