Tackles Harry

Several tons of concrete plus one Jotun-sized axe came crashing down toward me.
Someone hit me in the hip like a linebacker, legs driving. The impact lifted me off my feet and carried me to one side as the roof came down with a roar and a wash of dust and smoke. I covered my head with my arms and rolled in the direction that seemed away from all the falling stuff, dimly aware of someone else with me doing more or less the same thing.
By the time I had wits enough to look around me, I found myself at the edge of a ragged hole in the parking garage’s floor leading to the level below.
Next to me, covered in grey dust and a white cloak, was Butters in his sports goggles. The wiry little guy wore tactical gear and one of Charity Carpenter’s armored vests, this one made with titanium scales fixed to a Kevlar undergarment. His shock of black hair stood up every which way, dust coating it almost entirely.
“Holy smokes!” he said. “Was that a giant with a flaming axe?!”
“Butters!” I said.
The little guy blinked at me through the dust on his goggles and flashed me a huge and sudden grin. “Hey,” he said, “I just straight up saved your life! That’s Sir Waldo to you, buddy.”

Battle Ground Chapter 16, Page 149-150