23:21, Rotation 264 / 365, 232 AE, -67.281750, -68.771598, Reath

  The Berserker sunk her claws deep into Vyerna’s back, tearing into her rhomboids, and hurled her off the recce. The shot went wide but just shy of Lawrah, embedding deep into the earth and leaving a burst of dirt in its wake.

  Whirling around in the air, spinning three sixty degrees, without even registering what had exactly happened to her, so in the zone was she, Vyerna attempted one more shot with pure gunslinger instinct, and it cracked apart the bit of bamboo bundle Lawrah was trying to take cover from.

  Now, finally realizing her desperate plight, Vyerna plummeted through the air, shrieking- “FU-UU-”, she pulled out the nanowire hidden in her body through her middle finger where it retracted to – of course – and flung it to the closest tree. The nanowire spirits wrapped around the thin bamboo trunk, binding tight to it. Vyerna swung away.

  Vyerna! Drizzit had no psionics, he could only helplessly think his sister-lover’s name as she fell through the darkness.

  Her ledge grab wasn’t noticed by either combatant on the recce now: the Berserker versus Drizzit.

  “RA-AH!”, the Berserker’s voice had none of Githarie’s usual swings from cheeky soft to overexcited loud, now it was just a guttural, spit-crackling howl.

  Drizzit drew his scimitars and activated the energetically lithiated and reinforced gryph-fibers in his calves, which allowed him to dart about the battlefield preternaturally quickly.

  “You shall taste my blade,” he spat, “filthy orc-”.

  Incapable of speech for she had not learned how to control her berserker rage, she only responded with “WA-AGH!”.

  The Berserker lunged; claws extended. Drizzit spun away in a flash, his blades whirled around him like a protective storm of steel. Cling! One of the Berserker’s claw nails struck a parrying blade – thankfully not Icingdeath – and was lopped clean off.

  She swiped again, Drizzit was barely able to duck, and now Drizzit flipped the trigger that would let him blast nitrogen right into this skai sha hai orc zug’s face and shatter her into a million pieces. What was she even doing waghing out here? Shouldn’t she be at the razza?

  Another swipe- this orc doesn’t know how to fight, Drizzit could immediately tell.

  Maybe they could get a double?

  As she recovered from the momentum of the overswing, it gave him all the opening he needed, but only from his left side- the normal scimitar. Ice shattering her would have to wait. Must try and get her alive.

  He smashed the hilt of his scimitar into her jaw.

  Lawrah, looking from her scant cover, saw the whole thing. Githarie! What is she doing here-

  BANG!

  Lawrah looked at her shoulder and saw that she had been shot.

  Wha- and then instantly Lawrah felt woozy. And weirdly cold. Black spots began to invade her vision, and- and- and then she slumped through the ground into her K-hole.

  Vyerna emerged play-fiddling around with the gryph-ziptie in her hands. Good game, well played. Cool Hand Ani doesn't need high ground to land a shot, don’t you know?

  Meanwhile back on the recce, the hilt smash to the jaw was enough to let Githarie reclaim her body from the Berserker that had awakened within her.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Drizzit sheathed the scimitar into its scabbard slung to the side of his hip, drew out a K-hypo, and stalked towards her.

  “You are going to make me so rich, little zug. So do know that I won’t hurt you if you cooperate.”

  “SKAI OFF, ELF!”

  “Tsk-tsk. Language. What’s your name, little zug?”

  She needed to lure him in. Get him in a feint. She realized that she needed to use every advantage at her disposal… including the seemingly harmless little orcan gurl she presented that had gotten her out of trouble so many times.

  Hamming it up – damn she wished she could cry on command! – she dipped her head with faux sobs.

  “Gi-”, she made sure to stutter, “Gi- Gi- Githarie.”

  “Oh, you poor dear, don’t worry- Githarie? Githarie. Uncle Drizzit will-”, he reached out a hand to bring her to her feet. Chance.

  She swiped at his calves, her claws still grown, but he danced away with lightning steps and came back at her from behind like flying thunder.

  “I’ve got a blade with your name on it!” he sneered and with one smooth battōjutsu stroke, drew his sheathed scimitar straight into a slice across her back, but he hesitated, unsure how much strength to put in the blow quite yet, having attacked in a flash of anger. He had tried it the easy way!

  “A-AA-AUH!”, Githarie fell to her knees, the blade cut through her right overall strap, and smoothly dragged a thin, but deep, laceration through. The sweater was barely clinging to her body, hanging on by a thread, and where the cashmere parted, Drizzit could see little lines of red blood cascading downwards. She was weakened now, but he had damaged the goods, and he would finish this.

  He drew Icingdeath. They would go for the original target. The better target. This feisty zug was not worth the trouble.

  C’mon! Berserker rage! Go! She had to call on her orcan strength! All the power that she possessed!

  He stalked towards her slowly. Wary. She was still a threat, unbelievably, even after taking all that damage. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake now.

  Githarie wasn’t sure where the words came from, but she began to tell herself that just begging her body for it- just receiving it without working for it- was not going to work.

  She had to prove herself equal to the task.

  She must be worthy to call herself orcan.

  Or else she didn’t deserve it. Her gifts.

  If she couldn’t do this- then she was just a weak orc.

  Drizzit was within striking range now. Githarie was still, on her knees, crumpled to the ground, slouched. Coup de grace, thought Drizzit- she’s unaware of me.

  She felt like giving up, just let Drizzit take her. Her body was so spent, and she was in so much pain, and she wasn’t even sure if Lawrah wanted to be her friend anymore.

  But she can’t give up now. Not now. She had to clear her head! She had to keep trying!

  She couldn’t fail Lawrah.

  Even if she died.

  No matter what, she couldn’t fail Lawrah.

  Hypoxic, black, legged spots began to crawl about her vision, she was losing a lot of blood from the wound on her back.

  Anyone can succeed when the odds are easy.

  It’s when the going gets tough, when there seems to be no chance-

  Drizzit raised Icingdeath high to strike down.

  -that’s when it counts.

  Then it hit her. Geshzugas! The football game!

  Sweep the leg.

  Githarie broke into a windmill, rolling on her shoulders – she rolled over some of the wound on her back, which was excruciating – and tripped Drizzit, the blade slicing through the air in a whiff. But Drizzit had already pressed the nitrogen injector, and a blast of pressurized liquid nitrogen burst out from the wake of the blade’s swing.

  “Gah!”, Drizzit kipped up. He twisted the hilt to release the canister, letting it drop to the soft earth at his feet, and inserted another one, as he watched Githarie sprint away.

  He smirked.

  “AU REVOIR, GI - THA - RIE!”, he hollered after her.

  That reference was out of control. Everyone knows that.

  She almost got that 360 no scope.

  Bye, Felicia.

  So cliche.

  Instead of a proper bullet it was really just a fragile shell designed to splatter shortly after penetrative impact – a paintball except under the skin – loaded with nearly pure liquid ketamine.

  Yes, we know that thunder is a sound, it doesn’t fly. Take it up with the Elder Uzumaki.

  So cliche!

  Her Da had read to her, as a young child, a Meldy reproduced copy of ‘If this be my destiny…!’

  She was very aware of him, still having berserker rage gifted hearing. Not as sharp as bat hearing, but still enough to hear his footsteps, despite how softly he tried to stalk.