Henry had been internally debating whether or not patience was a virtue for some time now. Why wait, if you didn't have to? Things were seldom completely irreconcilable if something didn't go according to plan, anyways.

After today, though, the answer was pretty clear. Biding your time had advantages in its own right.

As his soul manifested in the intangible ether at the point his predecessor designated, he deliberately held off on materializing fully. There, he lie in wait, a formless lump of soul-stuff, blind to the physical world around him. Guided only by the twin burning beacons of his own soul, and his creator's.

In the middling distance, that other light snuffed out. He waited, counting the seconds. For now, he was well and truly dead.

He mentally catalogued the seconds as they ticked by. He had no idea how long Guillaume would be on guard for, but the longer he could remain in this suspended state, the better his odds were. Admittedly, though, that was easier said than done. He could really only delay the inevitable from his perspective. Once he was created, that was that: he would come into this world whether he wanted to or not.

For now, though, he needed to keep his head under the waves. For as long as he could physically hold his breath for.

11... 12... 13... 14...

In the murky depths, something inside him shifted involuntarily. 15 seconds. It would have to suffice. Slowly, silently, he materialized. Knelt just next to Guillaume's discarded source of power with his cheap tie in his hands.

He quick snatched up the inky black crystal with the cloth. As he had guessed, the surface remained inert, so long as he himself didn't make contact. Excellent.

"It... It's over."

No good. His time was shorter than he'd expected. Originally he'd considered playing dead for a little longer, but on the flat expanse of the roof he'd soon be found out anyway. Time to end this on his own terms.

"You got one thing right," he remarked as he readied himself to finish the job.

Layla's head whipped around, stunned. "How-"

"Don't bother trying to find a way back like I did. Oh, and Martin hopes you burn in hell, if you even know who that is."

He placed the palm of his hand against the crystal. It shattered, collapsing in on itself like it was made of spun sugar.

< -|- -|- >

Layla's eyelids fluttered for a moment. As she stirred, two words escaped her lips while she cautiously risked trusting her own ability to control herself.

"He's… gone..."

A wave of relief washed over her, and she passed out once again. Shallow puddles of water rippled slightly as gravity took hold of her, most of her body landing on top of headless remains of what Guillaume had erroneously assumed was Henry's last copy.

Henry's heart both sank and swelled at the same time. She was alive, but… in all likelihood, she'd also been forced to watch her actions against her will. Evelyn had made mention of being conscious during her forced servitude frequently, and while for all he knew this could be entirely different… he had his doubts.

A shudder overtook his body as it dawned on him how close she'd been to being trapped in a fate worse than death.

It's okay… it's okay… she's safe now.

He repeated those words over and over, like a mantra. With each retelling, the tension of the entire world seemed to unravel just a little bit more. Heavy mist that had smothered the rooftop mere minutes ago began to disperse, excess threads of the stuff lazily drifting away and slowly radiating out of her body into the night sky. Like London itself had been holding its breath in anticipation, and was only now just beginning to let go.

As the moments ticked by, Henry slowly watched the moonlight creep back through the fading haze onto the rooftop of the office building. As high up as they were, it felt much brighter than it usually did down on the crumbling city streets below. It hovered directly above them, shining through the cloud barrier above and appearing much closer than it ever was during any normal full moon he'd ever saw.

Somehow, it all felt… serene. Like after tonight, things were just that small step closer to what they should be. Whether it was a slight stumble in the right direction, or a great leap, who knew. He certainly didn't. And he was perfectly fine with leaving time to answer that question.

Right now, he just wanted to tidy up after himself. He'd made an awful mess of things in the fighting, after all.

Henry didn't bother with any clones just yet. Coming into existence had taken just north of six seconds the last time he'd tried, and the attempt had hurt like hell. Between the dislocated shoulder and the phantom pain coming from the crystal that felt like an oncoming heart attack that might never arrive, it seemed wise to him to just wait that one out for a while. All the soul related garbage would have to fix itself, as usual. As for the shoulder…

With a pained grunt and a pop, he lifted the damaged ball joint he'd inherited back into place, giving his shoulder a quick massage to make sure he'd done it right. There was still a bit of an ache afterward, and the muscle felt like it was ever so slightly twitching beneath the skin, but the relief was immediate.

Jesus Christ, I needed that…

Next came taking care of Layla. She very clearly had a bunch of veins that had burst in her arm, and he really wanted to make sure she didn't die from blood loss after all the trouble that had gone into saving her. Her pack had a spare medical kit they'd fished off of one of the Knights before they'd left, so with only a bit of rummaging around, he was able to get everything disinfected, glued up, gauzed, and whatever else he could find that had a chance of staunching the flow.

By the end, she was looking a bit like a mummy, with her pulse only just barely clinging on. A thin, faint thread of life beat slowly under his fingertips, doing its best to keep a steady rhythm but not quite accomplishing it.

Cecil had managed to beat a few lessons on keeping people alive into him, and his current medical work was what the snarky elf bluntly called 'making one comfortable as they die'. That wasn't good enough for him. He needed a solution.

Come on, surely there's something more in here that can-

There was. He hated that it was showing up a second time in his life, now, but it was. As close to a monkey's paw as he'd ever known.

At the very bottom of the medical bag, there was a small, unassuming pill bottle with a bit of fine print on it. The last time he'd seen something like this, it was back in the Palatial Remnant's hospital tent under several locks and keys. For a rather extensive list of damn good reasons, to boot.

The last time he'd used them himself… well, he'd started on the path to becoming what he was today.

Combat-grade stabilizers. The cutting-edge of military pharmaceuticals, designed specifically to fit the needs of all quick and dirty live fire situations. For the most part, anyway.

Henry quashed the tide of unwelcome memories threatening to surface. Had to tell himself that things were different this time. That what happened to him wouldn't happen again. Couldn't happen. He wouldn't give it the chance, if he had his way about it. Which meant that he needed to act quickly, before her pulse actually did give out.

No choice. This was the one option available in the moment. He flicked the lid open, shaking the small plastic container until one of the gelatin capsules fell out onto his waiting palm. Squeezing it tight in his hand, he rolled her onto her back with some effort, careful not to undo the work he'd toiled over for so long just to get her bandages fixed in place.

Her breathing was calm and even, but faint. He'd need to make this quick if he was to avoid her choking.

Just for a moment, he hesitated. Despite his insistence to the contrary, there was still a chance, however small, that he might not actually be an outlier when it came to this. Could he really live with himself if…?

…Yes. Yes he could. Because at the end of the day, she'd still be alive, in one way or another. And if the worst came of it, he knew he could bring her back.

He made the call.

< -|- -|- >

Several minutes later, and her breathing was still shallow, but even. There wasn't exactly a bedside he'd been able to make use of – or a bed, for that matter – so he'd taken the time to improvise something in the hopes she'd be comfortable while she rested.

First thing he'd done was pull her off of the wet asphalt most of the battle had taken place on. There was a spot close to the demolished ruins of the elevator shaft that had a little bit of elevated rubble and was pretty close to dry, and for now it served to prop her upright adequately enough. Not much, but it was the best he could do with what he had, so for the following 20 minutes or so he considered the job done and busied himself mostly with going over the rest of the scraps strewn over the roof.

First thing he'd done was check every one of his bodies to recover his artifacts and other magic gear. The 8-Ball made its way back into his carry bag, the revolver to his holster, and the extra copies of Guillaume's artifact map he'd inadvertently made were confiscated and stuffed alongside the one he had. Easy enough, but he still had plenty to do. Time to move on to those who he thought deserved respecting.

Evelyn's body found peace tucked around the back of the radio shack, leaving him to wonder just what he was going to do about her.

A proper burial was absolutely necessary, but he was worried about finding somewhere suitable. Loose earth had already been at a premium in London before the Shroud trapped them all, and with how many bodies of loved ones were put to rest in the aftermath of the first Witching Hour, that scarcity had only skyrocketed. Cremation had become popular due to the general lack of open ground that wasn't already occupied, but with how much metal her body possessed currently, that simply wouldn't be an option this time.

"You deserved better," he mumbled to himself as he looked down at her remains. Part of him wondered if she could hear him. It'd be a long shot, but… he was living proof that it wasn't zero, either.

"If only I could have… huh?"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

With the moon shining brightly above, an odd detail suddenly stuck out to him that made no sense at first glance. In the mangled remnants of her robot leg, just below the engraving that read 0004, there was a roughly elliptical blob of shadow that, by all accounts, shouldn't have been there. Like the light just sort of… slipped over it, not realizing that that patch of burnished steel was supposed to be illuminated.

Part of the steel plate the engraving was attached to was bent at an odd angle. He could probably peel it loose if he-

A faint tremor rumbled through the floor of the building. Mystery forgotten for the moment, his attention was immediately drawn to the fire escape, knowing that there was only one person nearby capable of causing such a disturbance in the area.

The fall didn't kill him!

With everything else he'd been taking care of, William had totally slipped his mind. Henry rushed to the side of the roof, and sure enough, the Nobles' prized megaproject was still alive and kicking. The armor was battered, the helmet dented beyond recognition and the shield laying on the street below in a state beyond repair, but the Knight Commander was still operational.

And, miraculously, climbing.

The side of the building turned impromptu ladder was absolutely gutted by the time he reached the top, but reach it he did. As the armor sparked and jittered the last few meters up and over the lip of the flat roof, he silently considered how weird it felt that for once, his worries had been unfounded.

That almost never happens...

With a heavy chunk, the armor kneeled at the edge as the clamps around the gorget disengaged. The hand that would have normally had the shield strapped to it raised slowly, lifting the dented, eyeless faceplate from off the top, before casting it aside like garbage. There was a loud clang as it bounced off the edge of the rooftop before plummeting to the ground below.

A mechanical whirr, and an upper torso slowly rose out of the cavity. Partway between a command center and an end-of-term care suite, the apparatus he was bound to was the product of countless man-hours of enchanting work done so that he could be the hammer that held back the baying tides of monsters that threatened the Nobles' lands. William gave him a thin smile. No longer did he need to pretend he was that Quixotic ideal.

"Hello, Henry," he began, wheezing past the cannula attached to his nostrils. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

A corny understatement, but completely in character for the William he remembered. Henry couldn't help but snicker at that.

"No kidding," he replied. "I take it the wolfpacks were no trouble, then? I would have thought they'd at least slowed you down some on your way over. Though clearly even they can't withstand your impeccable sense of timing if you decided to pick now of all times to visit."

The ribbing was taken in stride, and William weakly grinned back. "Oh, come on now, that's hardly fair. How was I supposed to know you'd be doing work for the Club? Or, well… were you? It looked that way at the start, but things got confusing rather fast after that."

"It's… a long story, honestly. You got a minute?"

"For a fellow Greenwich survivor? Certainly. Tell away."

So, he did. Starting from his flat, where the first inklings of this hare-brained plan of his came together. William, for the most part, simply nodded along, only asking clarifying questions when there wasn't exactly much context. His reaction stayed mostly muted the whole way through, only frowning a bit at the report of there being a new thrall-camp in the Morlocks' old temple. Didn't say anything, just made a note of it and they moved on.

Even the function they'd found for the 8-Ball didn't faze him all that much. Henry had wanted to skim past the fact that it still existed at first, but as he got closer and closer to informing William about it he realized how untenable that position would be. As much as he wanted to hide it, there was simply no way he'd be able to keep it a secret for long. Reluctantly, he admitted that it indeed still existed somewhere, but danced around the specifics and made it sound like he had no idea where it went.

Once Cavendish got wind that he had it, he would be hounded to the ends of the city in pursuit of it. William might let it slide for now, but once he got back and gave word of its power, he wouldn't hesitate to follow orders to retrieve it, either. Best for all parties involved if there was no indication that he was currently holding onto the damnable thing this very moment.

Besides that, however, there wasn't all that much that William didn't already know. He'd heard the important parts of the battle through the Knights' own communication network, so all he needed to hear was the perspective he and Layla had. William floated the idea of organizing a rescue for Martin's group to come back with him to the Nobles, but Henry shut that down citing the fact that currently, they were doing fine on their own and that they were both down the manpower needed to deal with that sort of refugee situation. William had conceded that point, thankfully.

Once he wrapped up, the conversation devolved into general commiseration, half complaining about the crazy turns their lives had taken, and the other half jokes and amusing anecdotes they'd experienced in their travels. The apocalypse meant that there typically weren't many chances like this to blow off steam with good friends, so between Henry's previous lone wolf existence and William's constant need to be ready to switch personas at the tip of a hat, just being in the company of another regular human being for a time was a bigger release of tension than either of them initially realized.

"…So just when I thought I'd seen it all, the bigger one punted the runt like he was match point for the World Cup!", William regaled energetically. "After that, the werewolves seemed more interested in fighting each other than us, so we just backed off slowly and went on our merry way."

"You think that's wild?" Henry grinned from ear to ear, flipping one of his knives in the air as they talked. "One time, back when the British Museum thrall-camp was still a thing-"

A couple of shifting pieces of rubble caught his attention, stopping his story short before it could even begin. Covered in dust and grime from where she'd been sleeping, but no less awake and aware, Layla was slowly getting to her feet, wincing slightly as she put pressure on her wounded arm.

He was up on his feet in an instant.

"Easy, easy!" he whisper-shouted as he scrambled to get her to lie back down. "You'll break something open again if you move too much!"

Stubbornly, she tried to stand up anyways, only for head-rush to force her back down. Henry was only just able to get his hand back behind her head before she banged it against the concrete.

"Just relax, okay Layla? You've more than earned it. Just… relax."

She took a deep breath in, and a shuddering one out.

"H-hey... Sorry about..."

Henry clamped down on the self pity immediately, recognizing where that line of thinking brought him before.

"Hey, look at me, there's nothing you need to be sorry about," he admonished with a hint of encouragement. "That wasn't you, okay? I know you. Guillaume used you for terrible ends in his own selfishness, and any blood he got on you during that has been paid back in full several times over now. My only regret is that there isn't a way to kill him a few more times that doesn't endanger the world we live in, but… take what I can get."

"You died... so many times..."

"Look, I'm not saying things are all sunshine and roses, but that's pretty much par for the course for me. There's really nothing you need to worry about, okay?"

"But-"

"Do you hear me?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder. The gears turned for a moment as her attempts to place the blame solely on herself were systematically swatted away. Eventually, she just sighed in defeat.

"Yeah… yeah, I hear you."

"Excellent. Because there's someone who's swung by that you might want to say hi to. I'm sure he's just as interested in having a chat with you as he was with me."

In the background, William waved with his armor's one good hand. Surprised she didn't notice him before, she awkwardly smiled and waved back.

"Guess there's a few things that he'll need to catch up on…" Layla muttered. "I'm just hoping he'll back up my cover story on why I abandoned that doomed expedition to go Morlock hunting…"

"You were disobeying orders when we met?", Henry asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"What, that surprises you? Best decision I could have made, honestly."

He laughed, and would have clapped her on the shoulder if it weren't for the bandages.

"I'll make a drifter out of you yet...", he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "In your dreams."

With that, she waved him one last goodbye and made her way over to the literal Knight in shining armor. Their talk was much shorter than his was, and before long they were making their final goodbyes to one another, as both of their responsibilities kept them tied to the Nobles for the time being.

William couldn't stop grumbling about that part. "This is going to be so difficult to explain," he griped. "Sure, we completely gutted the Gentleman's Club, but the costs in lives and materiel… Even my squire got killed in the fighting…"

"Play up the upsides, and gloss over the downsides," Henry suggested. "After all, you were the one who went toe-to-toe with three Devils and lived to tell the tale."

"What? But I didn't-"

"Yes, you did. Layla was captured, remember? I escaped and fled in the carnage, the Harpy was scrapped early on and Layla was found after you killed Guillaume. Open and shut. Cavendish won't expect a thing."

The pieces clicked together, and William nodded at his proposed story.

"He'll probably be mad that we weren't able to interrogate Guillaume like we'd intended… but… I'm sure he'd agree that the deaths of two of the more antagonistic Devils, along with the overwhelming majority of their organization's leadership, is worth that cost."

"Trust me, when I'm right, I'm right. He'll buy that hook, line and sinker."

William sighed. "That's what has me worried… I'd been looking forward to getting off the field for a bit…"

The armor straightened, as Layla had finally finished her slow, one-armed climb onto the back of the shoulder plate where the squire usually hung. They had no reason to delay going back any further, but…

But part of him knew that they'd be seeing each other again, probably very soon.

"Take care, Henry!", William said with finality as he began climbing back down. Layla's bandaged arm waved one last time, past the lip of the roof and towards the streets below. Henry waved back, sad to see her go but excited for the chances the future held.

As they strode off into the distant mists, he observed the streets from the roof for a little while longer, until he could no longer see them. Once again, he was alone.

Time to track what odds and ends this whole debacle had landed him, finally.

< -|- -|- >

He had to admit… the radio shack made for an excellent space to hide from prying eyes.

There were a few items he had a hold of, now, that made him greatly value the privacy the building offered. For starters, he gave a brief check over the 8-Ball artifact, which, to no surprise, still seemed to work as it had before. Cheap plastic bauble it might be imitating, he'd never seen anyone smash an artifact before, and apparently not for lack of trying if Gordon had been any indication. Maybe Martin and the other freed mages might have a use for it, he'd have to check in with them later…

Much more valuable to him by far was the veritable treasure map of artifact sites the Club had compiled. Detailed instructions on points they'd confirmed as most likely to have artifacts inside, along with a few suspected locations and whatever scraps of information their scouts were able to uncover about each spot. Already, he saw a few that he absolutely had to have for himself, if the reports were legitimate. None of them would be easy, but…

Worries for later. He committed everything he could to memory, before burning all but one of the copies on the last scraps of a Fire Domain crystal. Smoke wafted up towards the ceiling, conglomerating in lazy clouds above as it slowly dissipated through the various odd gaps and holes in the plywood exterior.

"Now, let's see what this suspicious little bit is about…"

Perhaps somewhat morbidly, the robotic leg had been almost too trivially easy to remove from the rest of the remains. He held it in his lap now, peeling away the metallic casing to get a closer look at what he assumed would be the inscribed, multilayered surfaces below.

Just a peek, he'd told himself. It hadn't occurred to him just how unsettling he would have found this had he been thinking clearly.

What he found instead was a perfectly hollow interior. One that housed a nearly identical looking black crystal, suspended in midair equidistant from any surface. A four-sided, irregular shape, forming a faint corona in the center of the cavity that otherwise was as black as the deepest abyss.

Henry felt… compelled… to investigate further, when suddenly a wheezing cough erupted from inside one of the shack's few person-sized lockers.

Had it not been for the smoke filtering through the slits, Henry would have never realized there was someone else in here with him.

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