The air in the chamber grew electric the second Tempus spoke.

  “Leaving so soon?” His voice was as smooth and casual as always, but the undertone of smug satisfaction made my stomach tighten.

  Corsair, the larger man in the ridiculous pirate hat, snapped his head toward the shadows where Tempus stood. His hand shot forward in a vague "stop right there" gesture, and in an instant, ethereal flintlocks materialized in the air around him, their polished barrels gleaming faintly in the dim light of the chamber.

  Tempus didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed almost amused, tilting his head as though Corsair’s sudden aggression was a mildly interesting development. “Now, now,” he began, his tone light, “no need for theatrics—”

  The crack of gunfire cut him off.

  Corsair didn’t waste time with warnings or posturing. The nearest flintlock fired, the bullet screaming through the air faster than I would have thought possible for something so archaic. Tempus tried to dodge, but the blast caught him mid-step. He staggered, his hand reflexively clutching his side before his body hit the ground.

  The deafening crack of Corsair’s flintlock reverberated through the chamber, echoing off the damp stone walls like a harbinger of chaos. My stomach clenched as Tempus crumpled to the ground, clutching his side. For all his theatrics and wit, he hadn’t been fast enough this time.

  “Tempus!” I hissed, my voice sharp, though I didn’t dare rush to him. Corsair’s eyes swept the chamber like a predator sizing up his prey. He moved with unsettling precision, his heavy boots thudding on the stone floor, the sharp click of his ethereal pistols resetting filling the room.

  “So, the rats have come to play,” Corsair sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. His flintlocks floated around him like silent sentinels, each one primed and ready to fire. “Let me show you what happens to pests who crawl into my tunnels.”

  Before I could react, Corsair’s hand flicked upward, and three of his spectral pistols fired in rapid succession. The bullets screamed through the air, ricocheting off the stone walls with an ear splitting whine. I dove for cover behind one of the rusted pipes, the heat from the near-miss grazing my shoulder.

  “Replica, move!” Libra’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. I glanced to my left and saw her crouched behind a cluster of crates, her eyes darting everywhere. She was clearly trying to find a plan among the chaos.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted, pressing myself tighter against the pipe as another volley of bullets peppered the space around me.

  “Buying us an opening,” she snapped. “Keep him distracted!”

  Distracted. Right. With Tempus out cold and Libra locked in whatever careful calculation her powers required, that left me to keep Corsair and his flintlocks from turning us into corpses. Great.

  I took a steadying breath and peeked around the edge of my cover. Corsair was advancing steadily, his pistols fanning out to cover every angle of the chamber. His smaller accomplice had already bolted toward the tunnel entrance, likely to fetch reinforcements.

  “Oi!” I shouted, drawing Corsair’s attention as I darted out from behind the pipe. “What’s with the pirate gimmick? Was the eye patch out of stock?”

  Corsair’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “Ah, the smart-mouthed one. Let’s see if you’re still so cheeky when I’ve turned you into a fine mist.”

  The air crackled with residual energy, the echoes of Corsair’s gunfire still ringing in my ears. Tempus lay crumpled on the cold stone, a dark stain blooming on his side. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the chaos. Tempus… I had to reach him.

  But Corsair was a whirlwind of lethal motion. His ethereal flintlocks danced around him, spitting fire and death with terrifying precision. Each crack of gunfire sent shards of stone and dust flying, forcing me to duck and weave, my breath catching in ragged gasps. I risked a glance at Libra; she was still crouched behind the crates, her brow furrowed in concentration, her hands moving in intricate gestures. Whatever she was conjuring, it wasn’t ready yet.

  My first instinct was to reach for Tempus, to try and establish a tether, to draw on his power, whatever I could gleam of it, and to transfer the wounds to any other enemies I could reach and fight. Maybe that would also wake him up…

  However, Corsair’s relentless barrage pulled me out of both my thoughts and Tempus’ area. Every time I dared to move, a hail of bullets forced me back, pinning me down. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood.

  I rolled behind a fallen pillar, the rough stone scraping against my skin. This wasn’t working. I couldn’t reach Tempus, and I couldn’t fight Corsair head-on. Not like this. I needed a different approach.

  I focused, pushing my awareness outwards, searching for any advantage in the environment. However, the only thing I could notice was the sound of echoing footsteps closing in. The cavalry was here, and it wasn’t on our side…

  The air in the chamber seemed to press down heavier with each second. Corsair stood like a predator at the center of the chaos, his flintlocks floating in a deadly orbit around him. Each crack of gunfire felt like a thunderclap in the confined space, the muzzle flashes briefly illuminating his twisted grin.

  Tempus was still down, his masked face turned toward the cold stone floor. I could see the faintest rise and fall of his chest—he was alive, at least. But that was cold comfort with Corsair relentlessly firing, pinning both Libra and me in place.

  I ducked behind the pillar again as another volley of bullets ricocheted dangerously close, fragments of stone slicing against my arm. I winced, clenching my fists. Every instinct screamed to run to Tempus, to form a tether and pull a sliver of his power to me. But doing that would transfer his wound to me. Would I even be able to bear the pain?

  No point in thinking. Corsair is still keeping me from reaching anyway, and his goons are soon to be here.

  “Libra!” I called over the cacophony, risking a glance her way. “Whatever you’re doing, make it fast!”

  Her masked head turned sharply toward me. “I need time! Keep him off me!”

  “Sure, no problem,” I muttered, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let me just waltz out there and ask him politely to stop shooting!”

  The sharp echo of more footsteps filled the chamber, cutting through the chaos. My stomach dropped as I spotted the reinforcements—seven, no, eight Red Hands goons flooding into the room, all armed with blades or basic firearms. Corsair didn’t even glance their way as they spread out, forming a loose perimeter around him.

  “Kill the woman in black,” Corsair barked, his voice booming with authority. “Leave the one by the crates for me.”

  The order hung in the air, a death sentence delivered with chilling nonchalance. My blood ran cold, but a surge of adrenaline sharpened my focus. This wasn’t good. This was very, very bad. Eight goons, plus Corsair, all converging on us. Libra was still working, her movements precise and focused, oblivious to the encroaching threat. I was on my own.

  I took a deep breath, forcing down the rising panic. I couldn’t reach Tempus yet, not with Corsair’s relentless fire and the incoming reinforcements. But I could create an opening. I could create chaos.

  The first goon, a hulking brute with a scarred face and a rusty cleaver, charged from the left. I rolled out from behind the pillar just as he swung, the cleaver whistling through the air where I’d been moments before. I sprang to my feet, using his momentum against him, grabbing his arm and twisting sharply. A satisfying crack echoed through the chamber as his elbow gave way. He roared in pain, dropping the cleaver. I didn’t give him a chance to recover. I kicked out, my heel connecting with his knee, sending him crashing to the ground.

  The second goon, armed with a crude pistol, fired as I turned. The bullet whizzed past my ear, close enough to make me flinch. I ducked behind a low-lying pipe, the metal pinging as another bullet struck it. I needed to move, to keep them off balance.

  As the goon with the pistol rushed forward, thinking he had me cornered, I burst from behind the pipe, grabbing a loose piece of metal rebar lying nearby. I swung it in a wide arc, catching him across the face. He staggered back, clutching his nose, blood streaming between his fingers. Before he could regain his footing, I brought the rebar down on his head, the sickening thud echoing through the chamber. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious. I quickly touched his head, creating my second tether on a goon before rushing to another cover.

  Just in time as a flintlock bullet pierced where I was a few seconds ago. A shiver ran down my spine.

  Two down. Six more, plus Corsair. And Tempus… I risked a glance in his direction. He hadn’t moved. I had to reach him.

  The chamber had become a maelstrom of violence. The air thrummed with the echoes of gunfire, the grunts of exertion, and the sickening thuds of bodies hitting the cold stone floor. Two goons down, and the rest swarmed like angry wasps, their crude weapons glinting in the dim light. Corsair remained a chillingly composed presence amidst the chaos, his ethereal flintlocks spitting death with calculated pressure. He hadn’t even deigned to acknowledge the loss of his men, his eyes fixed on me with a predatory gleam.

  I rolled behind a stack of crates, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My arm stung where a fragment of stone had grazed it, a small but irritating reminder of Corsair’s continuous harassing fire.

  I needed to reach Tempus. The thought echoed in my mind like a desperate mantra. I needed his power, his strange, temporal energy, to turn the tide of this fight.

  Another goon, this one wielding a rusty axe, charged towards my cover. I could hear his heavy breathing and the scrape of his boots against the stone. I braced myself, waiting for the opportune moment. As he rounded the corner of the crates, I sprang out, grabbing his axe-arm and using his own momentum to spin him around. I slammed him into the crates, the impact eliciting a grunt of pain. Before he could recover, I kneed him sharply in the back, sending him stumbling forward. I then grabbed his head and slammed it on the crates. Another tether.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Three down. The tide was turning, but ever so slowly. I glanced at Libra, her brow still furrowed in concentration, her lips moving, as if she were psalmoding. Whatever she was doing, it was taking its time. I was running out of it.

  Another volley of gunfire forced me back behind cover. I could feel the heat of the bullets as they whizzed past, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder. I risked another glance at Tempus. He still hadn't moved. The sight of him lying there, vulnerable and unresponsive, spurred me on. I had to get to him.

  I focused my senses, pushing outwards, searching for an opening. The goons were becoming more cautious now, their initial aggression tempered by the loss of their comrades. They moved in a loose formation, trying to flank me, to cut off my escape routes. I could hear their ragged breathing, the shuffle of their feet, the clink of their weapons.

  One of the goons, a skinny man with a nervous twitch, broke from the group and darted towards a nearby pillar. He seemed to be trying to get a better vantage point, to flank me from the side. This was my chance.

  I burst from behind the crates, sprinting towards the pillar. The goon turned, his eyes widening in surprise. He fumbled for his weapon, a crude knife tucked into his belt. I reached him before he could draw it, grabbing his wrist and twisting sharply. He cried out in pain, dropping the knife. I then grabbed his head and slammed it hard into the pillar. A loud crack resonated in the room, and it clearly didn’t come from the pillar.

  No time to dawdle. More gunshots.

  A searing pain ripped through my side, a white-hot agony that stole my breath. I staggered, clutching at the wound, my vision blurring. Corsair’s flintlock had found its mark. The bullet, or whatever spectral energy propelled it, had torn a jagged gash in my flesh, just below my ribs. It felt as though a white-hot poker had been thrust into my side and then twisted.

  The pain brought me to my knees, a metallic taste flooding my mouth as I gasped for air. The world seemed to tilt as if Corsair's shot had struck more than just my side. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to stop, to fall, to surrender to the pain. But I couldn’t. Tempus was still down, Libra was still focused on her ritual, and Corsair’s gang wouldn’t stop until we were all dead.

  I gritted my teeth, dragging myself upright. The blood seeping through my fingers felt slick and warm, a grim reminder of how close to death I danced. But there was no time for hesitation. I staggered toward Tempus, using the chaos of the goons circling and Corsair’s sadistic taunts to my advantage.

  Another goon lunged toward me, his crowbar arcing downward in a vicious swing. I barely managed to sidestep, the movement tearing at the wound in my side. The agony was blinding, but I forced it down, swinging the rusty pipe I’d grabbed earlier in a wide arc. The improvised weapon connected with his kneecap, shattering it with a sickening crunch. His scream echoed in the chamber, but I didn’t stop. I slammed the pipe against his temple, and he crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut.

  Five down. The tether snapped into place as I made contact with him, a faint pulse of energy buzzing at the edge of my awareness. More wounds to fling at them, but now I need to heal myself and Tempus. I can only try to make my tether without hurting the goons…

  I stumbled toward Tempus, each step feeling like I was dragging myself through wet concrete. Corsair’s flintlocks swiveled in my direction, firing a volley of shots. I threw myself to the ground, the bullets striking the stone where I’d stood moments before. Fragments of rock sprayed across my face, stinging like needles, but I pushed myself forward.

  Finally, I reached Tempus.

  He was still unconscious, his mask slightly askew, and his breaths shallow. The dark stain of his wound had spread, but his chest was still moving. That was all I needed.

  My hand trembled as I reached for him, my fingers brushing against his gloved hand. The tether formed instantly.

  “Good…” I whispered, wheezing immediately as the action made my wound prickle. The pain was getting bearable, but such movement reawakened it slightly.

  I dragged myself up, clutching my side. Corsair’s laughter echoed through the chamber, deep and mocking, as his ethereal flintlocks continued to hover around him like vultures circling a fresh kill. The tether with Tempus pulsed faintly, an anchor tying me to his energy and wounds.

  A goon broke from the pack, charging me with a bat raised high. His heavy steps echoed off the stone walls, the sound thudding in my skull. I had no time to think, only act. I sidestepped his first swing, barely managing to avoid the splintered wood. Pain flared in my side, but I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus. My hand shot out, gripping his wrist and yanking him forward.

  The moment I made contact, I felt it—the tether snapping into place, a connection forged in an instant. I didn’t hesitate. With a mental pull, I willed my wound to transfer to him.

  The effect was immediate. His scream tore through the chamber as he staggered, clutching at his side. Blood seeped through his shirt, mirroring the wound Corsair’s bullet had left in me. He collapsed to his knees, his bat clattering to the ground as he gasped for breath.

  My chest heaved, the pain in my side easing slightly as my body began to heal. It wasn’t perfect—there was still an ache, a sharp reminder of the injury—but I could move again. I kicked the goon aside, his cries muffled by the chaos around us, and turned just in time to see another thug lunging at me.

  This one was faster, more precise. He closed the distance between us before I could dodge, his knife slashing through the air. The blade caught my arm, slicing through fabric and skin. I hissed in pain, stumbling back, but the tether with Tempus thrummed in my mind like a lifeline.

  I reached out, my fingers grazing the man’s wrist. The tether pulsed, and I yanked on it with everything I had. Tempus’s wound—deep, ragged, and far worse than mine—transferred to him in an instant.

  The goon froze mid-step, his knife falling from his hand as his eyes widened in shock. He staggered, clutching his side where blood began to pour through his shirt. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cold stone floor, writhing in agony.

  "Two for one," I muttered, wiping blood from my face as I turned back toward Corsair.

  Both him and his last goon were clearly taken aback by the events. However Corsair didn’t stay idle for long and got back to shooting at me and towards Libra’s hiding place.

  I dove behind a nearby crate, the bullets splintering wood and ricocheting dangerously close. “Libra!” I shouted over the chaos. “How much longer?”

  Her voice came back, tight with focus. “A few more moments! Hold him!”

  Tempus was still on the ground, but his breathing had deepened. He stirred faintly, a slight twitch of his gloved fingers catching my attention. The tether between us pulsed in my mind like a heartbeat, its faint energy a flicker of hope amidst the storm. If he woke up now—if he could use his powers—we’d have a chance.

  Corsair’s attention, however, was wholly on me. His eyes gleamed with sadistic glee beneath the shadow of his ridiculous hat. "You’re a slippery one, aren’t you, girl?” he sneered, raising his hand. The flintlocks rotated around him, realigning with deadly precision. "But I wonder—how long can you keep running before my bullets find their mark again?"

  I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribs. I needed to buy more time.

  “Oh, please,” I spat back, forcing a smirk despite the burning ache in my side. “You think you’re scary with your toy pistols and bad cosplay? Get over yourself, Corsair. The Renaissance Fair’s long over.”

  Corsair’s grin twisted into a snarl. “Mock me all you want, rat, but let’s see if your sharp tongue stops a bullet.”

  The pistols fired in unison, a deafening explosion that lit up the chamber. I ducked behind the crates, splinters of wood raining down as the bullets tore through my cover. My mind raced. If I kept hiding, Corsair would corner me. If I ran, I’d be shot.

  A glint of silver caught my eye. Tempus.

  He groaned softly, rolling onto his side, his mask catching the dim light. And then, as Corsair’s flintlocks adjusted their aim to fire again, Tempus raised his hand.

  The bullets stopped mid-air.

  They hung suspended, spinning lazily in place as if caught in an invisible web. Corsair froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. The chamber fell into an eerie silence, the sound of dripping water the only thing that broke it.

  “What—” Corsair started, but Tempus cut him off with a low, rasping laugh.

  “You really should know better than to shoot at a timekeeper,” Tempus murmured, his voice laced with amusement. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, one hand clutching his side where blood still seeped, the other gesturing lazily toward the suspended bullets.

  Tempus’s sudden resurgence shifted the air in the chamber, thick with anticipation and disbelief. Corsair's sneer faltered, replaced by a flicker of unease that he tried—and failed—to mask. The flintlocks surrounding him wavered, their movements no longer as precise. His predatory confidence was cracking.

  Tempus, still holding his side, straightened with a slow, deliberate grace, as if time itself bent to his will. His hand remained outstretched, the bullets frozen in a surreal tableau mid-flight. The soft, metallic hum of their suspension vibrated faintly in the air.

  “I was just starting to enjoy my nap,” Tempus said, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of malice. “And then you had to go and ruin it with all this noise. Quite rude, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Corsair’s jaw clenched. His flintlocks realigned with Tempus in a rapid, almost desperate motion, their ethereal glow intensifying. “You think parlor tricks will save you, Timeman? Let’s see how long you can play your little games before I turn you into a corpse.”

  Suddenly, before Tempus could even jest back, the ground under us started trembling and moving organically.

  The ground beneath Corsair shifted unnaturally, as if it had come alive. It began to ripple and churn like a disturbed pond, swallowing his feet inch by inch. I stood frozen, unable to look away, as the solid earth transformed into something... wrong—its surface twisting and snaking upward in eerie, fluid motions.

  His legs were consumed first, the dark soil coiling around them as though it were alive, dragging him downward with an insidious purpose. The sound of the shifting ground was a wet, grinding noise that made my stomach churn, a sound no solid ground should ever make. By the time only his neck and head remained above the surface, I realized I was holding my breath. The ground rippled around him like a sea of snakes, a grotesque parody of motion, until even that slowed.

  “What the fuck is going ooooon!” Screamed the fake pirate.

  Finally getting out of my stupor, I looked around, to see that all the goons, down or not, were equally swallowed by the floor while our group was in pristine condition. Libra was calmly walking towards us.

  “That… that was you?” I asked, unsure. I thought with her name and all that symbolism etched on her costume, Libra would fight more straightforwardly, and here she manipulated matter?

  “Yes, although I didn’t expect the floor to move this organically, to be honest…” Libra replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from her masked face. She surveyed the scene, her gaze lingering on the disturbed ground where Corsair’s head was the only thing now visible. “I intended to create a simple fissure, a… well, a less dramatic means of incapacitation. The earth, it seems, had other ideas.”

  Tempus, still clutching his side, let out a low chuckle. “Perhaps it simply appreciates a bit of flair. A touch of the theatrical. Much like myself, wouldn’t you agree?” He winked, though the gesture was somewhat diminished by the grimace of pain that followed.

  Right then, where were we? Ah, yes, the dramatic entombment of Corsair and his chums. A rather theatrical exit, even for this lot, wouldn't you say? Let's continue, shall we?

  “Yes, although I didn’t expect the floor to move this organically, to be honest…” Libra replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from her masked face. She surveyed the scene, her gaze lingering on the disturbed earth where Corsair had vanished. “I intended to create a simple fissure, a… well, a less dramatic means of incapacitation. The earth, it seems, had other ideas.”

  Tempus, still clutching his side, let out a low chuckle. “Perhaps it simply appreciates a bit of flair. A touch of the theatrical. Much like myself, wouldn’t you agree?” He winked, though the gesture was somewhat diminished by the grimace of pain that followed.

  I shook my head, still slightly bewildered by the sudden turn of events. “Right. Flair. Just what we needed. Anyway, Tempus; what you are feeling is just phantom pain. You have no wounds anymore, stop acting all weak.”

  “Stop ignoring me! Bitches! Let me go!”

  “Well this phantom pain hurts like a bitch, I’ll have you know!” Tempus shot back at me. “And why are you so alright despite having clearly been shot at yourself?”

  I rolled my eyes, gesturing vaguely towards the still-shifting earth. “Remember my… abilities? I transferred the wound. It’s gone now.” I winced slightly as I moved, a phantom ache still lingering where the bullet had grazed me. “Though Corsair’s bullet was rather unpleasant, I must admit.”

  “Unpleasant?” Tempus echoed, raising an eyebrow, his gaze shifting to the writhing earth where Corsair was still trying to get our intention. “Though I must say, Libra’s little… earthworm impression was rather effective in distracting me from my own discomfort. Most appreciated, my dear. Now then, ladies, what should we do with our captive?”