The rooftop was almost completely flat, with nowhere to run or hide in sight. The only thing even remotely close was the thin, sheet metal lining of an air duct that likely ventilated the entire building, and even that was a compromise and a half. It managed the double disappointment of being both less sturdy than Henry would have liked and being more than a dozen paces away from them. If the combatants present hadn't been otherwise preoccupied with each other, there wouldn't have been a chance in hell that he and Layla could make it past the first three steps before being taken out of the equation.

With them preoccupied, however… it wasn't quite a free ride, but the window was large enough for them to make it work. A running start, and the two of them burst out of the mist, hand in hand as the concealing cloud swirled around them.

Got to stay close… can't let Guillaume target her mind…

Henry's heart thumped in his chest as they slid behind the duct mere seconds before the occasional stray shots started flying their way. Semi-automatic fire, not the constant stream of rattling discharge they could hear being sprayed around elsewhere. Evidently, somewhere else on the field demanded greater attention.

Once Layla dispersed the mist just enough to see through more clearly, it wasn't hard to understand why.

Roughly near the center of the rooftop, there were about two dozen well-equipped survivors left standing to duke it out. Both Gentleman's Club thugs and Landed Knights were present in significant force, equally bloodied and armed to the teeth. They lay of the land took the fighting near and around a singular, roughly assembled shack smack in the middle of the roof with a large antenna protruding from the top at an odd angle.

Submachine guns chak-chak-chak'd at random intervals. Domain crystal bombs sailed through the air in arcs, matched in turn by explosive anti-werewolf javelins. The combatants yelled warcries at the top of their lungs, the Knights' enchanted shortswords unsheathing in response to the GC's iron-studded clubs. Rushing into melee range. Spittle flew as the heavily armed group of elite fighters gave their all, nearly managing to drown out the howling wolves below with their own enraged screams.

But, their weapons were not trained on each other. Far from it. They moved in perfect lockstep with one another, almost akin to a singular creature, with a level of coordination modern militaries the world over could only salivate at. And pretty close to being as heavily equipped as some of the smaller modern militaries, too. From somewhere nearby, Guillaume was personally commanding his own private army.

All that firepower at his fingertips, and it was being brought to bear on a lone, singular target.

Evelyn. And what a bloody stalemate she'd brought it to.

"MARK MY WORDS," her voice boomed. "Y_Y_Y_YOU WILL NOT ES_S_S_SCAAPE THIS TIME, GUILLAUME. I *kzzt* KNOW YOU ARE H_H_H_HERE. THERE IS NO_O_O_WHERE LEFT TO RUN."

The neutral, robotic cadence of her synthesized voice was gone from her words entirely. What Henry could hear instead was… a tone that was hard to describe.

Industrial. Damaged came to mind pretty easily, too, as it was definitely glitching despite still being understandable. Feral? Close, but… not quite an aggressive enough term to completely encapsulate the sheer animalistic fear her declarations exuded in the back of his head. Despite her not speaking in a raised tone of voice, or even at him to begin with, the crown of his scalp tingled as something primal within urged him to run from her. He stood his ground, using the descriptive exercise to distract him.

…Vengeful, maybe?

Evelyn took a jerky step forward, lurching as her torso over-corrected to keep herself balanced on two feet. Her one robotic leg dragged slightly behind as she walked, the foot of it a mangled heap of scrap metal hanging on by even scrappier wire. Her servo arm was extended fully out over her shoulder, splayed wide to counterbalance against the damage incurred to her wings. One of those wings – which up until this point he'd thought to be practically indestructible – had been shorn off completely, while the other one was pitted with scars, tears, awkward bends and other obviously stressed pieces of metal. Black smoke belched from the remaining turbine, mixing with what thin amounts of fog could be found at possibly the highest point still standing in Stratford.

And yet, despite the mountain of critical damage incurred, she strode forward. Through what appeared to be a mix of hate and sheer force of will. Three Knights, working in perfect tandem without a word spoken between them, charged out to keep her from getting even a single inch closer to the shack. Stepping over the corpses of their fallen brothers to do so.

Was vengeful really the right word? Sure, she had a personal stake in things, but as Henry thought about it more, that only seemed about half right. If it was just pure revenge, why was her approach so… wholesale?

A flash of blink-and-you'll-miss-it movement blurred through the air with a hiss, and the frontmost Knight was sent skidding back a solid five meters as the servo arm slammed into his torso with a mean hook. The other two didn't even flinch at the disproportionate attack, not wasting the opportunity despite the loss of their fellow man. They dashed to either side of her, stepping out of the way of their back line's firing arc and allowing a torrent of projectiles to propel towards her.

Evelyn wasted no time in changing targets, despite coming under fire. Bullets plinked off the remaining wing harmlessly as it wrapped around to protect her, while she summoned magic from the Air Domain to combat the one on the left. To the right, the clamp head of the servo arm twisted like a snake on multiple articulating joints to violently hammer strike the other man within reach of it. His helmet rang like a gong, but the Knight inside continued to charge.

Until his head was pincered between its jaws in the immediate followup.

Suddenly, the brainwashed Knight found himself unable to advance further, lifted bodily off the ground by the sides of his skull. Without even looking at that opponent, Evelyn slowly pressed the clamp shut on the sides of the helmet. Closer and closer together, until the skull underneath gave way and crushed the Knight's head like a grape. Gore coated the metal hydraulics, and another corpse fell to the ground around her.

And yet, the pressure on her only continued to mount.

Had this gone the way Henry had expected, this should just have been a quick spat between Devils where the winner would have been decided in short order one way or another. What this was now was a life-or-death battle between the two of them, along with whatever unfortunate souls were nearby for Guillaume to dominate. Considering revenge was what had started this battle between the two of them, It felt strange that what would have been the accurate term before, definitely felt wrong now.

He hurriedly opened the main compartment of Layla's pack, withdrawing a plate that fit his bulletproof vest carrier. The stakes had been raised while they'd been gone, evidently. But what exactly-?

Glancing up, he realized Layla had been prepping one of her mist orbs while he had been busy watching the spectacle in awe. It was one of her tried and true attacks, and had served them both well on numerous scav runs, but comparing this one to those examples was like comparing a candle to a forest fire.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

At this point, the orb was dense – far denser than he'd ever seen her make one. The mist inside, normally a light gray with maybe a hint of pale green like the moonlight pouring down on them from above, was now rapidly approaching pitch black, compressed to an area no larger than a marble. Sweat beading down her forehead in concentration, she slowly moved the orb into position and prepared to fire. When she caught him looking at the prepared magic, her response was short and to the point.

"She needs our help," she managed to force out despite her exertion.

Henry nodded. "It's what we came here to do, after all. Got a target in mind?"

"I'll go for the Knights, you focus the rest.", she said in a strained voice.

"A-are you sure? You might kill someone you know with that."

"This is… more like a smoke bomb with concussive force. All bark, no bite. Best case scenario is it smashes up their ribs a bit. Going to… need you to keep them from shooting back at us once I fire."

Her teeth were bared in a grimace, hand shaking as she just barely held the orb in place. Speaking in broken sentences as she was, it was safe to say that Layla would have to fire it off any second now.

"Hold on," Henry interjected hurriedly. "I have a better target."

Gently taking hold of her wrist, he moved it ever so slightly to the right, aimed not at the Knights engaging Evelyn, not at the Club providing fire support, but instead towards the thin plywood walls of the shack behind enemy lines. Flimsy, replaceable, easily smashed plywood walls.

Generally, you needed a lot of force to break bones. Compared to what was needed to break cheap construction materials…

"Okay, now."

A radial gust of wind emanated from the center of her palm, and Layla let the mist fly free. Immediately, her chest started heaving as she slumped behind the air duct, clutching his hand tight while he kept his eyes on the departing projectile.

True to its trajectory, the orb utterly demolished the wall just above head height, and before long mist thicker than he'd ever seen before – tunnels below the city included – began spilling out from every crack and seam in the ramshackle building. Black haze oozed from the inside of the shack, the walls leaning dangerously outward as the cloud began to expand.

God, that stuff looks practically liquid in consistency…

Apparently, those inside the shack agreed with his assessment. Stumbling out first came a man in a dirty hoodie that Henry didn't recognize and couldn't see the face of, running around the side of the building to cough his lungs out. Not important, he figured. Maybe it was the elusive radio host, who knows.

The second man, however, he knew all too well.

For someone who'd just escaped what was essentially drowning in air, Guillaume recovered much easier than his anonymous counterpart. Mere moments after his exit, he raised his raven-headed cane high above his head, pointing the ominous-looking bird mask on the front in their general direction. Those who weren't currently occupied keeping Evelyn – The Harpy – in check, obeyed.

Close to a dozen grizzled veterans much better equipped than he was right now answered the call. Four in the back with guns, three in the front with pikes twice the height of a man, and two just behind them with swords and fresh Domain crystals for the enchantments that made the formation possible. It would seem that Guillaume had a knack for adapting his opponents tactics to suit his own needs.

A planner and a schemer, through and through. Just like himself, honestly. Not to mention, one who Henry would readily admit was better at it than he was.

So, this time, he taking a step back and sticking to what he was best at, instead. Keeping things simple and direct.

His plan was to win.

"Showtime," Henry muttered, bringing his own submachine gun to bear in response.

I hate that I'm about to do this again so soon… willingly… but-

-"I'm already a hypocrite, anyway."

In the back of his mind, some trickle of familiar knowledge slithered into place. Assessing the situation took a mere moment, instead of the precious seconds he usually required. His focus split two ways, one staring down the present horde while the other tangled with past demons.

< -|- -|- >

-they'd realized too late that vampires, as William insisted on calling them, were much more intelligent than werewolves. They could think ahead. They could ambush. And when you finally tired yourself out searching fruitlessly for them, they could fall like a thunderbolt.

One vampire. One single vampire was slowly, flawlessly herding them in the directions it wanted. Separating them into smaller and smaller groups. Testing the waters, goading the more aggressive folks away on wild goose chases, only to return and frighten the more timid ones in the opposite direction. For those who were left, it got more forceful and used the crumbling environment to do the dirty work for them. Why waste perfectly good opportunities, after all?

It was how Henry found himself falling through the moldy floor of one of the flats, crashing to the ground in a heap on the level below. Away from Grace, who he'd tried to chase after and protect alongside William.

His broken arm felt like it was on fire. He was alone, without a weapon, and only ambulatory out of sheer survival instinct. Staying in one place, alone, was certain death. He was sure of it. He needed to find someone, anyone else.

Stumbling back to the floor above, he first found-

< -|- -|- >

Submachine gun was terrible at range, but for now it was his best option to clear the gunners. Hop up onto the air duct, pull Layla to her feet behind him, spray as much lead as possible downrange before they can do the same to you. Out of the corner of his eye, Layla sent a thin, wispy mist orb into the oncoming ranks of melee fighters from what remains of strength she could recover. It did little to slow them down, but spoiling the view of those behind them just enough to buy him some time.

His entire extended magazine tore downrange. Two lucky shots sang through. One took a thug in the head, another in the stomach. Not dead yet, but soon. A center mass shot like that, and it was only a matter of time. The gangster fell to the ground in a heap, groaning.

Spent magazine clattered to the ground with the flick of his wrist, and a fresh one slotted in with only minor hiccups from the improvised nature of the weapon's manufacture. Wouldn't help against the Knights, but better to have it ready to go again. One hand went back to holding Layla's, the other reached for the sheath at his waist.

He looked over his shoulder and nodded. She still was shuddering a bit from the aftereffects of her magic, but her eyes told him she was more than ready to take on the charge together. She nodded back.

They charged.

< -|- -|- >

-"Layla!"

Henry's voice was hoarse, his heart thumping in his chest as he ran with everything he had down the hall. Cecil lay slumped against the wall behind him, holding a hand tight to the base of his neck as he applied pressure to a bite mark that had only just barely avoided the vital arteries within.

The ex-mil elf's combat knife felt heavy in his good hand as he ran. Henry followed the trail of blood droplets that had leaked from Cecil's neck in his narrow escape, desperately hoping he wasn't too late already. Grimly, he wondered if taking the time to ensure his fellow survivor wouldn't die of blood loss had been the wrong decision. He might already be too late.

Or if the small container he'd been given as thanks would make up for it in any way. A small plastic bottle with low-level inscriptions facing inwards, simply labeled 'combat-grade stabilizers'.

Loaded to the brim with pill capsules.

"Layla!!", he repeated-

< -|- -|- >

-the hilt of his first blade lashed upward underneath the chin of the first Knight, leaving the man's neck wide open for a follow-up slash from a quick flick of the wrist. Went down gurgling, clutching the ragged flesh as the life drained out of him. Somewhere along the line, they'd gotten past the pikes and into melee range. The other two had already let go of theirs, moving close to grapple the two of them while the ones with swords readied them for thrusting strikes.

Layla ducked low, mist swirling around her palm as she pushed off with her back leg. The air whistled as the strike launched, open palm connecting with the chin of one and sending the man behind flying with a metallic clang. With a force that had once dented the Harpy's wings, the Knight sailed several meters into the air from the impact. Lower jaw shattered, only held in place by the steel of the faceplate being bent inward to wrap around it. He fell to the ground, either dead or unconscious. To Henry currently, it was the same difference.

Managed to dodge one, but the other dived in the way to seal the deal. His grip on Layla's hand only just barely held, but the armored man nearly twice his size managed to bring all three of them down to the ground through sheer momentum alone.

The knight got to his feet first, pinning Henry to the ground with a leg on either side of his torso. He locked two mailed fists together, weaving his fingers between each other to bring a hammer blow down on his exposed face and chest.

Henry only had one arm of his left that wasn't pinned, had to momentarily let go of her hand to save himself. Knife was out of reach. Improvise. Pulled the Fire crystals from his hip pouch before those escaped him, too. Hit the ground hard as the knight slammed his sternum, knocking the wind out of him through his body armor as the ground-and-pound truly began.

Neither of them had a chance to recover. He didn't give them the chance. Crystals had to go somewhere, he hadn't been fully successful in protecting them. Wrapping two fingers around the bottom edge of the Knight's faceplate, he flipped it open just enough to leave the coarse handful inside the face cavity just before the orange glow turned bright white. Slam the lid shut. Ignore the muffled screams as the steel plate began to heat up cherry red. He could feel it on his face, waves of heat licking at his eyebrows, radiating off of the metal. Flames danced around the edges of the plate, as the quiet screaming lost more and more energy. After what felt like an eternity, the sound stopped, and the Knight fell to its knees, lifeless.

A pair of strong arms pulled the corpse off of him. Layla. She'd fully entered the fray now, too, sparing only a moment to lift him to his feet before adopting a rough boxer's stance and unleashing devastating body blows onto the remaining assailants that got too close.

Were they enough to be lethal? Couldn't tell- but they certainly weren't getting up anytime soon, either. It would have to be enough for now.

The battle with the Harpy of Woolwich was close to reaching a conclusion.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.