"You should have stayed down," Fourteen said, voice warped through torn gears and wet laughter.
He walked toward them as if time belonged to him. Jaime's remaining arm shot out and clasped Fourteen's leg.
"Let them go. You want me, right?"
"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk." Fourteen looked down like a man judging mud on his boot. "You think too lowly of this one."
He kicked. Jaime's huge red orc body rolled across the stone.
Black blood sprayed from the missing arm and from the torn torso, spilling in thick ropes that steamed in the mana light.
Alaric did not waste a breath on disbelief. He shifted his stance and gripped the estoc with both hands.
His aura was scraping the bottom, eyes bloodshot, sweat pouring off his brow.
His gaze kept flicking to the knight core pulsing on Fourteen's abdomen.
Each bright green pulse was a mockery of the difference in power reserves.
Joji sprinted to where Jaime's severed hand lay and snatched the fallen sword.
He threw himself back into range with it.
