Jasson could have killed them all. His battery was nearly full and these Lizard-Men didn't look resistant to Dragon's Breath (The high damage ability for the Fire Crystal). But Jasson was saving his battery for stonier foes.
Also, he didn't want to level the buildings behind the Lizard-Men. So he ran.
"Aeee!" Jasson sprinted down the street, a hair away from the grasping claws of the enemy.
Up one road, down another, he somehow looped back to run into the back of the army. Jasson spun and ran dead-tilt in the other direction, waiting until his lungs burned to look behind him.
The enemy slowed down behind him. Why-
Wooft!
Jasson ran into a firm but springy mountain. THE Mountain.
"Hello there Lad," Grog picked Jasson up and set him aside, "I thank you for luring them this way. Has anyone told you that you make good bait?"
"Yes," Jasson coughed, heaving air into his lungs. He wanted to collapse, but struggled to his feet. Grog was going into action. There was no way he was going to miss this.
Jasson felt his bones shake as a deep, revving thrum filled the air. The Lizard-Men clutched at their heads and hissed. Grog stood unmoving as rocks skittered around like water on a hot pan.
Then, the head of every Lizard man exploded.
"That's the problem with fast breeding monsters," Jane's voice said from above Jasson, "They're all identical."
Jasson stood up and saw that on Grog's right shoulder was Jane. Wearing a flattering helmet with a massive air crystal and holding the severed head of a Lizard-Man.
"I think I'm done with this head for a while," Jane tossed Grog the Lizard-Man head, "Where to next? Any emergency bottles left?"
"Just two," Grog motioned to Jasson, "His and that other one. You and me, Jane. We're all that's left of the Metal ranked adventures."
Jane looked down at Jasson and said, "You don't seem like you'll die anytime soon."
"I don't know about that," Jasson said, holding up his phone and showing Grog the picture of the sewers, "I'm looking for trouble. For this place specifically. I-"
"Is this a picture from one of the rooms in the Wet Rat Inn?" Grog said, "I was wondering why you didn't come into the guild earlier. At least you're here for the action."
"Yeah," Jasson said, "There were these super violent guys that stunk like the sewers, and this was the view from the window in their room. Room five, I think. The lady at the desk said that those windows showed a view that would be familiar to all of them. And look-"
Jasson swiped to the zoomed in screenshot, "I spotted these."
"Humans?" Grog growled, "In cages?"
"That's what I thought too," Jasson swiped to the next picture, "Except that these look exactly like the eggs of those weeping angels. Those statues that move from a few days ago? So I was thinking that these guys were probably the ones that brought those statues from before. The ones from the potter's warehouse. What do you think?"
"I think you are on the right track," Grog took Jasson's phone delicately and held it up to Jane, "I don't get out much these days. Do you recognize this place, Jane? I was thinking of the Northern Sewers, close to where the river runs out of town."
Jane said, "Maybe. It's an overflow area between sewer gratings. More common in the capital than here. I haven't had the chance to explore this area much, so you'd know better than me."
Jasson blinked and said, "Wait, you're new to the area?"
Jane looked down her nose at Jasson, an easy thing to do atop Grog's shoulders, and said, "Of course. I was a leader in the Capital's Guild a couple of months ago. Now, all I am is a receptionist beneath this buffoon."
Jane kicked Grog playfully, then hopped off and landed gracefully on the ground.
"You know that you're my right hand." Grog chuckled, "She lets the lack of a title get to her. Always has. Feels insulted by people calling her by her first name rather than 'Captain Blare.'"
Jasson blinked, "Do you…you two seem to have a bit of a history."
The two of them shared a look with each other, Guildmaster and receptionist, and laughed.
"We do," Grog said, "But now's not the time for that. Let's get you to the northern side of- oh hello, Dockson!"
"I see you two manning your post," Dockson said, scribbling in his notebook, "I'm following this suspicious individual."
What? Jasson thought.
Grog put a TV sized hand across Jasson's shoulders and fished in his locker with the other. Grog held out a large white cloth to Jasson, about the size of a bedsheet, as Jane talked with Dockson.
"Here you go," Grog said, "Now, don't lose your grip. It should open up right before you hit the ground, but you might as well do it early. Technically this is only approved for Tin ranks and above, but I figured you'd be up for it."
"Oh," Jasson took the cloth, still thinking about what Dockson said, "Okay."
"That's a good lad," Grog snatched the back of Jasson's shirt, "I'll try not to hit any of the flying monsters with you. Good luck, lad."
Jasson wrapped the blanked corners in his hands and said, "What?"
Grog picked Jasson up and pulled his arm back.
Whoosh!!
Jasson blinked, and he was soaring above the city of Stalt, courage and bravado trailing behind him. Perhaps the gold from this wouldn't be worth it.
****
In the twisting dance, beneath a canopy of sparkling lights, Clara spun to face what should have been chiseled out of marble. A raw physique squeezed into a hurriedly tailored suit. A god with twinkling eyes and a slight smell of wood chips.
"Scott!" Clara said, giving him a quick hug, "What are you doing here?"
"I told you I'd come, didn't I?" Scott hugged Clara back before pushing her away and saying, "Is Harriett here? I can't see her, but that doesn't mean anything."
"No," Clara said, "She's not here. She gave us our invites, though."
"Really?" Scott said, grinning, "She probably stole them from the most dangerous house in the area. Has the Duke lost any invites recently?"
"Hah," Clara said, "You're more accurate than you know. So, how did you get in here?"
"Oh," Scott said, "I helped a couple of nobles on the road. They're still freshening up downstairs, so I went ahead."
Clara said, "And so they brought you here?"
"Yeah," Scott said, "I think they wanted to impress me. I was trying to make alliances with them, and I think the little sister has become infatuated with me."
Scott smiled like a man who knew that infatuation was a common state. Clara giggled.
"I see that Petra is enjoying the dance floor," Scott said, "Her dress reminds me of some out east, but without the sleeves. The young men seem to like it."
"I know!" Clara grinned, then remembered herself and straightened, "Pardon me. It seems apparent that they enjoy her presence."
"Ooh," Scott said, "Polite society. That's right."
Scott straightened and held a hand out to Clara, saying, "If it does please you, milady. Would you care to dance with me, de gozaru?"
Clara giggled softly and accepted his hand, then said, "Let's pass by Petra while we're out there."
They flew across the dance floor, earning a frown from Petra when they buzzed her shoulders. Then Petra lit up at seeing Scott and nodded to them, then turned back to her dance partner who stared at Scott with mouth agape.
Clara let herself fly in Scott's hands. He had a type of physical grace that, combined with his impressive size, made Clara feel like a dainty flower. Thrill danced along every move, and Clara reveled in feeling small. Like all she had to do was follow his lead.
The dance came to an end too soon, and Clara curtsied to Scott before stepping off of the floor, fanning herself. She wasn't out of breath, but a sweat was threatening to break out. A few steps later, Clara realized that everyone was watching her and Scott. Petra was hurrying along, discretely. Covering her face with a fan she had found somewhere, Petra's eyes were filled with…panic?
A presence, a familiar set of eyes, hung heavy on Clara's. It had been months, but Clara remembered that cloying presence. The overly polite arrogance that had annoyed her for so long.
"Clarity?"
"Hello Svarm," Clara said, turning directly to him, "I see you're enjoying the ball this evening. And the use of my first name. It's Miss Silver- er…"
Can't use my real name, Clarity thought, But…I can't stand him using this one either.
Petra appeared to the side and pulled at Clara, saying, "Terribly sorry, but we have somewhere to be-"
"I'm…glad you're okay." Svarm said, taking a step closer, "It's been months."
"Oh HAS it?" Clara rooted herself to the ground, iron locking into her spine as she turned to face him, "The time really has flown. I've been enjoying my vacation. How have you been? Enjoying breaking off our engagement? Sleeping with every grateful serving wench?"
Svarm squared his pathetic shoulders and said, "You were the one who broke our engagement. I merely suggested you go-"
"Really?" Clara poured ice over boiling words, "I must have misunderstood you. You told us to go away. That your house, one of the richest in the country, couldn't find room for your fiance and her sister. It was raining, Svarm."
Clara lowered her voice and the crowd hushed to hear. It was a dance and a show tonight, and they weren't about to miss any whispered gossip.
"It was raining, Svarm." Clara hissed, "(&*^% raining. I was cold and hungry and tired and you couldn't wait to turn me away once you heard what kind of things pursued us."
"You couldn't stay with me," Svarm said, eyes darting as he shuffled backwards, "They know our connection. My home isn't a castle that can withstand that kind of onslaught. It was better for you to go on the- the…run."
It sounded like an excuse that one rehearsed while looking at oneself in the mirror while rubbing at the bags beneath one's eyes. Repeated. Thought out. And lacking any conviction that those had been his actual thoughts in the moment.
"Funny," Clara said, cold rage cracking her knuckles, "you didn't seem to think that at the time. You did say a lot of words, so I could have misunderstood. But what I remember most was a boy that didn't want to die defending the girl that loved him. The girl that he 'loved and respected'."