A wall of rolling flames engulfed Nikoli and billowed outward, buffeting against the golden bars of the arcane dome of protection. The slammer worked so well, I didn’t even feel the heat on my face. Still, I squinted and shielded my eyes from the blinding flare.

  After a few seconds, the blaze died down.

  Somehow, Nikoli was still swaying on his feet, though his beard was mostly gone, his face was a ruined mess of burns, and one of his arms was still missing—though the stump had been cauterized in the blast. Now it was a stub of char-blackened skin. His health bar floated above him, painfully low, but he was still hanging on for dear life.

  I bent over and picked up the POG, banishing the dome, but in the same instant, Nikoli lurched backward, slamming his fist against a nearby brass wall panel.

  In an instant, everything changed.

  Red lights strobed overhead and klaxons blared a warning as runes blazed to life along the walls, the floor, the ceiling—emitting a pulse of overwhelming pressure that hammered into my chest.

  I’d felt something like this before, back in the Jungle Gym Jamboree Arcade. A Runic Suppression Field. My mana dropped like a stone, though I could still feel a gentle ebb of power inside my core. I raised a hand to fire off a Hydro Fracking Blast, but only a limp trickle of water burst from my palm.

  Barely more than I’d get from a garden hose, and certainly not strong enough to punch through flesh, much less armor.

  A notification appeared, confirming my suspicion.

  You have entered a Partial Mana Suppression Field. Relics requiring Mana will operate at 10% efficiency while inside this zone. Your functional Mana Pool is reduced by 90% while inside this zone.

  “Stop him!” I yelled.

  But Nikoli was already moving.

  Despite his abysmally low health, Nikoli sprinted toward the back of the forge and leapt onto a boxy copper platform, etched with a dizzying array of runes. The second his feet made contact, the sigils flared to life and a hiss of steam erupted beneath him, accompanied by the thunderous clang of whirling gears. The platform cracked open, and half a dozen mechanical articulating arms erupted around him.

  More steam hissed from hidden valves as the mechanized limbs moved with terrifying speed and precision. Steel plated boots, riveted with copper, clamped onto his feet, followed by twin columns of overlapping steel plates and leather which locked over his shins and thighs, hydraulic pistons instantly adjusting.

  A bulky chestplate descended from above, suspended by thick chains, and slid into place with the precision of a clockmaker’s hands. Nikoli didn’t even flinch as the backplate folded in behind him, enveloping his spine in a lattice of metal, tubes, canisters, and pressure gauges. Massive shoulder pauldrons followed, clicking into place. Gauntlets shot forward from either side—though now he was down one hand.

  Gears whirled and clanked as the final piece, the helmet, lowered over his head.

  In total, it took only a matter of seconds before a juggernaut of steel loomed before us, like steampunk Ironman out of a medieval folktale.

  Nikoli’s eyes burned with fury behind in faceplate, and I knew that we’d fucked up.

  “Oh fiddlesticks,” Croc muttered from beside me, now the size of a bear. “This isn’t going to be good…”

  Then, as impossible as it was to believe, things got worse.

  “Comrades, to arms!” Nikoli bellowed, his voice oddly robotic and amplified by the suit. “Bring me their heads!”

  Around us, the enslaved Delvers stopped. Turned. Moved.

  Their collars flashed red as they surged forward in eerie synchronization, tools raised as weapons, their eyes hollow with despair. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Delvers didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to hurt us. I also knew they would, because they couldn’t stop themselves—not with Nikoli’s spiked control collars fastened in place.

  The Delvers shambled toward us while Nikoli lumbered into motion, leaping from the copper dais and landing with enough force to rattle the floor and knock tools from the walls.

  My mind raced, running through a dozen different scenarios in my head, one right after another. We were stuck, we were surrounded and outnumbered, my magic wasn’t working properly, and we had a roomful of hostiles that we couldn’t kill.

  Not in good conscience.

  If we had any hope of walking away from this, there were several things that needed to happen—and they needed to happen fast.

  “Jakob,” I yelled, “I need you to run interference. Keep Nikoli busy for as long as you can.” He would be least affected by the Mana Suppression Field, and I knew that if anyone had a chance of going toe-to-toe with Nikoli in that armored behemoth, it was our own shield-wielding tank. “Harper and Temp,” I thundered, “you’re on crowd control. Try to lock ’em down, but don’t kill them. Not if there’s any other way. Croc, guard my six. I’m going to see if I can’t disarm the suppression field.”

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  The others broke without question, darting off in different directions.

  Jakob sprinted across the floor, both shields already up and at the ready. Instead of slowing, he activated his newest charge ability, Bullrush Blitz, and a nimbus of burning red light erupted around him. Nikoli lashed out with a fist as Jakob closed in, but the heavy iron gauntlet clanged against the Cendral’s kite shield and didn’t slow him even for a moment.

  Jakob slammed into Nikoli and sent the steampunk mech stumbling back a few paces, though it didn’t drop his life bar any further.

  Meanwhile, Temp and Harper were doing their best to keep the enslaved Delvers off me.

  Unfortunately, with the suppression field in place, Temp didn’t have access to her single best crowd control ability, Puritanical Chains, and since we didn’t want to kill anyone needlessly, she left the cleaver at her belt and resorted to using her fists. The only silver lining—if there was one—was that the Suppression Field seemed to be affecting the thralls as well, so they came at her with tools instead of spells.

  Temp was small, but she was strong, agile, and in far better physical condition than any of the malnourished workers. She beat them mercilessly, leaving a trail of black eyes, missing teeth and broken bones in her wake. I winced at the sheer devastation, but it was better than death and nothing Harper’s Field Surgeon Spell couldn’t fix—assuming I could take down the suppression field and get our powers back online.

  “Follow me,” I shouted at Croc as I sprinted toward the copper panel Nikoli had used to activate the field. I figured if that plate was the on switch, it was probably the off switch as well.

  I skidded to a stop in front of the copper panel as Jakob traded blows with the iron juggernaut, and quickly went to work. The panel was bolted tight against the wall with a series of hex nuts, all rusted into place and sunk deep into reinforced steel brackets. I yanked my wrench free from my toolbelt, hastily adjusted the clamp size, then gave the first bolt a good twist.

  My arm shook from the strain, but the bolt didn’t budge so much as a millimeter. Whoever had put these bad boys on, didn’t intend for them to come off. Ever.

  But I wasn’t a quitter.

  I grit my teeth, leaned my weight into it, and tried again. Still, not even a wiggle. Superhuman strength or not, these bastards weren’t giving. I moved down the line—second bolt, third, fourth.

  Still no luck.

  But the fifth, securing down the bottom left corner, finally gave me something to work with—a squeal of stressed metal and the faintest glimmer of movement. I wriggled the wrench back and forth, trying to loosen up the threads. With two hands, I was sure I could’ve managed. With one, I just didn’t have the leverage. But I did have something else. My mind. The Suppression Field, dampened magical effects, but it didn’t eliminate them completely, and Psychic Sovereignty took almost no mana to use.

  Still pressing with my good hand, I applied additional force using a thread of mental power, and finally the bolt gave with a satisfying clunk. I spun the wrench with practiced ease, then finally pulled the first bolt away. I still doubted I’d be able to loosen the other bolts, but now there was a thin gap between the metal plate and the wall beneath. I swapped my wrench for the demolition screwdriver, then jammed it forcefully into the thin opening I’d just created.

  With a grunt, I managed to pry up the edge of the panel.

  Behind me, Croc was in full horrorshow mode. Belly-maw. Giant teeth. Too many limbs.

  The whole nine yards.

  A pair of slick, veiny tentacles unfurled from the mimic’s gaping stomach mouth and lashed out at several workers who’d managed to slip around Temp and Harper. Croc hoisted three into the air like limp action figures and whipped them backward into the nearest wall.

  “Hate to rush you, Dan,” Croc called, voice steady despite the chaos, “but you might want to pick up the pace. They’re bringing friends.”

  “Working on it,” I growled.

  The panel wasn’t coming free with brute force alone, but now that I had a gap, I had options. I cupped my hand and activated Hydro Fracking Blast. A pitiful sputter of water gurgled to life—a sad, barely-there stream compared to what I was used to.

  But that was fine. I didn’t need force. I needed finesse.

  Activating Hydrokensis, I guided the thread of water, and it slipped through the seam like liquid wire. I wouldn’t be flash freezing anyone, but I could still manipulate the small amount of moisture inside the panel. I focused my thoughts, tuning out the frantic battle, and began to cycle. With a thought, I heated the water up until it expanded into a cloud of steam. Then, once the water molecules had spread, I sucked the heat out and froze it. The metal groaned under the sudden temperature change, warping just a little.

  I cycled again.

  Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.

  The metal squealed, flexed, then finally popped.

  The bolts began to snap free, loosening just enough for me to go back in with the wrench. This time, they twisted. I ripped them loose, one after another, then yanked off the cover, and tossed it to the floor. Suddenly, I found myself staring at a dense, claustrophobic nest of wires, gears, and pulsing sigils. As good as I was getting at rune craft, this was clearly the work of a master sigil smith.

  “Shit,” I muttered under my breath as I studied the configuration, beads of sweat rolling down my face.

  I didn’t understand half of what I was looking at.

  Maybe in another year or two I’d be able to make something like this, but life as a contractor had taught me in no uncertain terms that you didn’t have to be able to make something to break it. It took a master carpenter years of practice and months of work to properly fabricate a radius cabinet, and a sixteen-year-old with a sledgehammer about two minutes to knock it down.

  Most of the runes were so intricate and complex that I couldn’t even tell what they did, but I recognized one rune straight away. A mana capacitor. All Sigil Stones used a variation of that rune to power their magical effects without the need for a secondary input source—like a caster. In essence, they were arcane batteries. If I could disrupt the power output, everything else would come tumbling down like a Jenga tower.

  That was the weak point I could exploit.

  I pulled my engraver’s awl from my belt, braced my wrist, and went to work. Three precise strokes, each one slicing through part of the inscription, broke the energy flow.

  I didn’t even get to finish the fourth.

  The entire panel erupted in a burst of blue-white light and concussive force. It felt like getting mule-kicked by a lightning bolt. In the blink of an eye, I was airborne. The explosion hurled me backward and I slammed into a fabrication table, flipping ass over teakettle before finally landing on the floor with a wheeze. Pain blossomed behind my eyes, and for a second I couldn’t move.

  Instead, I just lay there gasping, my vision flickering at the edges.

  Holy fuck that hurt.

  But then the suppression field dropped.

  I felt it immediately—like a fever breaking. Mana rushed back into my core in a flood of heat and pressure and glorious life. I hadn’t realized how much I relied on it until it was gone. The suppression field hadn’t just weakened me, it had left me numb. Like losing a sense I didn’t even realize I’d had. Suddenly blind. Suddenly deaf. Suddenly vulnerable.

  But now that new sense was back in high-def clarity.

  In the distance, I heard Harper laugh—sharp, relieved, a little unhinged. “Oh thank god.”

  I groaned and rolled onto my stomach.

  “Alright,” I muttered, spitting blood across the floor. “Time for round two, motherfucker.”