...Until the Hammer Falls.

There was still a low simmering anger in John as he made his way to where Moira had said to meet her. He didn’t know if he could let go of it, even if he wanted to. Which, to be clear, he very much didn’t. The anger kept him safe. He tried to stay quiet and unassuming before, to be polite and friendly. That just led to Frank.

But anger? Anger let him keep going, long before the Abyss. It let him get up, and go to that godforsaken school despite knowing that Frank and his bitch mistress would be waiting. Then it let him crawl his way out of that basement, against all odds. He knew how impossible it was, what the chances should have been for him. He caught all the looks from the Abyssals when they found him. He wasn’t stupid, or clueless, just because he was shit at being a normal person when it came to social situations.

He hadn’t needed anything else before, and she’d proved that nothing had changed. The people around him wouldn’t back him, but that jagged fire? That was reliable.

His surroundings changed, ceilings and walls giving way to sky and open space. Briefly, he questioned how he was able to find his way through the labyrinthian halls of the manor when he never could before. The thought was forgotten at the sound of familiar footsteps behind him. John clenched his teeth, and started moving before she could catch up. He didn’t know if she’d try and talk to him, but he knew he didn’t want to hear it.

The Gamer was aware that he probably presented the least friendly image possible, as he stalked across the lawn towards where he could see glittering armour surrounding some APCs, and received startled looks or cautious observation, yet he also found he didn’t much care. Let them think whatever they wanted.

Moira noticed his approach and moved to meet him, the smile on her face faltering when he got closer. ‘Good.’, a little dark part of him muttered, and for once he agreed with it. She was far too cheerful.

“Is something the matter, Newman?” she questioned, concern breaking through her discipline.

“Nope. All fine,” he responded coolly, looking around at the knights boarding the APCs as he did so. “Which one am I in?”

Her brow furrowed. “That one, but-”

“Alright, I’m gonna go get in.” He turned to it and left, ignoring the shock and the slight tinge of hurt that broke through to her face.

The APC itself was only half-filled, all of the other passengers being fully-armoured knights of some variety. The murmured conversation fell as he climbed into the interior, and John could feel the eyes tracking his movement as he went past them all to the furthest end, and took a seat there. Even then, the cabin stayed quiet as minutes passed, though they stopped watching him as obviously.

After some time, John could hear a yell from the deep voice of the Lord Protector outside, followed by some metallic mechanical noises. Shortly after, the man himself stepped in and took a seat, followed by his daughter, Erica and Velvet. John explicitly didn’t pay them any attention as they took seats, and just about managed to hide the slight sneer that tried to take his features when the blonde berserker sat herself as far as she could from him. ‘Oh, now she tries to be considerate’, that little voice dug.

The anger ebbed a little, as Velvet seated herself beside him, and he felt the warmth of her skin so close to his. She didn’t say anything, which he wished she would. The others did, though.

It was after several minutes of the vehicle’s jolts and bouncing as it moved that Lord Brighton addressed his daughter, “Moira?”

She raised her head, giving him her attention, but otherwise waiting.

He cleared his throat. “I believe this would be a good opportunity for you to trial command during an active mission.” Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth as if to speak, only to close it and open it again, unable to find the right words. He smiled reassuringly at her, and said, “This should be a relatively simple strike. According to the intelligence, it is not a particularly well-defended position, instead relying on a Fateweaver protocol which places them in a nearby barrier from which they can swiftly flee from the Abyss and take advantage of Gaia’s protection of the mundane.”

Clearly, Moira is familiar enough with how these things go, as she continued for him, “You want me to hold them at the evacuation barrier?” He nodded, and she straightened her shoulders. “Very well, I accept. Am I to take one or two of the squads?”

He smiled slightly, and said, “One. I intend to overwhelm the primary barrier swiftly enough to prevent the use of the protocol for the most part. Only the cowards and perhaps the self-important should have the opportunity to escape.”

For the first time since she entered, Erica spoke, “John, Velvet, and I will join you, Warden, if that’s alright.”

Moira said something affirmative, but John had already tuned out of the conversation. He heard what he needed, that for all the fuss about him not being ready, he wasn’t even going to be near the fight. Instead, he was going to go and catch stragglers with fifteen other people. Internally, he scoffed to himself.

Yeah, he could really understand Erica’s bullshit now. What if he lost his temper whilst standing around and twiddling his thumbs?

—

They had one brief stop in the journey before they reached wherever they were going. Assumedly, it was near the actual base of the group, since it was where Lord Brighton got out, but the more significant thing as far as John was concerned was the tall redhead that effortlessly hopped in and took the older paladin’s seat.

It was Kitty, he recognised her that much, at least. Her hair was in a braid, which was new, but her clothes - no, it could only be called armour - her armour made a striking difference to the laid-back woman he’d met just the day before.

Some kind of skin-tight underlayer in an eye-catching red covered every inch of skin below her neck, the material totally foreign to John’s eyes. It seemed like a fabric, rather than some kind of latex, yet there was a strange, almost sinewy quality to it, as if someone had melded flesh and cloth. Overlaid across it on the shoulders and collarbone, then paired at the waist and down her legs, were several slender red panels, made of some kind of polished and dyed material which, if John didn’t know better, he might have thought was bone. Falling down her front was some kind of scale-design, hundreds of small polished fragments forming a layer of protection that shifted and flowed with her figure as she moved. Faintly visible under the edge of one of the shoulder plates was a small bit of blocky, faded text. He thought it read “8/2”, but he only got a short glimpse of it.

The other particularly notable change was the greatsword she carried. It was big. It was fucking giant, actually. She had it on her back somehow, and the hilt protruded over her shoulder, almost past the top of her head, whilst the tip of the blade danced and swirled a few inches from the ground. He couldn’t see anything more about its design, really, but it was exactly the kind of unreasonably oversized sword that John had always disparaged in MMOs for being impossible to wield. Guess that excuse wouldn’t work now…

Greetings were being exchanged, and whilst he knew it was rude, he also knew he couldn’t be particularly friendly to her right now. Not with the way his pulse roared with the anger he was clinging to. Far better choice to just let her think he was an asshole or something.

The APC carried on for a couple of minutes, then there was that shattering of reality that meant they’d entered a barrier, and they stopped. John flicked the notification away without bothering to read it. Didn’t matter much, did it?

John waited until last to get out, being furthest from the door at the back. It was just as he was hopping down behind Velvet that something broke through the anger. She stumbled, and before he finished processing the movement, he’d caught her arm to stabilise her. She looked at him, her open expression filled with shock, and that was when he realised.

The anger suddenly dropped from him, as if the flames had been doused, and he looked around with a matching shock and wonder. He knew this place. They both did. How could they not? It was the secret garden barrier they had chased one another through, one of the few happy experiences John could speak of since he’d gone to Ashcroft.

The two of them slowly moved, John unwilling, or unable, to move his hand from the blind girl’s skin. He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke, ignoring how scratchy his voice felt, “This is the escape barrier?”

He was so distracted that he almost missed the way Erica’s gaze slid across him and Velvet, assessing and then softening with knowing. Moira was far more oblivious, too occupied with directing the knights to take certain positions and giving orders, her tone distracted as she answered without looking, “According to Eion’s information, yes. Don’t be fooled by the appearance, it’s just a cover for-”

Everyone around the Gamer seemed to sharpen in some way. Something had changed. Even Velvet could tell, whatever it was. Kitty had closed the respectful distance she previously left, and now stood close to where they clustered together. John cursed his poor senses for what felt like the millionth time that week, because he couldn’t have said what triggered everyone if his life depended on it.

The calm broke with a pop. Not one or two people fleeing the barrier, but dozens. Most centred around the pagoda atop the hill in the garden, far enough to gather themselves and realise the situation. Some, though, appeared in the area they all stood in. Immediately, all semblance of ordered containment vanished, and what was going to be the command point was suddenly the thick of battle.

A thought put him in the overalls he used as armour, and summoned the axe to his hand just in time to block the sword that appeared out of thin air. A man, having just appeared through the Fateweaver protocol, somehow already attacking him. He wasn’t mad, not nearly enough for his boost, but it was just enough not to think, only to act.

Magically-gifted skill took over, catching the sword between the haft and blade of the axe and twisting. It flew out of the man’s hand with a snap, digging into the dirt. John moved reflexively, heedless of what he was doing as the axe cleanly cut through the man’s wrist, returned, and then slipped into the center of his chest. One foot kicked the gurgling body away, freeing the weapon at the same time.

Almost without pause, another person targeted him. Only as he was slamming the haft into the thug’s throat, crushing the windpipe and clotheslining him to the ground where he clawed uselessly for air, did John realise the inaccuracy of that word. The world around him was a savage dance and song of blood and sound. Not one of his allies was left without a foe at any point. He watched as another thug appeared, scanning the battle, and saw John free from attack. They took only a few steps, before a change came over their face, and they turned to join another in attacking a nearby knight.

They were avoiding him. Why would they-

A woman was strolling down the hillside from the pagoda, a bow in her hand. She stopped halfway to them, and raised it, sighting her target. John followed the aim, a rare useful skill from his years of gaming coming to the fore. The bow started to glow, the light starting to shake with intensity as it grew. Who was she aiming…

Without hesitation, he dropped thought. The confusion at the avoidance, what the glowing meant- not important right now. He had to move.

Muscles burned as he pushed himself straight into a run. Immediately, he knew it wasn’t enough. Too slow. Wouldn’t get there in time to stop it, but- Memory flashed. Mana thrilled through his veins, a cast of Crushing Leap shattering the earth beneath his feet as they left the ground.

He flew, weightless for half a moment. Then he landed, exactly where he needed to be for his absolutely fucking stupid plan. The thick braid of red hair swung through the air like a counterbalance to the enormous greatsword’s motion as it decapitated the foe that she faced.

Kitty, for her part, reacted to the flicker of motion and feeling of magic as it entered her reach, and allowed the momentum of the greatsword’s swing carry her into a turn. Chocolate eyes, messy brown hair, deceptively skinny frame clutching a familiar axe. Muscles twitched, turning the arc of the blade from harming him, letting her armour take hold of it. Fierce eyes matched drawn brows as pink lips opened to ask any of a dozen questions, instantly forgotten as her features shattered into a mix of astonishment, surprise, and absolute sheer horror.