Martin was numb. He didn't know the stranger at all. Probably. If he did, it wasn't clicking. Her strangeness in the scene was just one more ripple disturbing the whole, big picture, and everything was distorted and wrong.

His eyes locked on his sister, dancing around to distance herself, fresh needles at her knuckles. Watched her shake the blood and black scourge off them and throw. Watched the stranger react. Numbness became nausea, and Martin felt and saw shapes in his peripheral. The shape shattered to pieces when he moved his arm, blindly aiming and launching his lance. The force, which he hadn't braced for, sent him rolling, and gave him chance to scramble up to his feet, staggering to straighten.

His veins hurt. He stifled a whimper with a firmly set jaw, searching again for his sister. Whatever...whatever was going on, he wasn't going to give it the same conclusion as before.

He ran toward the fight on shaken legs.