Jed heard the whistle of the cricket bat and parried the strike with the pipe while taking a blow from the police baton in the back. With a grunt, he whirled and managed to land a retaliatory strike, hitting the rear attacker in the upper arm. Anticipating the bat swinging for his head, he ducked, but the blow connected with his right shoulder, sending a spike of pain up into his neck. Enraged, he turned and charged the fighter wielding the cricket bat. With a primal bellow, he rained down a rapid and relentless series of strikes on the man—breaking the attacker’s forearms and finishing him off with a skull-crushing strike.

A blow to the side of his head set Jed’s ear on fire and lit up stars in his vision. He spun, his equilibrium shaken, and stumbled to a knee. In his peripheral vision, he saw the baton go up and raised his pipe to block the incoming blow. His adversary adjusted midswing and whacked Jed on the back of the hand, causing him to drop his weapon. Understanding he’d be punished with pain but knowing that getting inside was the best tactical option, Jed rushed his opponent. The baton came down hard on his upper back, but he tackled the club-wielding attacker like a linebacker anyway, driving the man to the cobblestones, and slamming his body weight down on top of him with a sickening crunch. He’d drawn back his right fist to pound the man’s face when he felt himself suddenly struck with a powerful blow sending him inexplicably flying through the air. He hit the ground with an agonizing thud a few feet away. An involuntary groan of pain escaped his lips as he looked up to find the Dark One in the hooded sweatshirt glaring down, eyes glowing like embers. Several of the thugs Jed thought he’d dispatched were now back on their feet, weapons in hand, walking to stand beside the leader.

“Like I said, Jedidiah Johnson, intact or in pieces, you’re coming with me,” the Dark One said with a victorious sneer and then bent at the waist to pick up the metal pipe.

Jed scanned the ground around him for something, anything, to defend himself against the reassembled horde, but there was nothing.

“Take him,” the leader said, and the attackers charged.

A deafening crash reverberated in the square.

Jed turned in the direction of the sound to see the white van that had been blocking the alley entrance now being plowed sideways into the courtyard by a delivery truck. The truck doors opened and three operators, moving in fluid, coordinated precision, stepped out and engaged the enemy fighters. Muzzle flashes lit up the courtyard like lightning as Jed’s Shepherd teammates unleashed a firestorm on the dark fighters, dropping every last one of them except for the leader, who turned to flee.