Immovable Mage

– Era of the Wastes, Cycle 219, Season of the Rising Sun, Day 42 –

After the count had finally been defeated, people gathered around the figure that still looked like burnt charcoal even though many healers were already pouring all their mana into healing him.

The Guardian of their city had fallen.

Edmund was gravely aware of the weight in everyone’s gazes. He shared a look with the right-hand woman of the Whisperer that was standing next to him. He and the elven hunter both understood that this represented more than a loss in combat power.

Losing the symbol of their defense was a blow to everyone’s morale and in situations like theirs, a blow to the spirit always bore the danger of breaking everyone’s spine. A spineless defense can only lead to defeat.

A tall, grim-faced hunter looked at the unconscious Terry and began banging his right hand on his chest plate. Soon, he was joined by many hunters. Then others followed. Knights in golden armor. Even martialists and manaless joined.

Until Akemi shut them down with a reproachful shout. “He’s not dead, you idiots! Stop making such a ruckus! He needs rest!”

Even the grizzled hunter shrank back at the reprimand from the woman much shorter than him. A martialist wanted to retort that it was in fact the healer that was louder than anyone else with her shout, but somehow the chiding glare in Akemi’s eyes reminded him of his mother and he could not help but swallow his uppity comment.

Edmund snorted and shook his head. That certainly worked to break the tension. That was all they could hope for at this point.

Eventually, they carried Terry on a stretcher back to the Flower House where he was greeted by the horrified gasps of the manaless non-combatants – Brandon clung to Daisy while sobbing and the pale-faced woman was not doing any better herself at holding back desperate tears.

***

“Didn’t seem that impressive,” remarked a human soldier dressed in a crimson uniform. Ruby’s whole squad had all seen the pitiful figure of the Arcanian Guardian after his clash with the Kingdoms’ count.

“For his age?” An elven soldier pointed out the obvious. “I’d say that was impressive as hell. He held against a count. Even the Warlord himself would’ve been hard pressed when he was that young.”

“The Whetstone Arcanian has guts,” added a canan soldier.

“‘Guts’ is often used to describe a lack of brains,” scoffed the human. “The Warlord would never have let it come to such a situation.”

“Pointless hypotheticals.” Ruby cut off her subordinates’ meaningless squabble. She rubbed her chin before tracing her sideburns with her fingers. “If that was an act, then he must be the most committed actor I’ve ever seen. I can understand the overseer’s reports from Whetstone City now.”

“No sane person would hold anything back and allow themselves to face such a state,” stated another soldier and many nods followed.

“Which would mean that while his abilities are real, his limitations are too.” Ruby muttered her thoughts out loud. She narrowed her eyes with suspicion and gestured towards their latest reports. “But what about this? What about them? Sniffing out our bait and false leads with time is one thing, but now they don’t even stop to consider.”

Ruby held her forehead. “At this rate…”

***

“It’s been days already,” muttered Brandon.

“He’ll wake up,” stressed Jasmine. She patted the boy on the shoulder and went to the door.

Many people came regularly to inquire about the condition of their fallen Guardian. The healers were doing their best, but healing something like this took time.

Jasmine looked over the worried flowers and sighed when her gaze reached the fragile-looking manaless woman that had never left the side of their Flower Protector since he had been carried in on a stretcher. Jasmine had been worried about Daisy before, but the invasion attempts had drowned out all her previous concerns.

Nothing she could do about it now.

There was too much to do.

Jasmine waited for Iris to join her at the door. The flower of many tattoos had developed a new intensity when it came to helping the defense. Driven by the desire to help in any way possible, Iris was working tirelessly. She had even added new tattoos that she had previously discarded as possible options because they were ugly and would tarnish the art that was her body. Now, the concern with aesthetics seemed secondary to the utility of the body inscriptions.

Jasmine gave a nod at the tall elven flower behind the counter. If Jasmine hadn’t known Lavender for as long as she had, she might think that the elf remained completely unaffected by the whole situation. But Jasmine knew better. The flower in her elegant dress and expensive jewelry was very much worried and afraid.

But Lavender’s character was made of more resilient fabric than most. What others might confuse for uncaring coldness was in reality nothing more than pragmatic firmness. A character that never allowed her emotions to keep her from her responsibilities and this brought a smile to Jasmine’s face.

Jasmine knew that one day, this elven flower would represent the Flower House and she would be great at it, both for herself and for the others.

Of course, that assumed that the Flower House and the city state of the Freedom Cooperative would remain standing.

With a sigh escaping from her lips, Jasmine led Iris to Thiago, who could assign them tasks to help the hunters.

***

In the darkness of the night, a cloaked figure stepped into a tent where no source of light was shining. Such illumination would be a flaw that might reveal their location and it was entirely unnecessary.

Pairs of red eyes focused on the new arrival, clearly seeing the visitor in spite of the darkness.

“My lady, the enemy scouts have taken notice of our vanguard.”

“Unsurprising.” A cold voice emerged from the main seat at the table. “And welcome. Let them cower in front of the gifts that we’re bringing. Let them see that this time, they won’t just be facing our pets.”

“Pardon, my lady, but they don’t seem to cower. They’re still arming up the city and preparing their defense.”

“Defiant still?” A snort. “The count has done a poor job then.”

“Freedom’s Guardian has fallen but the man is still alive. He is expected to wake up soon.”

“Poison?” A voice whispered from the side.

“Of course the Hounds would advise that.” Eyes that looked different than the others and emanated death. Flames of green dancing in empty sockets whose flesh was pale. “They’re not letting anyone close. The Guardian’s location is the most guarded spot in the city. Are you trying to let the Unholy Duchesses fail? It’s bad enough that you wasted resources by settling on the wrong target. We should have directly gone for the Whisperer. The hunters are easier to flip. Even targeting that concubine of the Whisperer would have been more promising.”

“Enough.” The commander cut off the bickering. “The Hounds have chosen a good target I think. The Whisperer is paranoid and the addicted hunters aren’t among those he trusts. I don’t believe the woman could be easily flipped either and if we had targeted her, then we wouldn’t be able to keep her as a card to exploit later. Her weakness is of the body, not of the mind. Her weakness is the Whisperer’s weakness, but he is too proud to give in to threats when he has time to reconsider. If we play that card, we have to threaten her life at a decisive moment where he will react on instinct.”

After a moment of silence, the commander continued. “The Arcanian thorn in our side was the one person whom the Whisperer would not suspect and whom he couldn’t read from experience. It was unexpected that the Arcanian managed to escape.”

“Should we abandon the attempt on Freedom’s Guardian?”

“No.” The commander drank a sip of fresh blood from her cup. “Our army will bring down the city, but it would be a tasteless victory if we couldn’t crush their spirits first. Our duchess would not be pleased. We are looking for subjects, not just territory. We need all their spirits broken, lest we’ll be forced to spill all their blood.”

“Your orders?”

“The count chose the correct target. The Hounds had the right idea but chose the wrong means.” Another sip of blood. “We have to break the Arcanian, not use him. A man that doesn’t bend, you have to break. A man like that doesn’t break from pressure, but from either the weight of his own failures or from betrayal. Betrayal that has to be close enough to the heart to twist it.”

***

Terry woke up with a deep rattling breath and the first thing he felt was pain in every cell. He jerked and winced and the pain increased before the sensation of cooling water settled on his body.

Terry vaguely recognized the water-aspected healing variants of Heal and Cure Wounds. The spell structures looked much more sophisticated than the ones his dwarven friend Gellath had used, but it was still recognizable.

A higher level spell.

A continuous invocation from a spell structure in the room that was drawing ambient mana, albeit imperfectly.

They found a near master-level mage with water-aspected healing spells?

Under the dull sensation from barely suppressed pain, Terry’s mind fled to academic inquiry. He curiously examined the spell structures to distract himself from his aching body.

“Is he awake?”

“I think so, but why isn’t he reacting?”

Terry sensed more spells activating and they were joined by the healing touch of the Bright Lady and someone was pouring a potion down his parched throat.

Terry finally took in the mana signatures of those around him. He recognized them. He knew them, but the names escaped his grasp. His mind was still blurry.

Terry coughed a dark clot of blood and the motion triggered a prickling pain as if his whole body had been asleep and was now waking up. He turned around and faced the floor. His mana sight showed him a complex array of mana that looked like martialist formations as well as countless runic inscriptions further away.

They had turned this room into a healing chamber.

They had all added whatever means they could to help with his healing.

Damn, they really gave it their all. I must be dead or dying.

Terry coughed again and held his stomach from pain. He whispered. “...close.” He felt himself being lifted by soft hands and finally recognized where he was. He was in a room in the Flower House. Evidently, he had fallen out of bed.

“What happened?” asked Terry faintly.

“The count is dead,” said Akemi, who was pulling him up and helping him onto the bed. “And you’re not. That’s all that matters.”

Damn, my condition must be bad then. She always goes into details.

Terry could see his friends from the martialist trials. The expression on Rafael’s face told him that he must be looking worse than ever. Rafael and Guillermo had still joked with him when they had arrived. They hadn’t flinched the slightest at his previous injuries, but now they barely mustered the beginnings of a smile.

Terry recognized his friends from the Flower House and acquaintances from the broader Freedom Cooperative. Even the old lady from the alchemy shop was staring at him with quivering lips.

Further in the back were some of the martialists that kept addressing him as ‘Senior’, ‘Venerable Elder’ or other ridiculous epithets. Their gazes did not carry pity but an absolute faith that his awakening was to be expected. Terry recognized the elder that had given him an extended speech about the lessons Terry had supposedly taught his juniors. The elder was smirking smugly.

From outside the window, Terry could see countless people peeking in. Concern. Relief. Hope.

All those looks felt worse than ever. Terry sighed inwardly. Sighing properly was way too painful at the moment.

“How long have I been out?”

The hesitation in Akemi’s answer was all he needed as a reply. Terry saw that neither Edmund nor Thiago nor any of their trusted aides were present. Best case scenario, they were taking a well-deserved rest. Worst case scenario, the next wave of enemies was already knocking on the city’s doors.

Terry tried to stand up from his sickbed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” growled Akemi with intense displeasure. “You’re in no condition to fight.”

“I’m…” Terry spared himself from uttering ‘fine’ by reflex since that felt very much like a lie. “...working on it. I will be fine.” He tried not to cough up blood again because coughing felt even worse than sighing. “I want to know the situation.”

“Can’t you tell?” Jasmine was kneeling down next to him with an expression growing in anxiety. “From here I mean?”

Terry reflexively swallowed and immediately regretted it when the burning sensation of his throat assaulted him with another wave of pain. Worse than the pain was the realization that even his senses felt diminished incomparably. His mana sense seemed to barely cover the Flower House and even that much was fuzzy.

“We can fix that,” assured Akemi, who was able to read the Guardian’s thoughts plainly on his scarred face. “But it’ll take time.”

Terry frowned with an unsatisfied expression. “...there must be something I can do.”

Akemi sighed and shook her head. “You can stay in bed. At least today. If I see you trying to leave one more time, I’ll cripple your legs myself to make sure you stay. I can always heal them again later.”

Looking at the hard glint in Akemi’s eyes, Terry wasn’t sure if she was serious. He frowned again. There must be someone that would help him. His eyes wandered to Rafael, only to find the felan averting his gaze and pretending to whistle without making a sound.

Unreliable coward.

***

The mood among the visitors had started joyful but quickly turned grave. The Guardian had awoken, but his state was still worrisome. Without a miracle, he would be unable to join the next battle.

Most people’s thoughts were preoccupied with the Guardian’s role in the next battle, but some were primarily concerned with Terry and how miserable the man looked. Even if Terry had survived so far, it was plain to see that this siege was killing him.

From among the despairingly anxious gazes, one was chosen.

***

Terry was limping in plain clothes along the street. Seeing all the people lending a hand to the city’s defense, he felt like a waste of space and air. Even manaless teenagers were acting as runners to transport supplies. And yet, he himself was being entirely useless.

Not entirely useless. I can always serve as a bad example. Don’t eat your own carefully prepared attack. Look at the idiot. Look at what not to do.

Terry glowered at his damned feet that weren’t working how they were supposed to. He had thought that the pain was the worst part, but after some of the pain had disappeared, something else had taken its place: numbness. He didn’t feel his feet properly. The heaven’s fury had permanently messed up his nervous system somehow.

Akemi had assured him that they could heal it, but other parts from his injuries took priority. Evidently, there was a long list to consider. In a season or so he should be fine, but they didn’t have that long.

“Greetings, Guardian!” A teenage boy was bowing to him on the street before dashing away with a backpack tightly strapped to his shoulders.

What was supposed to be a sign of respect only served to sour Terry’s mood further. Everytime someone addressed him as Guardian or any other bullshit title, he felt like a fraud. A fraudster that had dragged people into a battle they couldn’t win. A fraudster that limped around uselessly while others had to fight the fight he picked.

“Shut up.” Terry told himself, or rather his intrusive thoughts. Deep down, he understood that he hadn’t picked the fight. The fight had picked him. The Lich Kingdoms had started it. They had picked the city state as their target. He had just stood in their way.

Further down, Terry also understood that he had done his best. During the time that Akemi had threatened him into staying in bed, he had received ample time with his notebooks to ponder what could have gone better. After crossing out powers he didn’t have and options that would have allowed the count loose in the city, Terry couldn’t come up with much.

Heaven’s fury had been the right choice. The lightning had torn instantly through the count’s blood and significantly damaged his circulatory system. Damaged it enough to sabotage his regeneration for the others to pile on their killing blows.

Facing part of the attack himself had certainly not been the ideal outcome. Even less so with a mana pool low on mana. At least the count had faced the brunt of the attack since he had been higher up with his levitation and Terry had managed to shave off some of the incoming damage with the help of the divine hammer inscription.

They had won, even if it had come at a cost.

They had won.

If there was any lesson in the internecine duel, then that he had to learn to better balance his disruption domain with his own spellwork. Increased accuracy for the rotating spell slicers would be nice. If he could leave smaller openings for his own spellwork, then the openings couldn’t be exploited by an enemy mage. Then he wouldn’t have to physically hold an opponent and could rely on immovable shackles again.

Of course, the lesson was more training.

Of course, he was currently not in a state that he could actually start training and apply that lesson.

Terry glowered at the streets and kept his gaze down because he didn’t want to scare the passersby. Not again at least.

Aside from needing to be better, Terry wasn’t sure what lessons to draw from the fight. Facing innately high-regeneration opponents was as unpleasant as facing incorporeal ones, but that lesson could hardly be called insightful or actionable.

Terry limped towards the city’s garden park. He had grown up in Arcana’s Greenhouse. He had lived as a Flower Protector for almost the whole season of the Setting Moon. For all the misleading titles, this was the first day he had ever stepped foot into a flower field as large as this.

The beautiful sight almost made him forget his uselessness.

Almost.

Terry took some solace in the fact that such a place still existed within the city despite the hordes of undead that had arrived at its walls since the beginning of the Rising Sun. If he had to be useless, he might as well be useless in a place like this.

At first Terry had been hesitant to move story time to such a location, but now that he was actually here, the idea grew on him. Perhaps it would help distract Brandon and Daisy. The boy and woman were barely sleeping from what the dark circles under their eyes were showing.

Terry caught himself pitying the two when he realized he was doing the exact same thing that he had grown to dislike others doing when they saw his current miserable state.

I’m a hypocrite. What else is new?

Terry grumbled quietly and limped forward. He was wearing a freshly prepared armor set – excluding the helmet, which was decidedly impractical in his injured state.

The armor set was similar to his previous armor. He didn’t know why the crafters had wasted time and effort to supply him given that he was barely able to walk. Surprisingly, even Akemi had not objected to him receiving his equipment, which had taken Terry aback. For a woman that insisted he not so much as squint at the incoming army or the reports, that action seemed very much out of character.

Probably thought it might cheer me up. They must have taken pity on me. Or believed even I’m not big enough of an idiot to delude myself into believing I could be of use in my current state.

Terry took a deep breath and turned a corner. He was unfit to join the battle, but he could still read to people. He could distract those that needed distraction.

And if any shade slips in here, I can gnaw at its ankles to buy Brandon and Daisy time to escape. I can bravely dull its claws with my skull and clog its stomach with my arm and…

Terry allowed his self-deprecating thoughts to pass and limped further.

“Terry…” A fragile looking woman with glistening eyes bashfully walked towards him while biting her lips.

Terry flinched slightly. He wasn’t used to being surprised by people approaching him. Daisy was manaless and his mana touch was currently less than useful. He in his useless state still had to get used to this. “Hi…” He looked around. “Where’s Brandon?”

“Can we walk?” Daisy’s voice was quivering. She looked as if she was about to cry.

“...yeah.” Terry felt as if his throat was constricting. Seeing Daisy in such a state made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like the pitiful look fixed on himself. He averted his eyes and looked ahead. I guess Brandon’s waiting further behind.

The walk was slow and awkward. Terry noted that Daisy didn’t say anything, which was unusual for the usually bubbly and cheerful woman, but what was he supposed to do? He was not the most sociable in the best of moods and he was feeling far from at his best. He almost wished some of his assigned bodyguards had followed him into the garden to strike up a conversation.

Almost.

Mostly, Terry was glad to not always be coddled by people addressing him as Guardian this or Senior that or looking at him with the pained pity only a friend could show.

It was bad enough that he was useless, but the more bodyguards they assigned him, the worse he felt. Worse than useless. He was occupying capable fighters that could be out hunting undead.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was wasting more of the healers’ mana than any other person in the city.

At least they didn’t assign many bodyguards to him anymore. Although that was probably because they couldn’t afford it, which told him more about the approach of the Lich Kingdoms’ army than any of his acquaintances dared to tell him explicitly.

With his senses still crippled, Terry didn’t see the mana distortion until it was too late. He could feel the tug on himself, but bursting his mana sufficiently was beyond his current abilities.

In an entirely different location, Terry found himself in the presence of vampires and necromancers staring at him while Daisy walked in front of him as if to shield him.

“You promised!” begged Daisy with tearful eyes.

“So we did.” A vampiress looked at the two arrivals. She didn’t care much about honoring her words, but this was too pleasant not to play along. She didn’t just need the Guardian dead, she needed his symbolic value broken beyond repair. One way or the other. For the duchess. The duchess’ commander smiled. “You may go safely.”

Daisy nodded and turned around with a flushed face, red tearful eyes, and spoke with a trembling voice: “Terry, we have to go. Please!” She took hold of his arm and…

Terry jerked his arm free. “What…?” He stared with disbelief at everyone present. His breathing became erratic.

“It’s okay,” assured Daisy softly. “You’re safe. We have to go. Please.”

“Oh the pangs of love,” sneered the commander. “You should feel blessed, Guardian. Your life is safe because someone loved you enough to forsake everything else.” Cold snickers emerged from the surrounding soldiers.

The commander shrugged and gestured. “I wasn’t lying. You are free to leave. She brings you outside the city and we will allow you safe passage. That was our agreement.” She smiled a mocking smile. “Romantic, isn’t it? Just like a story. And they lived happily ever after.”

“Terry, you’re getting yourself killed! That city doesn’t deserve you! I love you, so please…” Daisy took hold of Terry’s hand and…

Terry wrested his hand back again. He lost his balance from the sudden movement and fell. Then he realized that it hadn’t just been the sudden movement and his numbed sense of balance. He could feel the trembling ground that was the overture to the invading army’s assault on the city. He immediately pushed himself up while ignoring the pain that assaulted him, and he kept his bloodshot eyes fixed on the enemy commander.

Daisy knelt down to try and help Terry up. “Terry, I love you. I’m just trying to save your life, I’m trying to save you! We can go live together and—”

“DON’T!” hissed Terry and his rattling breathing accelerated. He suppressed the scream that was stuck in his lungs and finally managed to stand up. He stared incredulously at the woman he didn’t recognize anymore. “Love? Save me? Nonsense!” He actually spat on the ground.

Terry’s spit was still red from blood. He was so beyond being able to fight and he was so beyond caring. “You’re trying to save someone, but I don’t know that person. Whatever version of me that would be okay with this lives entirely in your head.” He coughed and welcomed the pain. The pain would chase away the numbness. “That is not me. Whatever love you feel is fiction.”

Terry moved his gaze from the broken-looking human woman to the vampiress commander. “‘Happily ever after’?!” If this was a story, then it wasn’t the one he wanted to write for himself. Terry pushed Daisy away from him.

“No…” Daisy did not push back against Terry, even though the weakened man was not much stronger than her at this point. She only protested weakly and stepped back with a raised hand. “No, you don’t understand, I…”

Terry ignored the pain from his mana channels and forced the mana into the sheath inscription of his right dagger. He ignored his aching body and drew the keen dagger.

“No!” screamed Daisy.

“Very well.” The vampiress commander grinned. This could still be twisted to their purposes. Parade him in front of the city and claim he tried to escape. Perhaps subjugate his mind and let him admit it himself. “Capture him!” The soldiers stepped forth to face Terry.

“No!” Daisy stormed at the soldiers to shield Terry from them. “You promised!”

“Get her out of the way,” ordered the commander. The soldiers grabbed Daisy first.

Terry didn’t move to help her. He was doomed and couldn’t bring himself to use his last energy on the woman that had asked him to abandon the city full of people he knew. All the people he had doomed with false hope.

It didn’t look like the soldiers were going to hurt her either.

“No!” screamed Daisy with tears running down her face. “Let him go! You promised!”

“I promised to allow him safe passage,” hissed the commander. She gestured at Terry in his shaky battle stance. “Does he look like he wants to leave? He’ll die by his own choice if that is what he desires..”

“NO!” Daisy screamed with her face contorted with despair. She drew a concealed dagger but she had neither the strength nor skill to use it against the soldiers and one of them easily disarmed her before sharing a glance with the commander that nodded. Then the dagger found its way into Daisy’s chest while the commander observed Terry’s expression.

Terry’s feet moved before his mind had caught up with the situation. He tried to dodge the first soldier in his path but stumbled and instead settled on tackling the vampire that was preoccupied with getting a hold of Terry’s dagger hand.

Terry managed to use surprise and a well placed foot to imbalance the soldier and push forward. He saw Daisy pulling her dagger out of her chest with shocked eyes. The manaless non-combatant didn’t know that this would only accelerate the bleeding.

When Terry was within range, he grit his teeth for the last magic he might ever use. He barely managed to activate both the Heal and Cure Wounds imprints with Daisy as their targets. He knew his current state. Perhaps the only person he had a chance of saving was the manaless woman that had lured him into this situation.

Perhaps that was the end of his path.

Terry’s eyes moved back to the soldier that was firmly holding onto his hand with the keen dagger. He saw the vampire’s pale fingers on his wrist and followed the first idiotic idea that entered his mind.

Terry bit viciously into the vampire’s hand with all the strength his jaw could muster. A foolish action, but unexpected enough for Terry to wrest his keen dagger back and add one more slash that was unfortunately blocked. The whole idea only earned him a painful kick into his already aching chest.

Even so. The fact that in a clash with vampires, he had been the first to sink his ‘fangs’ into an enemy brought an agonizing chuckle to Terry’s lungs. If that was the end of his story, at least it would be written with irony.

“Surrender and do as I say or we’ll kill her.” The commander observed Terry curiously. She had raised a hand to order her soldiers to stop their attempt to capture him.

“Piss off,” growled Terry, who was sprawled on the ground with his eyes facing the beautiful blue sky above. It was blue but spotted with dark grey clouds here and there. He heaved wheezing breaths but despite the pain, he felt at peace. With that sky and his end in sight, he somehow felt at peace with the path he had chosen.

“Oh?” The commander giggled coldly. “Didn’t you just use your last naturalized mana to save her? Evidently you care. Surrender if you don’t want her death on your conscience.”

“Piss.” Terry tried getting up but failed. “Off. If you kill her, that’s on you. ” And on her for helping create this messed up situation. He saw a bird circling high above – hard to see with grey clouds as the background.

The vultures are waiting, I guess. How inconsiderate of me to let them wait… Terry managed to suppress the self-deprecating chuckle. It wasn’t worth the pain.

“The woman has sacrificed everything to be with you and this is your response?” The commander appeared amused. “How shallow.”

“Yup, that’s me.” Terry turned himself onto his belly to better push himself up. He knew that his resistance was a farce. The soldiers could have killed him by now. They were just toying with him. “Shallow and inconsiderate.”

With inhuman effort, Terry managed to stand up. High above, the loud hoarse scream of a hawk was heard multiple times in quick succession.

Even if it was a cruel farce.

Even if he was tired beyond belief.

Even if he had already made his peace with it.

Even if his beaten down body was begging him to give up.

Even if his mind was accusing him of being a fraudster and full of shame for his own weakness.

Even so.

Terry would hold on for as long as possible. Just like his idol the Veilbinder would have done. Just like his aunt Sigille had shown him to live. His whaka would expect nothing less.

They deserved nothing less than all he had to give.

As if to mock Terry’s proudly defiant resolve, falling bird poop added insult to injury by accurately landing on his head. It was more voluminous than any bird poop had any right to be and it somehow made his hair stand up with static electricity.

As if he hadn’t suffered enough lightning recently.

Terry sorely regretted not wearing his helmet for story time.

It hardly mattered.

Facing impossible odds and covered in statically charged bird poop, Terry would go down swinging. If the only marks he could still leave on the world were some poop-smeared bite-marks on some mildly annoyed vampires, then so be it.

***