Hot S***

"Whoever made pickle jars impossible to open should be shot."

"Ash...!"

"I mean, I have decent grip strength and I'm wearing gloves, it shouldn't be like I'm trying to take off a rusted screw with my fingers-!"

"ASH!" Christine screamed, the blonde-haired man finally realizing her tone was indicating danger rather than polite dismissal. Rather than responding, he looked up from the plastic screwtop jar he was trying to open, his eyes flicking around in well-practiced motions.

Not that it was needed. The problem was obvious. Twenty seconds ago there had been several dozen soldiers in front of and generally around him. Now there were none.

Well, correction. Several dozen FRIENDLY soldiers. There were still many unfriendly soldiers further in front of him. Who now all had a clear view of Ash.

"GAH! WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR FRONT LINES?!"

"HIM!"

Funny the things you miss. Soldiers breaking ranks. Soldiers running past you. Soldiers now behind you.

The closer enemy soldier, one covered in black, smoking armor, leveling what Ash was pretty sure was a flamethrower at him.

"Oh, fiddlesticks."

The jellied chemicals leapt from the nozzle of the weapon, igniting and blooming into hot, expanding, consuming fire, the stream erupting across the open space.

---------------

King Incael has gone mad.

That's the only way I can even begin to understand this behavior. Kings start wars, kings want more land, money, power, they want to sate petty grudges, but this...when you're breaking out Pop Rocks, when you're attacking organizations like OutREACH, you're crossing the line. The world's not like it once was, where interfering was tied up in mountains of red tape and unintended consequences. You have anything involving sense, you know damn well that if you start dipping into the war crimes bucket, someone's going to come and tell you to stop. Often at swordpoint. William. Caleb. Valse.

Me.

It hasn't slowed him at all. For all I know, he knew I was at Christine's main camp and he STILL send soldiers to try and wreck the place. He's either insane, suicidal, or...

God I wish Angie was here. But she's not. I'm here, and so is Chris. And so are a lot of good men who could die if I don't get my rear in gear.

Never again.

-----------------
Fire.

Directly in its path. Too small to serve as any kind of a shield for the people behind him. No idea of the max range.

The downside of being friends with perhaps the most powerful thaumaturge on the planet was that she was often too busy to lend a hand.

The upside was you got all the best toys. That, and Ash's belt pouches were a lot easier to open than that pickle jar, the seven-pointed star attached to the silver chains sliding into the center of Ash's hands as he looped his fingers through the rings at the end of the chains.

"KASTA OM!"

The power surged out, washing over the fire.

Reality promptly took a holiday. The dull red fire blanched white, the ethereal heat becoming solid cold, the flamethrower blast transforming into a mass of ice, a sweeping wave of death now a single pillar of crushing, cold momentum.

Which was still heading directly for Ash.

"Oops."

The blonde-haired warrior was uncertain of a few things. One was whether he'd managed to stay in his boots when the mass of ice slammed into him. Another was whether all of his ribs had broken or just generally pulped; he suspected the agony that bloomed in his chest didn't really care for specific details. The last one, as he flew backwards, was that for a moment he thought the makeshift flying ice ram was going to fall on top of him to complete the Wile E. Coyote impression, but it thankfully hit the ground before Ash did, its direct momentum bled off by the interference it had encountered (that being Ash).

Oh, and now he was covered with mud, from his impact and further tumble on the battlefield. He doubted an alien hunter would be along to make that fact worthwhile.

After a few more seconds, he finally came to a stop. Coughing, more pain wracking through his form, Ash lifted a muddy hand to try and remove some of the mess from his face. All he succeeded in doing was smearing said mess around...mostly. He could still see. Unfortunately, his view was the guy with the flamethrower stalking forward, unperturbed by Ash's little magic trick and still with plenty of fuel.

The hair on the back of Ash's neck stood up.

It was not, however, because of the flamethrower man.

The world seemed to slow down for a bit. For a moment, all Ash knew was the space between one breath and the next...and the sight of the glaive, the bladed staff seeming to drift through the air like a feather on the wind, spiraling through the air a few feet from him.

Then his perception synced back up with reality. He didn't even have the time to turn his head to follow before the glaive slammed into the flamethrower man, the weapon wielder flying backwards even faster than Ash had. Ash knew what was coming and looked away, the dull sound of the flamethrower tanks igniting and blowing their wearer to oblivion echoing under the general sounds of war.

"Are you all right?" Christine said, arriving by his side a moment later. Her surgical clothing was gone, traded in for golden brown leathers and white, shiny plates of some mystery material that looked like a cross between plastic and crystal, her hair tied up behind a helmet whose eyeslits seemed unnaturally wide.

"Depends. Did my spine fly out my back?"

"Nope."

"Probably all right then." Ash said, pulling himself up, one final jolt of pain running down his spine and ribcage, a few uncomfortable popping noises emitting from his body as he got back into a standing position. He'd kept his boots, as it turned out. And his Fordaring charm, which he slipped back into one of his belt pouches before he removed a Ehetacl's Hand, the small round...

Damn it. He'd lost the 'pickle jar', or more specifically, the coin-like items within it. So much for meshing with those who were opposing King Incael. Well, at least the E-Hand was at hand, Ash planting in on his chest and activating it, the incantation going to work and drawing the mud off Ash's armor and clothes.

"That was Oriam weaponry."

"That was ILLEGAL Oriam weaponry." Ash said, taking advantage of the fact that his gloves were now clean to wipe off his face, the E-Hand going to work to remove the newly acquired dirt on the gloves. It couldn't clean off organic material like Ash's face, but there were always loopholes. "Hemel tech like that is for clearing out mergewraiths, lithefiends, hell, verdenbaak. Using it on a battlefield with non-Risks is a war crime. What the hell is Incael thinking?"

"He's planning something." Christine said, holding up her hand. The glaive dropped into it, the woman taking a moment to inspect its length for damage.

"This does seem too directed for just random madness. Doesn't help us if we don't know WHAT he's planning." Ash said. "Now, if I was a king, resorting to these methods, and wasn't crazy, what would be..."

"Sir Marsello!"

"Yeah?" Ash said, looking at the voice, even as he pulled off the clump of mud the E-Hand had become and dropped it on the ground. Probably wasn't getting that back, either. Good thing he was square with Squares these days.

The speaker's voice did not belay his age: he sound twenty and looked fifty. The horrors of war, though the soldier wasn't letting it get him down.

"Enemy intelligence, sir! Captured! I was told to inform-!"

"Yes yes, gimme." Ash said, grabbing the notebook. "Reinforcements?"

"We have a...oh. No sign of them sir." The soldier said.

"Don't worry about it, sergeant. We'll compensate. You have an unhappy face. Please tell me what's with the unhappy face." Christine said, stormclouds having gathered over Ash's features in the last few seconds.

"Mother of..." Ash said, holding out the book. Christine was a speed reader, and only took six seconds to find and read the imporant part.

"That would explain a lot."

"I just wish we could find these things out BEFORE it's come down to the warfields part." Ash said.

"Blood will out."

"Orders, sir?"

For a moment, Ash froze, an old and hated anxiety creeping up within him.

C'mon kid, you gotta get going or get got...

No, don't panic. Look. Think. Battlefield. Still in full sway. Illegal weapons backing infantry, cavalry, knights. No Stream users encountered, nor any Blackbirds. And perhaps behind it all....

No idea when help's coming. Enemy lines intact. Likely a ticking clock.

Ash spotted something out of the corner of his eye, and when it trundled into view in the immediate distance, he suddenly felt a lot better.

"We don't have enough force with just the two of us to break through enemy lines. Not immediately, and immediately's what we need. Chris, you stay with the front lines, give them aid, you know what to do. Soldier, tell your superiors I'm going to try and weaken the enemy ranks so you can break their lines."

"How?"Christine said, the sergeant running off without a reply.

"Give them something else to pay attention to." Ash said, as he started heading for the catapult.

"You sure about splitting up?"

"You read what Incael might be trying to get his hands on, Chris. I don't have time to be sure."

"You don't have to put yourself at unnecessary risk, either."

C'mon kid, you gotta get going or get got...

"I'm willing to."

"Be careful, pumpkin." Christine said, before she turned and sprinted off in another direction.

...No. Come back. I'm useless without you. Without all of you. I'm just a stupid, lucky, lucky asshole who pawns off his death on other people...

C'mon kid, you gotta get going or get got...

-----

"ANOTHER FIFTY FEET! MOVE! IF THEY GET A CHANCE TO GET THEIR HORSES TOGETHER THEY'RE NOT GOING TO BE NICE TO US FOR GIVING THEM THE CHANCE! MOVE IT! NOW-!" The very broad in body and voice captain yelled at his troops pushing at the catapult.

"Soldier!"

"WHAT?" The captain yelled, turning as Ash walked past him, the young man spinning on his heel to face him, mud squelching under his boots as he tried to walk backwards without tripping on his cloak or slipping in the mud.

"You're about to fire this, right?"

"YES! WHY?"

"One minor addition!" Ash called over his shoulder, as he started climbing up onto the rolling platform.

"What the hell are you doing, Marsello?!"

"Hitching a ride." Ash said, clambering onto the catapult's arm and onto the heavy stone that lay in the 'hand' at the end of it, somewhat surprising himself for not slipping once.

"...ARE YOU CRAZY?"

"I need to get to that castle, sir, and in the process get the enemy freaked out that someone's behind their lines. Is it going to throw off your aim?"

"Probably not!" The captain said, turning around and looking into the distance.

"Okay! When are you firing it?"

"NOW!"

"What, you mEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN...!" Ash said, his words transforming into a shriek as the arm violently snapped upward, hurling the rock, and him, through the air.

He quickly realized a few things. One was that the rock was under no obligation to stay under him.

Two was that neither were his own two feet.

The last one was his cloak wrapping around his face, ensuring that now, not only was he tumbling out of control through the air, he was now doing so blind.

"...is he supposed to be doing that?" One of the soldiers who was standing near the captain said, trying to follow the erstwhile projectile's passage.

"Sometimes I think he's called the Bloody Fire is because he's bloody stupid."