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Seth rolled his shoulders back as he walked towards the sound of the guards. In only a matter of moments, he knew they would round the corner and see him. There would be no way around fighting them. They might leave him alone, might not see the halfling girl tucked behind that statue only a few feet away, but they would see the dead royal guards. The little female had spirit, but he would not drag her into a fight.

The guards rounded the corner, their armor gleaming in the torchlight. Crimson blood was splattered on their armor. From the smell of it, it was not human blood. Seth felt his magic roar inside of him. Their swords had been wiped clean.

They had been killing the unarmed prisoners that Kat and Callum had released. He knew not all of the prisoners would make it. But that did not stop the anger from churning inside of him.

The guards were almost to him now. Their body language relaxed upon seeing him. Seth knew they could not see his wicked smile beneath his mask. He did not change his pace or reach for his sword. He waited until they spotted the dead guard further down the hall.

He almost laughed when they drew their swords. One man’s arms began to shake in fear as he held his blade before him. Seth shook his head slowly. They were not used to fighting an armed opponent.

“You poor fools,” he muttered.

Direct magic, would fail on impact with their iron armor. They knew it and he knew it. Sadly for them, he did not need magic to deal with them.

Seth lunged, his leg sweeping beneath a guard, knocking him to the ground. His magic pushed against his body — he moved faster than should have been possible. The wind encircling him made his strikes stronger and harder. Shields formed around him as he launched himself at the second guard. Seth pinned him to the ground with his arm. The iron hummed beneath Seth’s body, but the thick leather of the royal guard’s uniform kept him safe from the metal. Only his bare hands were exposed to the iron. The skin was already beginning to turn a shade of bright red, but Seth ignored the pain.

“Yield,” the first guard commanded, his iron sword at Seth’s throat.