The black tendrils of her drow magic burst from her fingertips. Given how big and brutish the ogre was, he moved with shocking speed. One meaty gray hand whipped up and caught three of the lashing tendrils. The other two whipped across his face and neck, but Cheyenne lost all control when he yanked the fistful of tendrils down by his side, pulling the halfling along with them.
She didn’t have time to conjure another spell or slow the rest of the world down while she sped up. Jamal grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her off the ground. Cheyenne screamed at the fire racing through her wounded shoulder, and the scream lasted as long as it took for her to fly across the dining room before she hit the window frame at the front of the house. Her back thumped against the wall before she crumpled onto the floor, tearing down the curtains and the curtain rod that came crashing down on her head. By the time she’d untangled herself from all that fabric, Jamal had grabbed the back of the chair with one huge hand. The other was pulled back in a fist, aimed at Anasz’s face.
The halfling roared and fired an orb of black energy at him with both hands before leaping back to her feet. Each spell knocked the ogre back a little, but they didn’t stop him from leaning down even farther and bringing his fist down toward the goblin. Cheyenne ran toward him again, frantically unleashing her magic. The lashing black tendrils bursting from her right hand whipped toward the ogre, while a shimmering curved sheet of opalescent energy materialized between him and the goblin woman.
Jamal’s fist smashed into the drow shield Cheyenne had pulled out of nowhere. It let off a sound like a gong being hit with a thousand volts of electricity. The ogre’s fist, arm, and shoulder bounced off the shield, spinning him sideways and away from the half-drow launching herself at him. The black tendrils wrapped around his wrist and arm as he roared in surprise and pain, and she jerked him away from Anasz with all the strength she had.
Apparently, it wasn’t enough. The ogre only staggered sideways, grabbed the tendrils again with the other hand to rip himself free of them, then sent shards of dull-silver light shooting from his palm toward the halfling. Cheyenne slipped into her enhanced speed long enough to duck beneath the attack and rush Jamal at top speed. Time slowed again when she crashed into him, knocking all the air from her lungs as the ogre sailed backward into the dining-room table and turned the whole thing into a pile of well-polished kindling. She landed on top of him and smashed a fist into the side of his jaw.
The ogre threw her off him and clambered out of the pile of splintered wood just before the halfling sent her foot into his chest. He staggered back, and when she spun and sent her other foot arcing toward his thick jaw, Jamal surprised her with his speed again. Her leg smacked right into his open hand, his thick fingers wrapped painfully around her ankle, and then he jerked her off her other foot and tossed her to the floor.
The black tendrils she had coiled around his neck wrapped tightly enough to keep her from hitting the faded rug on the hardwood floor. She landed awkwardly on her feet and jerked down with her lashing vines of magic. Jamal stumbled toward her. Cheyenne released the tendrils from her hand just so she could pull her fist back for what felt like a punch that might take his head off.
The power behind her arm, flaring through her body and numbing everything else she felt came out of nowhere, completely unexpected. She was briefly aware that her entire arm and her curled fist had erupted in flickering black flames, licking at her skin and the air around her and fueling her with more fury and chaos than she knew how to handle. It was almost enough to make her stop, but that decision was made for her.
Jamal dropped to one knee in front of her, gazing up at her, not with fear, but with a fierce admiration and approval she didn’t understand. His hands fell to his sides, and the low whine of Rhynehart’s fell pistol tore through her head when the FRoE operative brought the barrel of his weapon up to the side of her head. Whether that barrel pressed against her flesh or hovered an inch or two away, Cheyenne couldn’t tell. She couldn’t feel anything but the chaotic, violent force ripping through her and out of every part of her body, and she thought she saw those same black flames from the corner of her eye, flickering along her cheeks.
“That’s enough.” Rhynehart said it calmly enough. Maybe a little too calmly. It didn’t sound anything like the warning threats he’d given both her and the goblin woman tied to the chair. He sounded like a movie director calling it a wrap so they could move on to a different scene. “Stand down.”
Cheyenne badly wanted to release all that quivering power, to send it straight at the ogre on one knee in front of her, who shot her as close as an ogre could get to a wicked grin. But she didn’t. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard her voice through the buzzing hum of the drow magic that had burst through her skin to cover her head to toe in black flames.
You could do it, and then that gun would fire at your head, and you’d be dead
