The Wasteland

Blood wet the ash. It was a dark and fresh and heavy, mingling with the dirt and staining it a deep maroon. It wasn’t the first time the wastes had sampled death, and if it was the last, then Epsilon would eat her own shoe.


Well. Maybe not. They were rather good shoes, after all, and would probably be a pain in the ass to replace out here. She ground her heel into a nearby stone, taking pleasure in the suppleness of the leather. Yes, they were very good shoes indeed. Just like this house had been a very good house, and the small little garden in the front, fenced off with pikes of wood and rusted wire, had been a very good garden. They- “they” being Epsilon and her protege, Delta- had found the place nearly a year back, and had been fixing it up since. The building was small, with only a few rooms, and the windows had long since fallen out, but it had a nice little tin roof to keep out heavier weather, and even a water pump right out front. There was even a supermarket nearby, although it was of little purpose nowadays. All worthwhile supplies had been picked clean, and the only thing left now was rotted meats and rats.


Once, Epsilon recalled, they had settled in a supermarket. Thrown out all the bad food, tidied it up some, then set up inside. It had been a decent home for a few months, camping out on musty mattresses in the back rooms, but supermarkets attracted raiders like honey does flies. Combine that with the base being too large to defend, and the two were evicted before spring.


The raiders had found this place, too. She found herself eyeing the left side of the house, which had fallen outward in the fight, slumping over like some great concrete beast. A thin dusting of spores had coated it, and no breeze had come yet to send them off. A good sign, Epsilon thought. A dust storm was the last thing they needed now.


She had found herself so deep in thought that when the whistle came, she found herself starting a bit- although she quickly relaxed upon seeing the younger girl walk into view, shovel in hand. Shaking her head, Epsilon strode to meet the distance, stopping a few feet short in front of the other.


“They taken care of?” Epsilon asked. The girl, Delta, gave the affirmative with a nod of her head. In a movement that seemed somewhat awkward, she tucked the shovel safely into the crook of her arm, and raised her hands in swift, jerky movements.


I buried all of them near the boulder. Put a pile of rocks on them, too. Needed to hide the dirt. Epsilon grinned in response, then, dragging her tongue against her palm, planted her own hand upon Delta’s crop of hair and mussed it up.


“Atta girl,” she said. “Go ahead and break that if you can- thing’s too big for us to carry. Then go grab your things, we’re leaving in eight.” Epsilon paused, in thought, then added, “Oh, and make sure to wash up real quick if you can, eh? You smell like an ape.”


Says the person who sat back and watched while I did all the slave work. You must be getting old.


“And you’re getting lazy.” Epsilon reached forward to box Delta on the ear, but the kid managed to duck away just in time, swatting away the offending hand just to be safe. Cocky little shit. “But really, go back in. Might be the last chance we’ll get to freshen up in a while.” After trying to get her own punch in (which Epsilon quickly deflected. Needed to remind the kid who was boss, after all), Delta obediently went back into the ruins of their home. Epsilon watched her go for a few moments, then began to go through their supplies again while she waited.


It was after she had made sure that nothing had somehow magically teleported into oblivion for the eighth time that the kid returned. I left a note, Delta explained. Crystal might have thought that we died.


Oh, crap. The other kid. While they were on much better terms now than when they had first met, and while Epsilon had developed a kind of appreciation for the teen, she wasn’t at the forefront of her mind after fending off a hostile raider invasion. Plus, they hadn’t really had to worry about keeping in contact with anyone else for a long, long time. Still, Epsilon nodded as if she had been on the same page the entire time, and, to further cement the concept, added, “Good idea. Was just about to do that, myself.”


Delta simply rolled her eyes.


Nevertheless, Epsilon did contribute in the end, adding a small burlap sack of goods below the note. A sort of last “hurrah and thank you” kind of deal. With that done and done, the two prepared to set out. According to the map, there had been a tiny baby town some miles to the west- they could visit it and go from there, easy enough.

The rapid approach of the stranger had made it even more easier for the tendrils of Dawn’s Gift to reach him. It sprawled forward, rooting its claws deep into the mind of the intruder- not picking up anything of particular substance, but simply skimming the surface, gathering what information happened to flit through the man’s thoughts. He was too far, his mind too jumbled, and- why not admit it?- Dawn herself was too shaken to do any real digging at the moment. It didn’t take any special power or intelligence to connect the recent kidnapping attempt with this, after all, and even less to predict what would happen once the stranger was on Helton grounds. Dawn gnawed on her cheek, noticing with a dull awareness the sharp tang that filled her mouth.

Sensing Toby’s preparation to fire, Dawn swiftly put an end to her own probing, Gift snapping back into place like a rubber band. It wasn’t a perfect snap-back, of course- she could still very much sense the undercurrent of the group’s thoughts, and the faint drift of the stranger- but it was wasn’t as encompassing. Tolerable. Nevertheless, as the bullets passed through the trespasser, rending meat from bone and crafting bone into jagged chunks, the pain still reached her. It came from the man in throbbing waves, reflected further off Toby, who bore the brunt of the agony like it was his own. The echo that passed through Dawn was unpleasant, but nothing like her fellow empath’s; it was clean and precise, running through her brain as if someone had dragged a blade through it. A migraine. Painful, but tolerable. Wincing, guilt flowing freely through her, Dawn sent her own transmission in Toby’s direction. Nothing too big or sudden- she didn’t want to overload the Schippers brother, after all- but there nonetheless. The mental equivalent of clasping one’s shoulder in sympathy. Then the feeling was gone, and Dawn followed the others to the broken body nearby.

You didn’t need to be a doctor to see just how bad the damage was. The man’s wings was now nothing more than a tangle of flesh and sinew, body bent and contorted in the most unnatural positions possible. Alive, but only just. The sight was difficult enough to look at even for a stranger (there was something faint that registered inside her mind when she caught a glimpse of his features, although it was nothing major. The feeling was quickly brushed aside in favor of more pressing matters), but Dawn was aware of an even stronger reaction among their group’s members. Recognition, and an emotion that was too great to be anything but anguish.

Mina. She knew this man all too well.

Dawn did not comment on this. She did not ask questions, or try to prod for any further information- privacy was the least she could grant the good doctor at this moment. Instead, she braced herself, settling in a half-kneeling position nearby and forcing herself to look at the body.

“Whoever he is…” she paused, wiped her lips, then tried again. “Whoever he is, we need to get him to Clockwork. Right now.” Even with Mina’s set of skills, Dawn doubted that the stranger would last much longer like this. Dark red patches bloomed from various places on his body, spilling onto the ash beneath him, and the pools were only growing larger as the seconds ticked by. “I can call her over.”

Because, at the moment, she wasn’t sure if trying to bring the man directly over to the building would be a good idea for several reasons.

Toby felt Dawn's tendril of uplift like an angel offering him a hand from the mental floor he'd just crashed into. He sent a mental response, a blurry wash of gratitude. As the others gathered closer, Toby backpedaled, standing back from Larke's body. It seemed backward and hypocritical to look at the bloodied, broken heap he just shot down from a ridiculous height, and then sit there hoping the guy didn't die, but hope the guy didn't die Toby did.

Like Dawn, Toby sensed Mina's recognition, followed by her denial. He felt sick. He hadn't thrown up about killing someone for years--he'd gotten numb, accustomed to seeing bullet holes in foreheads and helping clean up after his brother's most extensive knifework--but the nausea roiled in his stomach now. He forced it down. Mina knew him.

He didn't want to say anything, but he did. "He's not a shifter," he said. And he wanted to ask how she knew him, but he didn't. "I'm sorry," Toby mumbled, "I--I had to. He might've come here to-- I'm sorry. He can self-heal--but maybe c--but call her anyway."

At this juncture, the last thing he wanted to do was step up to the half-dead Erubescan, but caution overcame his guilt. He took a knee, careful to avoid stepping on the broken wing, collecting the stranger's two pistols from his shoulder holster, and a combat knife. They couldn't wake their intruder up for him to shoot at them. He checked pockets for any other weapons, but found only gauze, medical tape, disinfectant, and other first aid supplies. Why would Erubesco send a healer on a solo mission?

"This might be some k--kind of distraction," Toby considered aloud, holding out one of the handguns toward any of the other Wanderers who wanted to claim it. Spoils of war. He kept hold of the other one, seeing as he'd just spent his ammunition.

They had been making decent progress since the morning began. Ash turned to weeds, parched and yellow, weeds turned to scrub, and scrub steadily gave way to well and proper thickets. Nothing impressive by any means, but it was enough to offer some reprieve from the sun, which had become harsh and stifling as the day went on. Twice, Epsilon had noted the rustle as a rabbit or some other rodent darted out of sight, and Delta had pointed out a batch of naturally growing fungus at the base of a fallen log. A good sign. Even if they were just passing through, the soil was rich, and they could easily add to their stock if they so desired. Plus, unless there was a plant Gifted hiding somewhere, a place like this meant freshwater, which was precious.

Some ways into their trek, a new sound began to rise over the leaves rustling and the local wildlife screaming for someone to come and fuck them: voices. The two immediately stopped where they were, melting into what foliage the forest offered. They waited there for several minutes, and, once enough time passed to satisfy her, Epsilon quietly raised a hand and ushered the other forward. They crept a bit further, avoiding the visibly drier leaves scattered across the ground, and from there, observed.

It was a boy, as the voice had told. A young one, too, by the looks of it, probably around Delta’s age. He was leaning over something- no, someone. A girl. Recognition spiked through Delta, and, as the younger of the two women turned towards the other, she saw that she didn’t need to tell Epsilon- there was a pleasant sort of surprise in her face, and, upon meeting Delta’s gaze, she signed, Guess we didn’t need that note after all.

Of course, it was always possible that it was a shifter, Epsilon mused. Then proceeded to walk into view anyway, tread purposefully heavy. One hand moved to usher Delta behind her- much to the teen’s annoyance- and the other, her left, produced a toothpick from her pocket.

“That you, Crys?” She spoke loudly; a booming, hearty kind of tone. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing any familiar faces all the way outt’ere.” She did not acknowledge Crystal’s position, nor the boy beside her. The most Epsilon did to show she was even aware of the stranger’s presence was a brief look over, and little else.

Delta, however, did the exact opposite. She had nodded towards their trade partner, given an almost awkward wave, but her eyes remained affixed on the boy. There was a certain wariness about her, similar to that of a wild animal trying to determine a threat, and, combined with the shoddiness of her clothes and sloppy cut of her hair, the resemblance only grew. While she had developed enough of a trust of Crystal to not answer the door with a crowbar in hand (purposefully, of course. Old habits die hard), Delta was a wastelander. Anyone unfamiliar was a threat and then some, with little exception.

Beside her, Epsilon idly picked her teeth, trying to get at a particularly stubborn scrap of food lodged there.

Crystal's let out a noise of protest as she ran smack dab into Elliot. "Urgh" Standing up and brushing herself off she begain to pick up tools. "Look I have a meeting with important people and if I mess it then they are going to think I'm dead, betrayed them, or worse late and if I'm late my product might be gone. You have no idea how important my pro.... " She paused for a moment cocking her head to the side as if hearing something. With a quick motion she made sure the bunker hatch was closed before returning to where she had been standing.

Acting natural she kept talking but cocked her head to the side a subtitle motion to the strange noise she heard. Causally Reaching into her pocket she wrapped a hand around a weapon ready to strike if needed. That need never came as those she heard revealed themselves and surprisingly were familiar to her.

With a bounce as she strategically moved between them and Elliot. To protect Elliot or to protect them from Elliot the purpose was unclear. "Hey guys! I didn't expect you two to be out here. How are my two future drug cartel suppliers doing." The smile and jab to the words meant they weren't serious at all. However there was a twist to them, a way for her to reassure the more nervous of the two she was indeed herself. "What are you guys doing all the way out here, I'm not that late am I?" The sparkle of mischief never left her eyes as she watched the pair.

As she followed Delta's gaze. "Oh he's cool Del, just another one of my trading partners don't mind him. Meet Eli my favorite tool dealer! I keep telling him he should make a giant sculpture dedicated to me but he never listens to my reasonable request." While Crystal trusted Delta and Epsilion with her own well being she was not about to trust them with Elliot's, Lydia's, Jimmy's, or Mariana's lives without their consent.

Hel had taken advantage of the relative inattention of her de facto caretaker in order to leave the breakfast she'd been sort-of eating in order to slip outside.

The girl seemed to have a rather uncanny skill at moving silently.

Because of this, the red-haired child was soon outside within the ruins, where the group had gathered around the crumbled shape on the concrete.

Helena made her way over without a great deal of hesitation.

Some people might have regarded her ease around the scene of carnage as rather unsettling. She walked over to the broken man and started casually scooping up a few handfuls of of the bloodied feathers from the floor and stuffing them in the pockets of her hoodie.

Well, it was a bit unsettling.

Though judged on the benchmark of a girl who had, the day before, stabbed a teleporter to death without the slightest moment's hesitation.

Considering, this was pretty mild for Hel.


She paused for moment in her collection, stopping and eyeing the man with a brief tilt of the head from side to side, like a small dog trying to identify if movement was that of an animal.

"He knows my dad." she declared, with a half-frown.
"Is he going to die?
--

Rei, whilst surprised by this sudden and rather gruesome turn of events, was not exactly horrified by seing a man rash to earth and splatter on the city's surface. She hadn't expected it, but considering some of the stuff she'd seen and experiences recently, it didn't elicit the horror it might have on someone who'd never eaten a dead soldier. Upon catching sight of the diminutive gifted approaching however, Rei became visibly more uncomfortable. Her face might have gone pale in the situation had she not always looked practically white-skinned at the best of times.

"Well. Uh. It looked like you all have this under control so I guess I'll....go do some other thing." the mutant mumbled as she edged her way backward and attempted to avoid the attentions of the little hellspawn.

Helena was certainly not above picking on Rei for any reason. Boredom, mainly. She had all the impulsivity and capriciousness of someone her age and the power and capacity for cruelty that far far outstripped it, and that made for a pretty horrifying combination.

Maybe this new appearance would distract the little monster from tormenting her.
Rei felt moderately bad hoping for that, admittedly....though she couldn't help but feel it was, at this point, someone else's turn to be forced to eat rocks and old tin cans by some pint sized demon from hell.

The way Hel honed straight toward a scene of carnage like a shark in bloodied water was uncanny.

“Hel,” said Spire, slowing his run to a walk when he saw the group, and Hel thankfully unharmed. “Hey. Don’t do that,” he panted.

And he didn’t mean the stuffing bloody feathers in her pockets; that behavior didn’t even strike him as odd for a six-year-old. At her age, he had enjoyed twisting the necks of small mammals and fingerpainting with their blood, back before he escalated to bigger prey.

“You can’t run off without asking, okay kid?” Spire said, recovering his calm. “Not when the labs are trying to get you back.”

Spire had looked away from the girl for maybe ten seconds while talking to Soren in the kitchen. She’d been five feet away from him. Her picked-at plate sat at the table, but she’d vanished. Last time she’d disappeared from under his nose, it was because an Erubescan speedster had tried to abduct her, so her sudden disappearance was understandable cause for alarm. This time, he’d launched after her so fast he might as well have been a speedster himself.

But now he showed no sign of his momentary panic. He stood as cool as carved stone, and addressed the group at large. "Well," he drawled. "We've been getting a lot of unwanted company lately, haven't we?"

Spire nudged Hel away from the battered Larke. He didn’t want her poking around too close the body, since Spire could tell by the general fussing that their avian friend was still alive. Fine. If he lived, maybe he could join the speedster in Pierrot’s extra-dimensional hell. And maybe eventually someone would acknowledge that the most practical solution was to let Spire cut both their throats. Trying to extract information from the speedster could tide him over for a while, but it did more to whet his thirst than anything else. At the end of the day, torture in and of itself felt empty--just pointless indulgence. Taking a life--that mattered. It combined all the satisfaction of ridding the world of one more corrupt creature with the empowering feeling of control, and the electrifying sensation of steel slicing flesh, of slick, warm blood between his fingertips. Spire would get his fix, the Wanderers wouldn’t have to waste resources on dangerous prisoners, and Hel would have an abundant supply of feathers for whatever craft project she appeared to be planning. He didn’t see the problem. Everyone would be happy. But especially Spire. Spire would be very happy.

Okay.

Focus.

Spire’s pale eyes peeled away from the vulnerable form of the unconscious crash victim, pushed his hands into the deep pockets of his coat, and turned to his younger brother. “You okay? What happened?”

“I’m not hurt. I shot him down,” Toby said hoarsely. “He’s Erubescan.”

Spire nodded, and, not perceiving the difference between “okay” and “not hurt,” he moved on to other matters. “How does he know your dad?” he asked Hel, always a little grated by the mention of Commander Green for a combination of reasons that tended to confuse him.

Kayla had seen her good share of gore and violence in her life, but the Erubescan's descent had certainly left her shaken. She flinched as he had made impact with the ground, her green eyes wide with shock as the ash and dust cleared. Upon seeing the blood and feathers scattered across the ground around the mangled body, she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She held a hand against her mouth to keep herself from screaming or throwing up. As Mina approached to heal him, she looked away, trying to push the image out of her mind.

It wasn't until Mina stuttered out his name that she looked back. "Larke." She mumbled, her brow furrowing. She looked at the fallen medic and remembered seeing him when they had rescued Drake. "He was in the facility we broke into when Drake was held captive." She pointed out, ignoring the faint twinge of sadness in her chest. Focus. She thought to herself. She looked at Mina, noticing that she looked rather uneasy for someone she didn't really know. Frowning in concern, she walked over and rested a hand on her shoulder in reassurance.

"So, if we don't need Clockwork, what should we do with him?" She asked, looking at the others in question. She tried not to pay attention to Hel as she started gathering up the bloody feathers. While the act was rather disturbing, she knew it wouldn't be ideal to question it.

Strangely enough, it was with a sense of both relief and discomfort which Dawn regarded Spire’s approach. Discomfort because the older Schippers’ thoughts weren’t the most pleasant thing to be witness to (even now, she could feel the soft undercurrent regarding the prisoners, and quickly began trying to tune the whole thing out), and relief because, well. As odd as it was, the man had become a sort of guardian to Hel throughout the weeks that she had been with the Wanderers. While he wasn’t exactly the first choice she would have when it came to caretakers, Dawn doubted that Hel would obey if they tried keeping her away from Larke’s body. Even if Spire saw nothing wrong with Hel’s...recent behavior, he seemed at least set on keeping her away from the stranger at the time being.

Running a hand over her lips, Dawn rose, giving a soft “that’s okay” in response to Rei’s slipping away- although her eyes remained firmly locked upon Larke, as if half expecting him to suddenly rise and start walking around. Any doubts were gone now: their visitor was Erubescian. That meant that, if the Helton curse rang true- which it did, Dawn had seen more than enough examples to be sure by now- and if Larke Sterling was still a loyal man, then he wouldn’t have much time left lying out around here.

Something needed to be done with him, that was for sure.

“No,” she said. Forcing herself to look away from the body, Dawn gave a firm, deliberate shake of her head, clutching one arm with the other. “No, Hel, he’s not going to die.”

Not this one, at least.

“We should, um. We do have to put him somewhere, though. Maybe we could have Pierrot…” She trailed off, the note of hesitance clear in her voice. Mina obviously knew Larke, which made the matter much more...difficult. Personal, really. She doubted that when the man woke up, the meeting would be pleasant- especially if they welcomed him by tossing him in Pierrot’s portalland and leaving him to see his fellow Erubescian inside, her tendons open and drooling.

From where he was, perched betwixt the decorative railing of the Artisan Building, he could /just/ make out the end of the west district skyline. He could see where this place of liberal arts and literature ended, and where the sprawling megalopolis of the district capital started. What a view. You couldn't even make out the debauchury from here. Probably how the scholars liked it. He thought. Easier to separate the sin from the learning like that. Green grass and an impressive architecture. Green grass for him was a nice place to lay down, and have a drink in good company. Also a great place to get a clear shot on a target. Easy to target in fields, great duality. This elevated position was for his own safety, or so he had been told. Something about strength and lightning. A God in a machine. He wasn't paying attention. He had put a bullet in one Wanderer, and his newfound doubts wouldn't stop him from putting a bullet in another. Makorai caught the tail end of Knight Commander Botrelle's skirt twirl.

Can't take the city out of the girl, right?

"Yesss yesss Knight Commander Lulu , Viceroy Varren this dude." Chuckling, he re adjusted the the sight on his scope, watching Rick and Lulu phase in and out of focus. The window he was looking through was a large one, and by his calculations when and if they did leave, his blind spot would only last a second. "Hm." A quarter mile didn't justify the use of a scope from Makorai's perspective. Iron sights would have been more then efficient to land a kill shot, but he had be tasked with watching them first. Their exchange had him feeling like a voyeur more then a sniper. Like he was watching future lovers during their first meeting, both still figuring eachother out. Still trying to see where the hirzon ended, and the boundaries begun.


The young man nonchalantly checked the 'non lethal' rounds he'd been instructed, rather strictly, to use by the quartermaster. A few very lethal, depleted uranium rounds had been mixed in by accident. Don't drink and load kids. "Hmm?" Makorai watched as a third body walked into the mix. A rather mournful looking fellow with an air of self importance that came from just truly not giving a fuck about much anymore. The sniper related to that feeling. He acted on it too, by biting the top off of a small clay flask, and quickly sipping the contents. There was a very strict policy against drinking while on duty, one that was no doubt, compounded by the fact he was drinking during a high risk situation. Makorai, like this mounrful bastard, didn’t give a fuck.


“Mmm..Mmmm, Ronin hasn’t even noticed Tall Red and Firey, back there. He’s keeping his eye on that carnivorous snake pit.”

A few seconds later, and Ronin was..on his knees.


“Wow..she worked him down to his knees already I figured a fella would be a bit starved outhere in the Wasteland but gattdamn.”

Makorai touched a finger to his earpiece. All this time ands he had forgotten to switch it on.


"Otherwise, get your arrogant ass on the goddamn floor in the next ten seconds and or I'll be hauling it out of the doors and branding your face like I did the last one of your gang that pissed me off."-Kora

Makorai had been impressed she had stuffed Mr Great Hair so resolutely. Outdid that headshot he scored on the other one with the flippy hair and the dragon wings.

The sniper touched the earpiece, broadcasting his message to all deployed Erubescian troops.

“Yeah, and tell him if he moves I’ll put a bullet in his head like I did dragon boy.”
On second thought..
“Or..or don’t. That might just piss him off. Make him uncooperative. Scratch that.”

“Or just say it, I mean,”

Makorai took another large gulp of his bottle.

“Totally your call Red.”

Things happened, well, quickly. Makorai saw a flame fist speed toward The Incredible Ronin. The sniper had long trained himself not to blink, even a momentary lapse could lead to a missed window. Any sniper lived for those small moments where the perfect shot lined itself up, where the wind blew right and the earths rotation synced with the marks movement. Mako wasn't just 'any' sniper. Just like he didn't view himself as just 'any' drunk.

He was extremely proficient in both.

"I need more distance..more..let's see." The young man rose to his feet, and hoisted his sniper, placing the long barrel on his shoulder. His finger never left the trigger. "I need a teleporter to bounce me to position 3, mark 5, I'm currently at position 1 mark 3." His general flippancy wasn't shared by the task for that had been deployed to cease the Rick threat. Barely a second has passed and he felt a familiar grip on his shoulder, followed by disorientation. Teleporting was never a pleasant experience for him, something he'd have reminded the teleporter of, had they'd bothered to stick around.

Besides, he didn't have time to waste.

Saika pulled the thin glass monitor attached to over his right eye, and pressed a quick sequence of numbers. "M Saika 69." For voice verification. Their was a brief pause, then, bang, he could see through every security camera in the building.

There was Rick.

He placed the sniper on the stand, perching it on the lip of the low wall ahead of him. He had pulled himself farther away from the building then before. Much, much farther. He was going to take advantage of the prevailing winds that blew through these massive buildings.

Rather then aim for the open window he aimed about ten feet to its left. One eye was in the scope, the other tracked Rick's movements through the lens of his earpiece. A master-eye a piece.

He breathed, held, and fired.

The round whistled from the barrel, first carried by the propulsion of gunpowder, and next by the wind itself, which curled the bullet through the window and towards Ronin at an angle that would have been impossible without it.


The first bullet was an explosive round, which detonated before hitting Rick. Foam exploded from bullet, hungrily flying towards the biomass in front of it.

The second bullet that followed was a depleted uranium round. It whistled differently then the other one, he could tell what it was the moment he pulled the trigger. Makorai lifted his head up from the scope, and gave an appreciative nod.

"Yeah, that was the one,"

Kora saw the punch coming.

But Kora was not a dodger.

Kora took hits, and she took them unflinchingly.

The strike to her ribs threw her back and sent her colliding with the window she'd been stood before, the berserker bursting through out into the street in a shower of glass, landing with a sharp thud on the street below.

Outside, numerous Erubescan citygoers were stood at a distance watching the drama unfold, and reacted with gasps of alarm as they saw an erubesco knight pitched out of the building.

The reactions grew in excitement and intensity as they watched the woman stir and pick herself up off of the pavement,and wipe the blood from her bottom lip with one hand.

Distracted by the impact,t he bits of glass in her forearm, and the fact she was pretty sure the wounds under the bandages on her torso were opened again, Kora hadn't really noticed the attention she was getting until a camera flash off to her left took her by surprise, and the berserker looked round to see the gathered crowd.

"Uh. Hey, stay back over there, alright? It's dangerous." she mumbled, not entirely sure how to react to her newfound fame. Several people were clearly filming the whole thing. There were a few cries of 'For King and Country!' from the assembled masses.

After two weeks of feeling entirely worthless, an unmitigated failure, it took a while for Kora to work it out. The people there were cheering for her. For them, the Knights of Erubesco. The protectors of the nation.

"For King and Country." Kora spoke under her breath, before a screaming battlecry escaped her mouth and her eyes flared a luminous red. She charged, back in, up the stairs, boots leaving prints of melted fibres in the carpets.

She skidded round the corner to the place in front of the window once again, extended her hands at the now foam-covered man, and just before she fired, muttered something off that she did hope Rick would get a chance to hear.

"Hope you realize that that shit is flammable."

Then a wave of heat tore up the flooring between them.