The transition from deep, dreamless sleep to a state of high-alert combat readiness happened in a fraction of a second. William's instincts, honed by a lifetime of war in another timeline, overrode his groggy adolescent mind.
As he tumbled from the cushions, his body jolted up with explosive force, his shoulder catching the side of the heavy sofa and flipping it onto its side with a resounding thud.
Before he had even fully found his footing, fifteen flying knives sang as they exited his pouches, hovering in a deadly, vibrating arc around him. They darted left and right like silver hornets, seeking targets.
Simultaneously, he drew his sword with his right hand and gripped his bow with his left, while three specialised arrows were tossed into the air by a flick of his wrist, suspended briefly by his spirit power so they could be snatched and notched at a moment's notice.
