Rise up and take the power back
it's time the fat cats had a heart attack
You know that their time's coming to an end
We have to unify and watch our flag ascend

-Muse, "Uprising"

Maybe it was the danger involved that had driven here there. Or maybe it was that they hadn't thought there would be much. Scouting mission, that was all. Circle the army, get a sense of its size, maybe fly overhead, in the clouds, unseen. That had been the plan.

Or maybe she'd volunteered because Alida had.

Or maybe it was because she'd only been out, in action, once before. And if the end was coming (at least, that was the rumor) she wanted to have some form of experience.

Or maybe it was because she'd spent the last year in constant training and she wanted to test herself.

Or maybe it was because she was stupid.

Did it really matter? They ducked behind a coffee shop, loud blabber of the people inside turning into an endless stream of noise. Monster snarls and the gossip of the few remaining teenagers mingling into a river, an ocean, and they were supposed to pick out useful things from it.

"Holy Zeus there's a lot of them." Janet looked up and down the street, letting her cam take in the view. The constant light, making the sidewalks that unnatural yellow,

"We've got people too. Looks like the civilians are booking it, though. Let's see if we can case Occidental Park. You all got the overview as we came down right?"

Monsters, mortals, covering blocks of space as they camped out. In the miles and miles surrounding Seattle Center. Looking up at the Space Needle like it was Mecca.

Waiting for the orders.

Twelve had seen it, yeah.

Marisol loaded her bow, stuck her head out from behind the alleyway. "Okay. I don't think they've noticed—"

(Or maybe she was here because her father and Eden were always talking battle, always off in some other world, a world Twelve wanted to be a part of, which was ridiculous of course because she was twenty one and should be above these things.)

An arrow bounced off the bricks next to them.

"I take that back." Marisol pushed them into the shadows again, and they froze. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. "Circle around, take off from a less crowded spot."

They plunged deeper into the alleyway, Twelve still half looking back, wondering what had happened, what was the—

"Fuck." Janet's shield barely caught the spike headed towards them.

Marisol barely looked at it. "Minotaur. We have to—"

"Duck!" Alida dove to the ground as another volley flew over their heads, and something clicked, and it was real now. Really real, because there were things out there trying to kill them and she had to run and—no, she had to stay and fight— fight. Right. She drew her sword, swung it, diverting the arrow headed towards them.

(Just like in training, when they would throw golf balls at you and you had to cut them down, exactly the same and yet so different because—)

"Out of the alley. Maia."

Up, up they went. Then forwards, between the buildings, then on the ground again, trying to blend in, at least a little, despite the shouting behind them.

"Well, the plan was to be inconspicuous." Marisol dove behind a dumpster, knocking another arrow. "Guess that's out." But there wasn't real worry in her voice, not yet.

"On the up side, we got a great look at their army." Twelve pressed her palm against her shoulder, watching the blood slowly work its way through. Had one of the arrows hit her? She couldn't remember. But it was blood. Her blood. Lord. Blood, blood, everywhere and she should be used to it by now but—blood. Her blood. Her life.

"Everyone alive?" Marisol glanced around. "Good. Let's see if we can fly. Cover each other."

Pause.

An eternity. Maybe longer.

Then they were up.

Flying, flying so fast that her eyes filled with liquid. Flying, flying. And the ground blurred, but not fast enough, not fast enough.

"Twelve, left!"

And there were the arrows, coming at them, so fast, and she was trying to dodge but one hit her leg, the thick metal covering it and bounced off but it still felt like a punch, and she wanted to slow, to see if it was bleeding underneath but of course she couldn't because they had to fly. Had to fly.

Next to her, another blur, Janet, her panic palpable as she tried to deflect the onslaught, the arrows coming fast, like Seattle rain. And she barely gasped as the flying demon tore at her shoe. One minute, flying, the next lopsided, spinning towards earth like one of those helicopter leaves that Twelve had played with when she was so small. You tossed them in the air and they twirled. And that was all that mattered in that moment were the falling leaves and the laughing children.

Falling leaves. That was the image that lingered in her mind as Mariosl shot forward to help. As the arrows coming, and Janet vanished into the dark. Dark stabbed by the flames, so many flames coming from the—holy fuck is that a real dragon? It was a flying something, anyway, a flying something with wings.

And Janet was gone.

So fast that Twelve couldn't register, because the dragon thing was coming towards them again.

"We need to get it off our trail!" Marisol sent arrows at its mouth, but what with all the fire, they were probably ashes before they reached it. Before they could do any real damage.

Oh, gods.

And she would make all the prayers she couldn't keep to the Lords that didn't care if she got out alive. But it wasn't just being alive that mattered anymore, was it?

Alinda, aiming for its back. And then she was there, clinging, stabbing it, over and over and over. Digging her hand into the back of its neck, tearing wildly at the skin, screaming something, and an arrow was going for Twelve's head and she ducked, spinning a little in the air.

His last burst of flame singed Twelve's eyebrows, and then it was crumbling. The yellow goo sticking everywhere.

"Alida, out!"

Marisol shot off, expertly returning fire at the archers, so many many archers, and there were more, and the three of them (four turned to three) were flying, flying, and then it was dark. Marisol led them down, under the bridge. Weaving in and out of the supports, just over the water. Roar of cars overhead. Then, to the East Side, and into the trees. Where they stood, frozen, as a light passed over.

"Janet," Alida muttered, eyes wide.

"I tried." Marisol sank, trembling. "We got a good look at the army, and…"

Twelve could see the dark blood pouring out between her fingers.

Everything had mostly gone quiet. The alarm that had been sounded fading out as they realized that the scouts had disappeared. But the adrenaline was there, still pounding through her, the last few minutes disjointed in her brain as she was unable to remember, fully, what had happened, how she had gotten out alive. And—and—

Janet had fallen, fallen, swallowed up by the shadows and the bursts of light.

"We have to get back. To camp." And it was Alida who pushed forward, the slave that followed.

The Hunter that stood still.

Twelve turned. "Marisol?"

Blood. Blood so dark in the faint light. But their eyes were all drawn down to where her hand was pressed up against her side, against a gaping hole in her armor. Melted hole. And Alida gently pulled her arm out of the way, but Twelve could hardly see the wound itself through the blood. All the blood.

Marisol stared at it for a moment. And there were so many things—bandages, ambrosia, and about ten first aid classes all came back at once, layering, random snippets of instruction lodging in Twelve's mind and she couldn't think clearly, couldn't sort out what would be useful.

"We have to get back to camp."

"It's okay," Marisol said, taking a few steps forward. "I'll be okay."

And Twelve's wounds were so much less severe, but she still wanted to roll over and sleep, (sleep in the blood? Curl up into a ball and sob?) but they ran. They ran and Marisol stumbled and Alida supported her, and monsters, monsters came out of nowhere and Twelve reacted though she didn't know how she'd raised the sword. Slash, stab, roll, hack. And then they were dust, falling to dust, and there was blood on the blades and Twelve's shoulder hurt more but they were at the tree, climbing over, and Marisol slipped.

But arms were there to catch her. Thin, bruised arms.

"Mari!"

And Lily looked up at them, eyes wide. Lay Marisol down and Twelve could see the injuries now in the fake lights, the way so much of her side was missing, burned, bloody, arrows, and how she had run so far, and Lily was yelling for Artemis, and Marisol was reaching up, just a little, and Twelve took a step towards her, wanting to help, wanting to do something, wanting to help because in the actual fight she hadn't helped when it would have mattered.

She didn't even know when it had happened. The dragon? Before? But she was also bloody, so bloody, and she didn't know when that had happened either. The cuts. The bruises. Blades, and fighting and maybe Eden was right. Maybe in a fight there really wasn't time for anything. Maybe you really did turn into nothing, just staying alive.

Was the fight all just survival instinct?

But it was grief on Lily's face, the Hunter face, and she was talking, whispering to Marisol and people gathered.

And Alida leaned against her, and Twelve reached out to grab her arm. Because Alida was alive. Even if Alida was slowly sitting down, taking Twelve with her.

But then, there she was, parting the people like Moses in the Red Sea. Approaching them, grey eyes burning. Calm, steady. Yet clearly so close to falling apart.

"Mari?"

And her voice as quiet, so quiet. And then Greg was there, too, and he was helping Twelve up, and Six—Sarah—was holding her hand, pulling her forwards, towards the hospital.

Breathe, Twelve. Breathe. Breathe.

"What about Marisol?"

And Alida, Alida was behind her, right? Had been behind her? Yes, there she was. "They'll help her." That was Alida's voice.

But Twelve hadn't seen much help so far, and what if—but no. Because there was a commotion behind them and people running back and forth and someone ordering Marisol towards the hospital and Eden's voice above the rest, but Twelve couldn't listen to it. And she was in the low stone building and Janet was dead and Marisol was dying.

And the army. The other army. Thousands of them, thousands of mortals and monsters and they couldn't have seen the whole thing. No, that had to be a fraction.

A fraction of an army they couldn't defeat.

O-o

Drifting Petals: Yeah, I'm not that awful. And 'course you can quote it.

AHumanRobot: Yeah, they're pretty annoying.

MizLizzi: I'm better with the darkness than the love happy joy, anyway. You think Lars is more insane than Eden? Interesting.

M: Mmhmm.

Emily Darkbow: I almost left it up with no explanation, but then I changed my mind…

Larkgrace: It's something like "Kumbaya my lord" or something like that. And of course Lars cares about his dad. Why does would he be so obsessive about what he thinks?

You Know Who: You think that Lars should die a pathetic death? He's hurt. And I don't know what my favorites are. I really like…. Most things with Spike, to be honest. Uhm, Once More with Feeling is amazing, I also like Lovers Walk and Potential ("Comfy? When did you find it comfy?" "…moving on.") Oh, and the one where they were all shut up in the house was also pretty great. ("How's that muscle cramp, Spike?")

Dreamcatcher: When you get down to it, Lars and Eden are little kids.

Anonymous: Why thank you

EDTA: I usually think summary, but same diff =) *salutes back*

Shrrg: Well of course you knew it was coming. I sent it to you early. Twenty mintues? Oh god, that must have been awful. O.o Six, Ten, Fif and Twelve all made it out. It's one and the others that are no more. Dawn's cool, I guess.

Tony: Buffy. Is amazing. I'm listening to Hush as I answer these reviews. *hugs Lars* I love him too. In a weird, twisted way of course.