The elf came in first, and fast. He thrust his gladius forwards with a pouncing jab, practically leaping at her from a few metres away. Lucilla jumped back, slapping his sword away with hers, but the second thug came in hard now with a big overhead swing and nearly caught her on the temple - the tip of the blade just missing her face by a hair's width. She cursed, jabbing back at the human thug to push him away and retreating towards the alley where hoped to bottleneck them, eliminate their numbers advantage. But, the elf was quick, bloody quick, and he was already slipping around her left flank to get between her and the mouth of the alley. She'd risk getting shanked if she bolted back now.

She cursed, scanned for openings, and stepped forwards instead.

Lucilla wasn't strong by any stretch, and she knew it. She'd trained all her life to some extent, and especially hard after her brother was slain by Northmen. That training had shown her clear as day she just wasn't a strong person. Didn't have the build. But she was quick with a blade and even quicker on her feet, and the Sword of the Mountain was no ordinary sword - enchanted twice over, once to lighten the weight and another to give it a very special extra function.

Which she'd use now.

Going on the attack threw the human thug off balance, she could see it in his surprised face. This gave Lucilla the opening she needed.

She charged, running for the original thief past the thugs while muttering words in Arcane - the language of magic. These words, when combined with the etched runes on her blade, started the blade buzzing and activated its enchantment. The runes flared brightly blue, almost blindingly so, and suddenly mist began pouring at an alarming rate from inside the etchings. In seconds a hazy cloud had built itself all around Lucilla, and in seconds more it had grown thick and wide - so much so it encircled her in a complete bubble of cottony, impenetrable cloud. She couldn't see out of it, true, but these street thugs wouldn't see in, either. And she knew roughly where the thief was, as she'd been charging at him the whole time. Theoretically.

In moments she barrelled right into him, misjudging how close he was. He cursed aloud and so did she, and both fell to the ground - her into the dust, he into the water fountain. Tepid water splashed all around as he flailed about in the shallow pool, trying to find his feet after losing them so unexpectedly. Meanwhile somewhere else in the courtyard the two other thugs shouted at each other, trying to coordinate themselves now that they couldn't see. And still, even now, mist continued to pour from the Sword of the Mountains, smothering the courtyard in thicker and thicker fog. She had about ten seconds left, maybe twenty, before it would shut off. It was enough.

Lucilla sprang to her feet in time to see the thief finding his own. He muttered something that was less than polite and definitely more hurtful than what she'd called him earlier, and pulled a knife on her.

They just wouldn't do this the easy way, would they?

He was quick like a good alleyway hoodlum, fighting like a gutter rat that had a taste for scraps and was willing to go right up your pants leg for them. One thrust, two, a swipe, then another. His knife came in quick bursts, and she narrowly avoided as many as she parried. In response she kicked a boot at his belly, trying to interrupt his momentum. It stalled him briefly, but he came again, then again, and all the while his comrades elsewhere in the courtyard were hunting her - honing in on the sounds of their fight.

Crap.

She had to do something different. Change strategy again.

(Yes yes yes - this was probably all a mistake on her part, running in without thinking. Again. But she couldn't dwell on that now. She had to fight. She'd apologise to her father later. To Uncle Rex, too. First she had to make sure she even had a later.)

Ducking a recklessly wide swing from the thug, she seized the opening and lurched forwards, trying to shoulder him back. If she could just gain a little ground she could start swinging her longer blade and drive this idiot back into the fountain. She didn't really want to kill the guy, but she couldn't just parry all day and run about. The fog was starting to wane.

She felt her shoulder connect with his ribs and the force of it winded her, making her grit her teeth. He must have felt it too for he oofed aloud and staggered backwards into one of the washing lines, tangling himself briefly in what was actually quite a lovely white dress. This was her chance!

Lucilla went back on the offensive, pouncing forwards with a thrusting blade hoping to-

-something struck her. Hard.

It came from the direction of the thief. Big. Solid. But transparent. Like he'd thrown a wall of air at her. It all happened in a flash, but later she'd vaguely remember seeing him holding something - the jewellery he'd stolen: a bejewelled pendant.

The gem at its heart flared brightly red and emitted a pulse of quivering energy that slammed into Lucilla and carried her backwards, sending her crashing into the dust like an unloved sack of potatoes (or, perhaps, a precarious stack of chicken crates). The lovely white dress and all its peers went flying in all directions, scattering about the courtyard, while Lucilla gasped for air, more prone than before. Stars swam across her vision and she felt dizzy, discombobulated, head spinning from the heavy blow. She definitely bounced her skull off the ground as she landed. Or did she? What way was she facing? Oh hell, she could barely think straight let alone stand up. That couldn't be good.

Then, shadows. Over her. Three of them.

The blast had sent her fog scattering for cover, and the thugs didn't wait around. They now loomed above her, weapons pointed at her wriggling form, and she felt someone kick her blade out of her hands. Pain flashed from her fingers up her arm. A heavy boot crushed her now-empty hand.

She groaned.

"You were sayin', your grace?" someone said with a mocking tone. The elf.

"Grab that rope," barked another voice, maybe the thief. "Quickly! Before the watchies get he-"

And whatever he intended to say to finish his sentence was lost beneath a shocking boom and another flash of brilliant light. The noise rocked the small courtyard, shoogling Lucilla's ribs and drowning her ears in its mighty bang. Had she been hit again by the pendant's pulse? No, this wasn't a red flash. Yellow - a yellow so bright as to be almost white. It seared the vision from her eyes, blinding her for a moment, sending a burning pain through her head. But ... the boom had not been directed at her.

You will cease and desist kidnapping this girl, bellowed a voice, inhuman. Hollow, metallic.

"Holy shit," someone screamed. "Max! Oh gods no, Max!"

Do not resist.

Then - a clatter of metal on metal, followed by hollow clang of someone slamming metal into something thick and soft. A body. Another voice screamed, getting farther away as if being thrown.

Lucilla rolled on the ground, the strange noises whirling around her as she curled her knees and tried to get up. Vomit boiled in the pit of her stomach, like she could hurl at any second. Bloody hell, how hard did that pulse hit her?

Another clang - metal on metal again.

Cease attacking. Your weapon cannot penetrate my armour. You will not succeed.

Another thud, another scream. Cut off suddenly by a heavy crunch.

Lucilla felt blackness cloud her vision, pain lancing through her skull from the side of her head. It nearly swept her right off her knees again, but she couldn't stay down. There was a fight going on. She had to get up. She had to move!

"Die already!"

Another clang.

Ouch.

Just kidding.

A thud. No screaming this time. A wet sack hit the ground maybe a metre, two metres from Lucilla's position. No. Not a wet sack. A body again. Her stomach lurched.

Footsteps. Heavy. Away from her.

Lucilla breathed heavily, puffing her cheeks, steeling herself to her nausea. Come on, Lucy! Get your ass up! She blinked tears out of her eyes, angry that they'd appeared at all. But her head was on fire. Vision full of stars. She couldn't stop them.

Theft and kidnapping are criminal activities. Please return your stolen goods and await the city Vig-

Another clang. Then a thud. Very wet this time.

Nevermind.

Lucilla finally got to her feet, pushing with all her might, giving it her entire force of will. She stood woozily, wobbling, waiting for the world to stop spinning so that she could see what was happening. It took a few moments and more than a few heavy breaths, but eventually she could see.

And what she saw was death.

A titan stood not far from her position, looming above a body that was presumably once the thief - but whose head had been concaved by the titan's heavy mace, which now dripped with squishy bits. Lucilla nearly hurled again at the sight. The titan must have been a good seven feet tall, easily as wide as two men, clad entirely in heavy, angular plate armour in the style of the Valenian Empire's Protectores, a specialist military order to do with magic ... stuff (Lucilla did not know much about them). Except the armour had been poorly maintained. Dents, scuffs, and stains pockmarked the plate all over. Some of it was a patchwork of different colours, as if repaired a great many times. Lucilla couldn't see the titan's face behind the grille of its winged helmet. But it rotated to face her.

Your grace, it said, and she realised the hollow voice was its own. Are you alright?

Her eyes widened. "Behind you!"

The elf was still alive, stalking towards this titan with one arm drooping at his side, blood dripping from his fingertips. He clutched his sword in the other hand, thrusting swiftly - blindingly swift - right into the titan's flank.

Lucilla screamed and clutched her hands to her mouth, watching the blade plunge between two of the titan's thick plate segments - into and through the padding beneath. The titan juddered and froze for a moment, seeming surprised by the blow. But the elf was still moving. Not waiting to give this plated warrior a chance, he withdrew his blade and made to-

-wait. Where was the blood? The elf paused and glanced at his weapon. It was ... clean? His mouth dropped open, slack, brows furrowed in confusion.

What happened next, Lucilla would not have believed if she hadn't seen it herself.

The titan's torso rotated a full one-eighty, but its legs remained in the same forward position. It just spun, on the spot, and lashed out with a thick-fingered gauntlet to grapple the elf by his thin neck. He yelped, dropping his sword, raking at the titan's fingers, but he was but a wee skinny babe in the clutches of a hungry troll. Its legs turned to match the direction of its torso, and Lucilla saw the elf gasping for air, cheeks going red, as the titan squeezed his throat. His legs dangled uselessly a foot from the ground.

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. Then she tried again, fighting away the lump of fear in her throat. It hurt, mercy did it hurt, but she forced it down with a hard swallow and a deep scowl.

"S- stop!" she yelled.

The titan's head swivelled to look at her. It kept strangling the elf.

"I said stop!"

It opened its gauntlet. The elf fell to the ground, twitching with heavy coughs.

"Please ... no more killing," she said, feeling herself become more steady with something to focus on. But her stomach could blow at any moment. And she was weak. Hideously so. OK, maybe she wasn't so steady.

The titan looked back down at the elf at its feet. Then up at her. Its armour looked untouched from the fight. Not more damaged than normal anyway. The thugs never stood a chance.

"W- what are you?"

I am Jendar. Are you hurt?

Oh man what a question. Did he want the short answer or the long one? It had to be pretty bloody obvious. "Yes. But- but I'll be alright."

Silence. It nodded its head and did not say more, looking back down at the elf and casually kicking away its sword as if only just now noticing it. This titan was almost ... awkward. Like, uncomfortably silent. What the heck was this thing? Was it alive? Well, it had to be. It spoke! But how had its torso rotated like that? She'd never seen anything like that.

Then, it looked straight at her. No - past her.

Ah. We are about to be interrupted.

Lucilla turned to see where this 'Jendar' was looking and saw approaching soldiers - watchmen of the Vigiles. A small squad, four men, coming through the alley. No Uncle Rex. That probably wasn't a good sign.

The men's faces were deeply very frowny. The first of them, and by the far the meatiest, took barely a glance around the courtyard before he appeared to come to some kind of conclusion. He placed one hand very obviously on his sheathed gladius. His lackeys did the same.

"Roight, you two," he snapped pointing at Lucilla and Jendar. "Weapons down. Yer under arrest!"

Lucilla gasped involuntarily, cheeks starting to burn hot again. Not embarrassment this time - outrage. These bloody watchmen, didn't they know who she was? She was doing their job for them! But Jendar beat her to it.

What about this one? he said, cocking his helm.

The meaty watchman bared his teeth, or what was left of them. "Is it alive?"

Jendar nudged the body with a heavy boot.

No.

It coughed.

Yes.

"Fine. 'im too. You lot," he addressed his men, "cuff 'em."