Nemari’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly when she spotted Sorin through the crowd. Not wanting to give him away, she forced her face back into the expressionless mask she’d adopted after her uncle and two of her cousins had marched her out of the family compound. The veltrum had started to wear off already, its effects seeming to shorten as she built up a tolerance from repeated doses, but it hardly mattered.

  Everyone in Nemari’s family used fire in some way. Even the melee specialists like Uncle Nat and Dant still had soulprints designed to help them endure the heat. Even if Nemari’s hands were free, which was an impossibility, the best she could hope for was to distract her jailors. She certainly couldn’t beat them, not when her only means of offense would be practically worthless. That wasn’t even factoring in how they were all higher ranked than her.

  The irony that she was being marched across the city to answer a criminal’s questions about Sorin while the man himself shadowed the procession was not lost on Nemari. The sole saving grace to the situation was that he’d immediately noticed the restraints, but knowing him, he was probably already scheming up a way to separate her from the rest of her family.

  Considering how much worse matters would be if he’d just walked up and introduced himself, she considered it a small mercy. That would have been an epic disaster. And yet, a part of her wondered just exactly what would happen. Common sense dictated that Sorin would be immediately thrashed and captured, but the man did have a habit of defying the odds somehow.

  She didn’t know what he was thinking or how he could possibly pry her free of her family, not with them looming on all sides of her, but Nemari resolved to keep her eyes open for an opportunity. The trick was going to be doing it without seeming suspicious.

  “You’re just making things harder on yourself,” Dant whispered from beside her. “There’s no getting out of this. Trust me, Nems, I’m not letting you get away.”

  Nemari jerked her hands, making the short chain connecting the manacles to the belt rattle. “You’ve made my position abundantly clear.”

  She was no exception to her family when it came to fire resistance. It was still weak, more a culmination of so many flame-related soulprints than any one specific defense, but if she sent a firebolt to her own feet, she’d survive without major injuries. That was some type of distraction, but it wasn’t a very good one.

  If only I’d ever been able to figure out casting without my hands. Then I might have a chance. What was it Sorin said was the trick? Half of it was just knowing that it’s possible, and the other half is simple anima control. Sounds easy in theory.

  But she’d tried a thousand times and never gotten better than a lick of flame that extinguished itself before she’d lost control of the anima. Now was a terrible time to try to fix that deficiency. If she couldn’t do it at full strength, having a veltrum handicap was going to make it even more impossible.

  There’s no way out of this. All he’s going to do is make things worse. Please, Sorin, whatever you’re doing down here, just give it up and walk away before they catch you.

  She couldn’t risk looking around again. That might draw Uncle Nat’s attention to Sorin, and despite everything, she didn’t think he’d just abandon her. Whether it was arrogance in the face of overwhelming odds or loyalty to a fellow climber, she was sure he was still following behind them.

  * * *

  As far as Sorin could tell, the problem wasn’t freeing Nemari. It was doing it without hurting her family. Part of him was very tempted to walk away, but he couldn’t ignore the manacles. Whatever was going on, she wasn’t safe with those people.

  He’d crossed behind them, close enough to get a feel for the ranks of the men surrounding her. The one in the back was rank 7 and had an artificial leg. That was probably the uncle who’d lost a leg to a bladewind elemental, if he was remembering correctly. The two flanking Nemari were ranks 4 and 3. That wasn’t an insurmountable challenge, as long as he was willing to risk their lives. Putting a climber down was a lot harder when Sorin couldn’t kill them, especially when he was the underdog in the fight.

  The one in the back would have to be his first target. Knocking him out would cinch victory. The rank 4 had a physical build as well, which meant he’d be a struggle to overpower, but the rank 3 was a mage like Nemari. The hardest part of fighting him would be not killing him.

  The uncle first. A good, solid ambush to at least take him out for a few seconds. Then one good shot to Twiggy the rank 3, hopefully enough to just stun him. If I can get Nemari moving fast enough, I can delay Muscles the rank 4 while she escapes, then flee before the uncle gets back in the fight.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Nemari would need to escape to the portal hub, which was still a quarter mile away. She could run that in a minute and a half on flat, open ground, but in the city, it’d probably be more like three or four minutes assuming no active interference. This was going to be a tight rescue operation, but he’d done worse. It was just that he usually had a lot more tools to mitigate variables.

  He waited until they were at an intersection that would lead directly to the Floor 0 portal hub to give Nemari the best shot. Really, the hardest part of his whole plan was predicting how well she’d be able to handle escaping. The truth of it was that the cloak was hiding most of her body, and while she seemed to be walking alright, that did not mean she could run or even that she was in good condition.

  Now or never, he thought to himself as he closed in behind the group.

  Once again wishing he could just run the uncle through with his sword, Sorin instead led his assault with three ice blades. He blunted them, using what limited reshaping he could force into the weak soulprint to make them more of ice sticks than ice blades, and he pelted Uncle in the back of the head. At the same moment, he lunged forward and shoulder checked the old man on the right side.

  The goal was to send him stumbling, possibly knocking Twiggy over so that Sorin could handle him while he was off balance. That would free Nemari to start running for the portal while he dealt with Muscles, then break away after a minute and flee through his own Liminal Gateway.

  It was a good plan, but like so many, it didn’t survive contact with the enemy.

  The first thing that went wrong was that Nemari’s uncle barely even flinched at taking three ice blades to the back of the skull, probably because what appeared to be a reactive heat aura flared to life around him. By the time the ice hit him, it had already melted to a third of its size. By the time Sorin hit him, the aura had fully ignited into open flame.

  That was when Uncle’s physical enhancements came into play. Sorin didn’t hold back, but despite having forty or fifty pounds of muscle on a guy who only had one real leg, when he slammed into Nemari’s uncle, it was him who bounced off. That wasn’t an entirely unexpected outcome, though it was about the worst one Sorin had planned for.

  He’d lost the element of surprise against Nemari’s uncle, but the other two climbers were a bit slower on the uptake. Muscles was turning to look behind him, sensing the heat source if nothing else, but Twiggy hadn’t even started to react.

  Sorin kicked the rank 7’s peg leg, which wasn’t nearly as durable as the rest of him. It was enchanted in some way to resist fire, which he supposed was a reasonable precaution, but that didn’t help it when it split down the middle. The old man lost his balance and went down to one knee, the perfect height for Sorin to kick him in the back of the head.

  These new boots sure are nice, he thought when he noticed that the flame aura surrounding Uncle’s body had barely scuffed the leather. Resolving to add more kicks to his repertoire for this fight, Sorin pivoted away out of the heat and cast out three more blunted ice blades at Twiggy.

  That part at least went right. The scrawny rank 3 went down without a fight, opening up a channel for Nemari to flee. He’d thought she’d know to run after he’d made eye contact with her a few blocks back. She should have been on her guard, ready to take advantage of the chaos. But she didn’t run. She spun in place and drove a knee up into Muscles’ groin.

  Sorin could appreciate the initiative, but it ran counter to what he was trying to accomplish right now. Stomping on the rank 7’s head again to keep him down—and no longer all that worried about being too rough now that he had a good idea of just how powerful the man’s physicality-boosting soulprints were—Sorin grabbed Nemari’s shoulder and pulled her back out of the melee.

  “Go to the portal and head west on Floor 2 toward the old fortress,” he hissed. “I’ll find you there.”

  “You’re insane! They want you, idiot! Run while you still have a chance!”

  “Faster you escape, the sooner I can, too,” he told her as he gave her another shove toward the portal. She stumbled over Twiggy, who groaned and weakly raised a hand in Sorin’s direction. Fire ignited in his palm, only to snuff itself out when an ice blade sliced across it. Blood flew, hissing and spitting from the heat.

  To this point, things hadn’t gone poorly. Nemari was finally going in the right direction, Uncle was still on the ground, and Twiggy had been effectively useless. It wasn’t all according to plan, but it was a good start. That all changed over the next two seconds.

  The rank 7 lashed out with his remaining foot and kicked out Sorin’s knee. That would have been bad enough on its own, but through happenstance or perhaps extraordinary observation, he targeted the same knee the ogre had clipped. Sorin stumbled one step on his good leg and started to fall, only for Muscles’s clenched fist to meet his face in a vicious uppercut.

  “Forget him,” Uncle ordered. “Go after Nemari.”

  Shit, I hope she got a good lead. He’s going to be hard to outrun.

  Muscles leaped over Sorin’s body, but not quick enough to prevent him from putting a few ice blades into the rank 4’s calves. They sunk in, only an inch thanks to the man’s soulprint-empowered body, but it was better than nothing. The ice melted as a flash of fire roared up around Muscles, and then he lurched into a limping run after Nemari.

  Suddenly, Uncle was on top of him, his hands wrapped around Sorin’s throat. “I don’t know who you are, but this is the last mistake you’ll ever make,” he snarled as he squeezed.

  “God, I wish,” Sorin wheezed out.

  At the same time, he slammed his fists into the old man’s floating ribs, hitting both sides at once. Uncle grunted in pain, but didn’t let go. Spittle dribbled out from between his teeth as he just growled and squeezed tighter.

  So, Sorin hit him again, and again, and when that didn’t work, he started summoning ice blades that drove into the man’s body. The impressive flame aura blunted the damage, but a few dozen blades still made an impact. Uncle’s eyes went hazy from the pain and his grip strength failed, allowing Sorin to suck in a much-needed breath.

  Then the old man started punching Sorin in the head, smacking his skull against the road repeatedly and sending black spots through his vision. Ah, fuck. He’s tougher than I gave him credit for.