"Rude," I said, rubbing the top of my head where the crossbow bolt had shaved off a few hairs.
"Get down!" Kaelen roared, grabbing the back of my tunic and hauling me behind a stack of rotting crates just as a volley of null-iron bolts turned the wood into splinters.
"We can't stay here!" Lysandra shouted over the noise. She was kneeling beside us, her silver armor streaked with alley mud and river slime. Her cape was gone, likely torn off in the melee. "They have the high ground and numbers. We are tactically compromised."
"Fancy way of saying we're dead," Kaelen grunted. He peeked over the crate, deflected a bolt with his sword, and ducked back down. "Ren, you got a plan? You seem to know everything else."
I clutched the heavy Covenant spear I'd scavenged. My hands were shaking. I was Level 1. If I took a direct hit, I wouldn't just lose HP; I'd die. Realistically, painfully die.
