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He sidestepped and sliced out, cutting off several tentacles when they dove for him.

A wail cut into the banshee’s song. The trio broke apart, dividing so they could encircle him.

He was vaguely aware of other sounds across the market as those who’d managed to avoid the song fought back, casting spells or using what weapons they had. At least they’d kept the entire horde from descending on him.

Adam spun, cutting again.

He wished he was wearing gloves and braced for the chill as he called the sword’s magic.

He drove the sword point down, pinning a tentacle in place. It froze immediately, ice racing back toward the banshee. It pulled free before the ice could strike its body, but it screamed as the tendril shattered.

Something slammed into his back, cutting through his wards and his skin.

Adam grunted but managed to hold onto the blade as he fell to his knees. The banshee hovered over him, its smooth features looking satisfied as it twisted the point, trying to run him through. Its song sharpened, rising in pitch. It sounded gleeful as it hammered at his defenses.

But the sword wasn’t his only weapon, and the thing had made contact, which meant he could touch it back.

Adam opened the warlock wound, the bit of his soul he’d sliced away to bind an ancient spirit. Like a long-leashed junkyard dog, it lashed out, hungry for war. It chomped down on the tendril and kept going, pulling the spirit into its maw.

Glee turned to fear.

Another tendril whipped toward his face. Adam turned in time to save his eye but the razor edge of the point whisked across his forehead.

The wound and the banshee tussled, one trying to break free, one trying to consume. The banshee lost as the wound bit down on its heart. Its song fell silent. Blackening like ash, its body burned away.

Its two fellows hovered before him. He’d given them pause, but the hole in his back bled openly, and he realized he really should have been practicing with a sword, any sword, as he found his feet.

Blood dripped into his eyes and ran down his back.

The two banshees eyed him coldly.

“All right then,” he said, gripping the blade in both hands. “Come on!”

Something bright flashed across his vision, moving too fast for him to follow. All of the tendrils that had been pointed at him fell, severed. The banshees screamed as one.

Argent, Queen of Swords, landed next to him. Her sword dwarfed Adam’s.

“We should have given you some armor to go with that weapon,” she said, eyes flicking to his wounds.

The banshees screamed again, this time with rage.

“That’s enough of that.”

Thunder cracked. Cold lightning fell, catching one of the pair. The other twisted away, into Adam’s range, as the smell of ozone and char washed over the scene.

He sliced out again, severing more strands as the song, sounding more desperate than angry, battered him.

Argent leaped, too fast again for Adam’s human sight to track, and took the head from the third banshee in a single swing.

The one she’d fried with magic lay twitching on the ground, most of its tendrils burned away.

Argent regarded it coldly.

“Do you want the honor or shall I?” she asked.

“Don’t you want to capture it? Spare it? Something like that?”

“No.”