Capricorn was approaching. I saw a mote pass me, and I shook my head. Error saw, turning to Capricorn. He froze.

Spright looked at me. I raised my hand, indicated with a thumb jab. That got me a nod.

I seized Sveta and dragged her away.

Trial twisted around, chains raising up around him. Four at each side, each as big around as his arms were, tipped with a spiked ball as large as his head.

Error, meanwhile, had her hands out to her sides, one in front, one to her left. A mime pressing against two walls of her invisible box. Except it wasn’t—she was broadcasting, or maintaining a signal.

Trial went on the offensive. Chains whirled at one side, rotating in a circle with enough force to strike the ground and cast him forward. Spright slid on the ground, ran to chase—

“Go,” Sveta said.

I charged in.

Spright manifested his own chains. He started to swing them around—and then stopped. Chains shattered, each individual link breaking. He turned to look at Error.

Too dangerous to use when under her influence?

I had to unravel this—figure it out. While her back was to me, I could go after her. Wretch out—one move to take her out of the fight. Given what we were up against, I wasn’t sure we’d get a second shot.

A swing for the legs, like I’d done when hitting concrete.

I felt the effect as I got within a few feet. I felt it intensify as I swung—

I saw other movement in the corner of my eye. Shortcut closing in. The effect was like grabbing soap, only for it to slip free of one’s hands. The swing was too soon, the angle and arc, and Shortcut’s timing of super-quick approach put him squarely in the way.

I canceled out my power. I swung only a fist, and my fist turned up, so I struck him with a lighter blow using the heel of my hand instead. I hit him in the shoulder, strength unaugmented.

He shoved me away. He swung his polearm, missed, and the butt end of the thing came perilously close to me. If I hadn’t been flying back and away, it would have hit me.

Was it because it didn’t hit me that it succeeded in scratching her? Or was the power itself no guarantee?

More concerning was the chain guy. Trial. I flew back, out of shortcut’s reach, and I tried to find an opening.

The chains were defensive—they slapped at Byron’s water, they blocked Spright. They were offensive—small wrecking balls with whip-crack power behind them. They were mobility. Whirling them in one hand like a wheel or whipping them around him like a fucking skip rope—I hated these guys—moved him at high speeds, with good maneuverability.

Error might need to concentrate. She seemed to focus on looking at people.