The matter-javelin had less energy than the energy lance, thus the fucking name, but what it did have was momentum. Emma wasn't quite sure what the finer points separating those two things were in practical terms, but for whatever reason the jagged iron cut a lot deeper than her other attacks and she actually saw a flash of yellow fat beneath the Demigod's skin for one moment. Before crimson blood oozed up to obscure it.

He roared, which she considered a sign of good progress. Unfortunately, it also meant he was pissed, and Emma found herself suddenly regretting being so pro-active when his axe started to glow.

Emma flattened herself against the ground without thinking, which was the only thing that saved her. She could've thickened her armour, thrown down a barrier, conjured a pillar of iron. None of it would have helped against that axe when it started flying. Runes appeared down the edge of the blade, the handle, in the very air around it, light blue, glowing, humming and vibrating. They trailed wispy light after it as it was thrown, and a gale-force wind followed. Emma felt the currents snag her as Gloygar's weapon flew over her head, then they intensified, lifted her up entirely and dragged her after it.

By then, it had already struck the far wall.

"Struck" sounded misleading, actually. Sledgehammers struck walls. This axe…What did artillery shots do? Emma couldn't quite remember the suitable word, but whatever it was—that was what happened now. The stone just surrendered, exploding outwards like it was loose earth rather than hardened defences and filling the space outside the tower with debris. She felt the ground disappear out from under her as she was dragged through the now-gaping hole and flung out into the air.

Around her, everyone else came flying too. Aexilica, the Storm-Eyes, Milton, his Battle Bitches. All of them screaming, all of them staring down at the ground below. Hundreds of metres, maybe more. Enough for terminal velocity.

Enough for landing to hurt, and probably kill, even them.

Putting aside the fact that Emma did actually like at least a few of the others, she knew that if they landed with significantly less than their full fighting power it would be terribly simple for Gloygar to simply kill whoever remained. She had just as much skin in everyone living as the would-be fatalities did.

Her first step was to actually grab everyone, and Emma didn't have long for it. She sent out long bars of hardened energy and called out for everyone to take hold of them, most did. A few—idiots—did not, so while everyone still clutched her aparati she propelled herself downwards.

Surprisingly, Vari the Idiot was not among the ones who were causing issues. Unsurprisingly, Milton was. Emma's hands came down on his shoulders and she hardened energy in a sort of harness around him, linking it to the bar while he stared, then grabbing it herself. Stage two came next. Emma added a Force effect to the bar which left it soaring backwards.

At her best, she thought she could apply an accelerating force equal to about one ton sustaining one G. Between all the people falling now, she was apparently looking at a little bit more than just the single ton. Maybe her energy apparatus added more weight than Emma had planned, because even after a few more seconds they weren't decelerating.

So she implemented plan B, wrapping her will around the bars of energy and pulling like she was trying to rip out Atlas' tooth. That had an immediate effect, and just in time too.

Because they hit the sand a few moments later.

Emma's teeth rattled, and she almost blacked out. Her armour was good for stopping strikes, but full-body impacts wasn't something it'd been designed for. The innards went squishy and soft for a moment to deform around Emma, and disperse some of the deadly force racking her. Other than that she was facing the full yield of it, and once the collision subsided she was still left gasping and blinking on the beach with her head spinning and her body numb.

Around her, she was treated to the infuriating sight of everyone else doing better. Except for the random crewmen, that was. They were sort of just lying there, less animated than even she was now. While Emma's recovery was coming fast, she found herself wishing it would happen faster still.

Groygar landed about twenty metres beyond them, colliding with the sand like a falling meteor and almost cratering it. He stood practically unharmed, grinning and eager as he twirled the stupidly big axe around, pinching it between a few fingers like it was made of cardboard.

"One tenth of my strength, and still you all live!" He called out. "Perhaps you are worthy of serving me after all."

Emma got the feeling that some of them were actually considering that, but of course such a convenient get-out-of-jail-free card couldn't be allowed to remain in her presence for long. Before she'd gathered up enough breath to speak out, one of the idiots did.

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"You think I'll serve?!" Storm-Eye laughed. "Oh, you'd better just kill me, because there is no way in the world I'm leaving that treasure behind. It's mine now."

By then, Emma was strong enough to just barely get back up to her feet. And coherent enough to see the very gradations of rage bubbling across Groygar's face. It felt like she was being waterboarded with icy slush.

"You have spat in my face, and rejected my mercy." The Demigod growled, hand tightening across the haft of his axe. "You will get none more."

And then he was charging.

This time, everyone was formed up together at once. A single blockade of six warriors; the Storm-Eyes, Aexilica and both Battle Bitches. Emma found herself actually anticipating the Demgiod's clash with them, confident they might actually have the advantage.

Apparently he agreed, or rather didn't disagree enough to put it to the test. He jumped when he was still ten metres from the formation, landed another few metres behind them, and kept running.

Straight for Emma.

She was on her knees, and screamed. The sand shot up in a great wave that struck his face and did nothing at all, as if the substance of his eyes was too resilient to be irritated by mere silica. Emma's skull was certainly not too fragile to be opened up by mere steel, and that was exactly what came down for her now as the Demigod took to the air with another leap.

Panicking, Emma just threw herself towards the larger group. She'd never accelerated so fast, so abruptly. She wished she hadn't now. It was enough—barely—to escape the deathblow, but it left her insides churning and writhing, organs squishing against one another and blood suddenly sitting heavy at one side of her body. Her vision blurred, reddened, ichor pooling in her occipital lobe. The woman was…the woman? Who? E…Something beginning with E. She could remember the name of a human brain's visual centre but not her own name, that's how disorienting the flight was.

And then it was over as she came down into the sand and rolled a scant few dozen metres more. When, at last, she recovered from this latest delirium and sat up to observe the fight, it had of course degenerated. Thyra, the dark-haired Battle Bitch, was lying some ten metres away while the remaining five warriors did their best to kill the Demigod. He was hurt. Nicked, might be the better term. Tiny little cuts here and there that bled without any great severity.

Emma would see what she could do about that, and decided to give him a little testing blow. She readied the matter javelin and…Hesitated. Left it where it was, in its near-transparent cylinder, and circled around him. Her power built for an energy lance as she came to attack from a right-angle to the barrel, or rather her arms raised to complete the bluff as a tiny trickle of her energy went down to building one up.

The rest of her magic was funelled into Force and Energy, through the still-suspended cylinder. As soon as Groygar turned to Emma, anticipating another of the deadly beams that had so burned his chest, the javelin flew free. Emma had nailed a graulkan to a tree the last time she'd fired one, this hit wasn't anything so dramatic as that. It just broke the skin and tore a long rent along Groygar's shoulder and upper-back.

He roared, like a lion almost. Biceps bulging in what must have been a deliberate show as the blood ran down his skin where Emma had cut him. Again, it wasn't deep, but it was enough to hurt him. A few more might be enough to slow him.

Thyra got to her feet, readied her weapon, shot back for the fight. Groygar continued his own path of destruction.

Every swing he got off sent several more of Emma's allies flying back, and gave a window for several more to hit him. Again, the cuts barely went deeper than skin level, but gaining three or four more every second was doing wonders to eat away at the Demigod's temper.

Emma provided what support she could, sending blades of spinning energy or throwing up walls to intercept blows. Mostly, she was just throwing off Groygar's timing. Which was fine with her, because he was doing enough damage even without such interference.

To her surprise, one of the more helpful people present was Milton. Even when Noelani was knocked out of the fight entirely by a breastplate-cratering backhand he picked up the slack and scored a hit directly across Groygar's chest with his whip.

It was annoying, to be frank, because each casual swing of that weapon seemed as devastating as any of Emma's own. An energy lance might have done as much damage, but a matter-javelin certainly wouldn't. Milton scored another slash to paint another of the Demigod's flanks red shortly after.

And then something wonderful happened. Groygar started hesitating in his attacks and fighting more to back away than advance.

One particularly strong swing actually sent out a gust of wind that carried sand several metres beyond the blade of his axe. If that had hit any of Emma's allies, they may have been killed outright. Already two were taken from the fight—Noelani and Sade. Groygar's motions were slower and weaker, she was certain of it, but his morale seemed bolstered by seeing two of the four physical enemies dispatched.

Another whip-crack drew an explosion of blood from his upper thigh as Milton continued, infuriatingly, to be the MVP, but this time Groygar seemed to have had enough. He ignored the remaining swings from those closest to him and started marching straight for Milton, axe high and ready to bring down.

Emma drew the obvious conclusion instantly—if Groygar managed to take out either her or Milton, the main damage-dealers, then he would almost definitely win. She had to protect the little weasel, then. The knowledge that she must did not bring with it any indication of how, and so when Emma's hands raised up it was more instinct and intuition than any deliberative process.

But sometimes instinct would do, in a pinch. When you had about one second remaining. The water shot from her palms in a pair of twinned jets and hit the sand right before Groygar's feet, instantly soaking in. When the Demgiod's foot came down again, his heel sank down to the ankle in sludge and his run turned into an awkward stumble. Emma grinned as she saw him wavering, fighting for balance, briefly held in place.

She turned, having expected Milton to turned tail and started sprinting away. What she saw instead was even better.

The idiot's whip came down hard across Groygar's neck, as all of Lord Graves' fear seemed to give way for some insane, destructive panic.

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