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Lasso it? The big one? Okay sure, he could do that. He tugged sharply on the youma he already had in his grasp and sent another pulse of his magic, satisfied when it turned to dust.

“I can do my best!” He called back and darted out from behind the shield, spinning his lasso and throwing it, the thing harmlessly falling a foot short of the large youma.

Okay, try again. He spun the lasso again and managed to get it around one of the large youma’s legs, and gave a laugh of surprise and excitement. “Hell yeah!” He tugged the rope as hard as he could, hoping to shift the creature away from the shield that was protecting his friends.

Not that he expected it to work well but…anything helped at this point. He heard a shout from one of the other girls and laughed, deciding to try it himself. “Yeah, ugly, look over here you stupid thing!”

“For good reason,” Amarynthos declared, briefly swatting at the air as if that might clear it up a bit. It didn’t, so he stopped wasting the effort. Another suffocating plume of irritating particles erupted into the air when a youma was flung backwards and collided with the strange stalks in the center of the room.

Amarynthos didn’t have the means to cover his face so he just turned away and struck a nearby youma with as much force as he could manage. He’d lost sight of Ephesus a few seconds ago but his bear was in his direct line of vision, and it was still tearing at any youma unfortunate enough to stay within range. Already, a few had scurried off–which was good for those in Dering’s shield. Bad for everyone outside it, especially with the six-legged youma–

Dread bubbled in Amarynthos’ stomach at the sight of the six-legged youma launching itself almost through–nearly over–Stirling’s shield.

Amarynthos told himself that he didn’t have to worry too much about Ephesus, if only because nobody in that corner was screaming.

“Halle–those things don’t look like any plants you’ve ever seen, do they?” Amarynthos asked, because he’d already proven he paid attention in biology class and seemed to be comfortable assessing plants earlier.

“I want to kick the file cabinet!” Lyon said to Rose, so eagerly that it almost sounded like kicking file cabinets was just his idea of fun. He didn’t, if only because he saw the benefit of it being where it was. He wanted to flip the table too but a long-necked, snarling youma was trying to weave between Dering’s unicorns. It snapped at Lyon, too close for comfort but not near enough to n** at him.

So Lyon slammed the chair down on it, too.

It took four strikes to destroy the thing, and it exploded in a plume of dust. He choked on it, or the pollen or mildew or whatever rancid particles clogged the air.

Lyon was useless when it came to doing much outside of the shield, and given that he knew magic had its limits–though he didn’t know how long that was–he didn’t want to risk being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He retreated slowly, at least enough that he could make a quick(er) getaway if Dering’s shield failed.

Predictably, he stayed by Rose, who had proven that she was very strong. “Just tell me if you need help with anything!”

Dering’s shield held–for now.

He was breathing in short, steady bursts, like he had to manually force his lungs to function. He was gritting his teeth, hidden behind a hard-set frown. His brows were permanently stitched in the shape of worry, and his focus faltered slightly when Ephesus fell.

He wasn’t sure if a youma had broken through but it wouldn’t have mattered either way–his friend was hurt, and instinctively he dipped to hook his arm with Ephesus’ and help him up. Dering strummed awkwardly on his lute with one hand–discordant, uneven–but the shield still held, humming through the quiet cacophony.

Dering was not afraid of the mess, only that Ephesus was hurt. He had healing magic, but Dering doubted he’d have used it on himself unless everyone else was in good shape, and it still felt too early in this fight to know how they were going to get out of it.

He heard Reims call for help, and he wanted to hurry to him–wanted to assist however he could–but Dering was rooted firmly in place where he was. If his shield failed–and that was only a strong if!–then he wanted to make sure the Pages were as protected as possible, and they were already fortifying the area.

His heart lurched, seeing the giant youma crawling up Stirling’s shield, and though he couldn’t see much, he could see that it was straining.

Dering shoved an electric bundle of nerves deeper into the pit of his stomach. “Ephesus,” he said, softly and calmly, and repeated Rose’s words again: “You’re doing great.”

Dering couldn’t look at him for more than a second, and it was awkward to play one handed, but he wasn’t willing to release Ephesus until he knew he was okay.

Though strained, and soft-spoken, Dering’s voice neither trembled nor wavered. Even if his eyes were still darting frantically around the scene–counting youma, monitoring their friends–he spoke as if Ephesus was the only thing in his mind. “You can use my sleeve to wipe your face. Please don’t let that get into your eyes. Stay by me, you’re okay. Do you want to help them with the desk?”

The desk was safe, sort of. The youma hadn’t even dared to come near it, despite the flurry of activity across the room. It had three drawers, locked, but the desk wasn’t so fortified that someone couldn’t have yanked them free if they were eager enough to do so.

The computer looked like it had been plugged out of a 1990s Mac catalog–big and bulky. It wasn’t plugged into the wall but it buzzed with dull electricity, like a machine ten times its size. It must have been self powered–disconnected from the world, deliberately cut off from everything else.

Like everything else here, it seemed out of place. Even the youma–even the vines–were smart enough to avoid it.

The same could not be said for the knights.

Although, the combined effort of the group battling the six-legged youma finally seemed to start having an effect. Stirling’s reignited willpower fortified her shield, which reformed around the six-legged youma’s talons. It wasn’t enough to trap it, but it slowed it down. To continue its ascent it needed to tear itself free–a great effort in and of itself–but the barrage of attacks were disorienting and infuriating.

Everything they did was pissing it off.

Reims sword sliced through the youma with great resistance, like its ribcage extended through its entire middle. Something crunched in the collision, and splattered, and spilled.

The youma roared again, and bled. It wasn’t ready to give up. When it shrieked, it splattered Reims–and all those unfortunate enough to be close to it–with a disgusting, acrid spittle–hot and foul enough to burn on contact.

It would have been worse if not for Yvoire, whose quick work cast a mask of molten gold that fitted into its open mouth, muzzling it briefly. The youma thrashed, enraged, and howled a metallic wail. Talons trapped–blunted by Yvoire’s gold, cemented in Stirling’s shield–it was temporarily helpless.

Temporarily.

It bought them only a few seconds, and then the youma was back again–more furious than ever.

Cynthus’ mighty swing hurled one youma right at the six-legged monstrosity, and flailing as the little one was, it latched onto the larger youma when it landed, digging claws into it as it tried to right itself.

The six-legged youma didn’t like that, and clamped its fierce jaw down so hard that it dusted the smaller one immediately. It glowered at Cynthus briefly, maybe incensed by her insult. Maybe it just wanted to crush her into dust next.

It might have, had Lisse’s lasso not further hindered it. Lisse was able to rope one of its legs, and when he pulled, it was enough to dislodge one leg. And then, the youma fell backwards, landing hard against the floor. It rolled, scrambling to right itself–lashing out with tooth, and claw, and rage.

The other youma in the room had been thinned out–almost entirely, sans a few stragglers that didn’t seem to realize how badly outnumbered they now were. Or, maybe they did. Maybe that’s why they fought with a sudden frenzied enthusiasm.

They threw themselves at Dering’s shield, at Halle’s. They swarmed Amarynthos’ bear and Tulip, like carrion beetles on fresh decay.

There was the six-legged youma, and then less than five others remaining, but they moved so quickly, with such ferocity, that they remained unpredictable.

But, that made them reckless, too.

This was the final push–they had almost cleared out the nest.

They could almost breathe–sort of.

Before, Yvoire had been glad to be without his cumbersome hat and heavy cape. He regretted the absence of the extra protection as soon as the six-legged youma’s spit struck him.

He had just enough time to turn his face out of the line of fire. Hot and foul smelling, it seared bare skin the way Yvoire imagined his magic burned. A streak of it landed against his jaw. More dribbled down his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt and the bow at his throat. He felt the heat of it on his shoulder through multiple layers of clothing. The bare section of his thighs took the worst of it—a searing pain Yvoire winced and grit his teeth against. The stockings below were even less protective than the rest. The skin of his legs throbbed. His nostrils seemed to burn on every inhale, overwhelmed by the smell.

Reims’ voice pulled him out of a rising swell of panic. Yvoire breathed—deeply, stubbornly, coughing out whatever polluted the air. He could barely see the others through the haze, but as the number of youma dwindled he could hear more voices. The clatter of hooves. The beat of wings.

Yvoire scrubbed sour youma spit off of his jaw with the back of a gloved hand, smearing it along his front before it could sink too deeply into the fabric.

Focus, he told himself just as the six-legged youma took a vicious swipe at him. Yvoire dodged a direct hit. The tips of its claws pierced the edge of his sleeve, nicking the skin beneath enough for a gush of warm blood to stain his jacket a deeper red. Yvoire suppressed a startled cry. He stumbled back but kept his feet beneath him, boots covered in putrid sludge.

Steady. Yvoire gripped his parasol and took aim. Like Reims said. Keep it blinded.

Another wave of molten gold struck the six-legged youma’s face. Yvoire channeled his magic in a longer burst, coating what he could of its head and forward arms.

Between the spores and mold and youma dust, it was becoming progressively more difficult to ignore the foul air. Rose coughed, then swallowed with a grimace. In the very back of her mind where she was still capable of thoughts other than is anyone hurt and I have to do something, Rose made a note to start carrying face masks in subspace.

Fortunately, the youma pack was thinning. Lyon continued to make excellent use of the chair, Ephesus sent his tiger out to handle what remained around them, and Dering’s shield still hadn’t failed them. Further out, things became harder to see. There was still commotion around the six-legged youma. Reims’ shouting split through the room. She heard several other voices, too, (Halle, Amarynthos, Cynthus, Lisse) which she took to mean most of her friends (if not all) were still conscious.

Rose decided against hurling the computer. It was old and had no power source that she could see, but something about it set her on edge.

“Be careful with the computer,” she warned the others, as Ephesus approached the desk, too. “I don’t know if we should touch it, and not just because of the mold.”

Ephesus reached for one of the drawers, only to discover it locked. Rose tested the next one to similar effect. The third proved to be just as stubborn, but the desk itself wasn’t so sturdily built that Rose thought their efforts should stop there.

She caught Lyon’s eye.

“It’s not a file cabinet, but how do you feel about taking turns on the desk?” she asked. “I don’t think the locks are very good. We could probably break them.”

Cynthus was not at all intimidated by the six-legged youma’s glower. (She was very intimidated. Please don’t come over here. I’m just a girl!) While Amarynthos was being smart asking Halle about plants and Halle was being smart knowing about plants (even if maybe these plants weren’t normal plants), Cynthus shook her crook at the youma and continued her shouting.

“Yeah, what are you gonna do about it, you six-legged freak! Why don’t you keep your ugly mouth shut! How’s that gold taste, huh?! Get him, Other Twin! Keep his leg stuck!”

Cynthus had no idea if the youma was male. She had no idea if youma even had genders when they were youma, but it was hurting her friends and it was scary and it’d been lurking around the city enough for there to be conspiracies about it, which meant it might have hurt someone else too, so she’d refer to it like a scummy man until further notice.

“You think we’re afraid of you?! Think again, you creep! That’s what you get for going after my friends! Look at all the rest of your nasty, mangy dogs! You’ll all be dust soon!”

Cynthus only stopped shouting to hack up half a lung.

The new flurry of plant debris in the air had Halle pinching a corner of his cap and wrapping it around his face like a scarf. Air masks. If they had to come back again to clear out more of this place, they’d need air masks.

Every moment Stirling’s shield held true was like an extra tick of momentum for Halle, they will hold this line and clear this pack of youma. They will figure out what was wrong here and fix the unnatural patch of sickness with their city. Lisse will...lasso monsters, and do a good job of it. Seeing his brother work with Reims and Yvoire to take down the huge youma, Halle couldn’t help the sense of relief and, well, pride that accompanied the sight.

Still, the fight was only winding down, it wasn’t over. Even if there was a menagerie of summons now going to town on the smaller youma. Halle slowed the pace of his shield summon, feeling his pool of magic growing thin.

“They don’t,” he answered Amarynthos. “Considering the context,” a metallic clunk! rang out as he slammed his shield in a flurry of small, scrabbling limbs, “I bet they’re being used,” clang! “...for something.” Crash!

Cynthus began hacking, and there were more coughs heard throughout the room. “And they’re definitely invasive. We might need some kind of cleansing afterward,” he added as the fight wound down further, giving him the breathing room to step back and really look at the state of things. Not bad, but…

From his space, Halle pulled out a metallic bracelet and slipped it on. If there was another wave, he’d be ready for it.