I do not own Dragon Age or any of the characters.

Squeezing

Theron watched as the Coterie approached the cache where their goods were waiting for them. Once all of them had gathered, he dropped from the low roof, staff in-hand, and broke into a silent sprint. And then, he went to work, slaughtering five before anyone even knew he was there. A further three before anyone could react, and by the time his last victim had his sword up to attack, Theron's staff's blade was an inch away from impaling his face.

"Well done," Athenril commended, opening the crates to find lyrium, poisons, and potions. "We'll take the Lyrium. Burn the rest."

The Carta Dwarves shouted in fear and pain as they tried and failed to defend themselves. Theron flipped and spun, slaughtering anyone and everyone in range. Their would-be victims fled, but Theron ignored them. A Dwarf caught the staff, only for Theron to draw his dagger, slash the Dwarf's throat, and sheathe it again before continuing to mow down the Dwarves like what in a field.

"The Carta and Coterie are meeting inside," Athenril's contact said. "Word is they're planning something big with you in mind. There's going to be a lot of them this time."

"I've got it handled," Theron said confidently. "Thanks."

The contract nodded and turned, walking away quickly. Overhead, thunder rumbled. As Theron approached the abandoned warehouse, rain began to fall in sheets. He smirked, stopping in front of the door just as lightning flashed overhead. Two seconds later, thunder crashed. Another flash. Two seconds later, thunder. Another flash. At the same instant that thunder boomed overhead again, Theron kicked the door open. With the thunder covering his entrance, the thugs inside were slow in recognizing the threat. And then, Theron let loose. A fireball erupted among the largest group. A bolt of Chain Lightning slaughtered a group of archers. A wall of telekinetic force shattered the bodies of the first warriors to try to respond. A trio of archers off to Theron's left on the far side of the warehouse loosed a trio of arrows, but Theron raised a hand, forming a barrier of telekinetic force that blocked the arrows. Then, he swung his arm around in front of himself and upward before forming a fist in front of his face. A wave of telekinetic energy raced inward from the walls of the room, not injuring anyone, but dragging everyone, alive or dead, into a massive pile in the center of the room. And as soon as they had, Theron slammed the head of his staff down into the floor. A wave of crimson magic energy raced outward from the staff, racing across the ground and under the mass of thugs trying to extricate themselves. Then, it erupted into a massive explosion, charring and slaughtering all of the remaining thugs.

"Too easy," Theron smirked.

He turned, walking back outside, only to stop. Dozens of Carta and Coterie thugs were standing around the building, including nearly a dozen Coterie apostates.

"This is the end!" a Carta Dwarf at the front, bearing a battleaxe taller than him and with a head the size of his torso, shouted over the roar of the rain. "Nowhere to run!"

"Who's running?" Theron called back, taking his beginning stance again.

For a moment, no one moved. Then, all at once, it began. A storm of spells rained down on him along with a barrage of arrows, but Theron took off at a sprint. Another barrier blocked a handful of lightning spells, and Theron's speed carried him out of the way of the arrows and the slower fireballs. The close-range thugs he was heading for moved to meet him, only for him to spin, sending a semicircle of massive icicles stabbing into them, slaughtering them, before Theron was off into another section. He swiped his left hand just as a mage prepared to fire a lightning spell into him, but Theron's Winter's Grasp was faster, encasing the mage in ice and stopping his spell. A moment later, he'd sent a Spirit Bolt, one so focused that it looked like a white-purple bolt of lightning, into the mage, who burst apart like a Walking Bomb, bits of frozen entrails wounding a handful of thugs around him. Theron didn't even slow down. He made a fist and stone burst from the ground, encasing him in a bulky, solid cuirass, vambraces, thigh plating, and boots. Thanks to his magic, it was essentially weightless, and he'd trained at forming it enough to be able to shape it to retain full range of motion, so that when he reached the thugs a moment later, he tore through them with as much ease as he always did. However, there were a lot. Blades scraped and slammed into his armor, arrows shattered against it, and every so often, a spell reached him. He was able to shield himself from most, but not all.

A lightning bolt here, an icicle slamming into his chestplate there, a stone fist after that. His armor broke, and he instantly reformed it. His blade carved through a trio of rogues. The head of his staff shattered a skull, a ribcage, turned a face into a dent. He sent a Fireball into one cluster. A bolt of Chain Lightning into another. He called down a Firestorm, a Tempest, a blast of pure force straight down onto a group that crushed them nearly fat. He spun, flipped, twirled, ducked, and pirouetted through the ranks of the thugs, slashing, stabbing, and bludgeoning as he went. He sent a Stone Fist into one head, blasting it apart, turned two thugs into Walking Bombs before blasting them together with Chain Lightning, setting off their explosions. But as he was only about halfway through the thugs, more began to arrive. He grit his teeth. Overhead, lightning flashed, his feet splashed in more than an inch of standing rainwater, now dyed red with blood, thunder boomed, drowning out their battle periodically.

There were too many. Already, the thugs were beginning to push him back, slowing his progress and pinning him down. He might actually lose. It served him right, of course. This war was his fault. It was only fitting that he die alone.

And then, he wasn't alone. With an arrival announced by a powerful Fireball to a group of unprepared mages, Bethany charged into the ranks of the thugs. She lacked Theron's fluid, excessively-trained efficiency, but she'd gotten good with using her staff as a melee weapon, and she was augmenting it with her natural affinity for fire magic, causing flames to envelop the striking end of her staff each time, some of which exploded on impact. And then, there were others. Gabriel and Carver were shredding their way through the thugs to either side of Bethany, Gabriel using a spinning, flipping style nearly identical to Amelia's, save for his larger daggers being held in standard grip, and Carver's greatsword arcing through ranks of thugs with ease. Athenril leapt from a roof off to Theron's right, landing on a thug to knock him to the ground and stabbing him before taking off, fighting as efficiently as ever. Meeran reached the group next with a sword and shield, slamming his shield into a rogue's back before going to work with his sword. And then, there were others. Athenril's crew and the Red Iron, crashing into the Coterie and Carta thugs from either side like a pair of waves.

Within seconds, the fight was finished, and Theron let his Rock Armor fall away as he sighed. He looked to the Hawkes and smiled, nodding. Then, he turned to Athenril as she walked over.

"You really made them mad," Athenril said, looking around at the corpses. "And you're as lethal as always."

"Think they'll let this drop?" Theron asked.

"I doubt it," Athenril said. "But from here on, we face them together."

"Agreed," Meeran nodded.

"That won't be necessary," a voice off to the side said, everyone spinning and readying weapons.

The human man wore the uniform of the Coterie, but he lacked the cowl or helmet. He also lacked weapons, and held only a large, burlap sack.

"This was to be the last attempt to take care of Theron," the man explained. "Succeed or fail, the Coterie and the Carta had decided to make peace. Your man did his job well, Athenril. We can't afford for the war to continue, especially not with your forces working together. Here." He tossed the sack to the ground, gold spilling out of it. "A peace offering."

One of Athenril's men, one who was usually used to count gold because he could get a rough guess about the count by weight alone, usually being fairly close, picked up the sack and whistled. "At least five hundred."

"Our leaders extend their professional apology for any hostility," the man said. "Congratulations, Theron. You are the first person to have ever pushed our organization to seek a peaceful resolution. You should be proud, Athenril."

"I am," Athenril nodded. "Take a message for both the Coterie and the Carta. We will resume business as usual, and they may do the same. If our goals conflict, we will compete. Any violence that ensues at that point is not an act of war, only a hazard of the job. So long as the Coterie and Carta do not continue to wage war, I will keep Theron on a leash. Do you understand?"

"I understand perfectly," the man bowed slightly. "Good day."

And then, he turned, walking back into the alleyway and disappearing from sight.

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