The way a life is lived can sometimes be redeemed, by how - and for what - it ends.

The Mongol is shredding them. This 'battle' is a fever-dream. He'd made phone calls enroute to offer up the possibility of survival - if not victory - were all contingent upon the possible ability to stall this macabe slaughter... her quickly being 'blessed', and a tenth of this number of enemies. Genghis was living up to his reputation: no tact, just overwlming brute force and terror.

He had set his men up to slow the advance of the army of immortals, to buy her time to summon the nymph; but even with the Sun Queen sending them to the fire spirit by the dozens, it only strengthens the remaining men - changing them. They will find Sam soon enough; and then it will be over... unless Lara can gain HER favor.

He wonders how he got to this place: all his wealth, connections, a multi-nation arsenal at his command... useless. A warlord of almost mythological stature striding up to his men as they unload AA-12 Shotguns into his face and body, he watching the flesh blowing apart, only to heal instantly; the grin before ripping out their throats, or killing them with their own weapons - the Mongol was a masochist, and insane. What Volcanus liked about him.

All was hopeless, and lost. He looked up from the cover he was ducked behind, as yet unseen, and saw the jetcopter. HIS easy escape. He could reach it before any of the immortals could change back to human and recover their weapons. A werewolf drew closer, smelling fear, he turned to race as it moved away from him. Then he saw what it was attracted to.

They couldn't have been more than nine, their terrified mother hugging them to her.

'It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven,' or something like that, he muses. But perhaps he could get a look through the bars... if he could keep them from having to go in... glimpse his Madeline , say he's sorry... was he ever NOT going to help them?

The bullets won't kill it, but the jetcopter was within reach if they ran, and he was a regular gun store on legs... it was a good day to die. "Alistair, hone in on my gps... open up a case of the vintage... Dow 68. We're going out with a bang. Initiate the transfers: She gets every bullet, every gun. Shops closed. Tell your daddy that he works for her now."

"Goodbye you old fool."

"Fuck off you Atari on steroids." He looked to the mother, "The copter... go. Don't let them see this."

She nodded, shielding her children's eyes, she stood, drawing the beasts attention.

He stood, whistled, and pulled out a BFR, "Come, play with your own kind." He fired it into the werewolf's head, blowing it apart, and sending the remains flying a good ten feet back, all two-hundred pounds of it.

The shot drew the Khan's attention, just as the mother pushed her children on to the copter.

The warlord grinned and signaled for his men to charge the copter.

The Frenchman grinned back, and lifted a modified MG49 light machine gun, opening up on the advancing werewolves till the copter got free, then emptied his gun into the mongol's knees.

"Are you kidding?" the Mongol said.

The frenchman tossed a lit flare at the warlord, "light him up, and the package in Cambridge is yours. I don't care if I am in the killing field, as long as the copter got out."

The great Khan looked at the arms dealer curiously, then noticed the earpiece and throat mic.

"Retcontrer l'ange de la mort... con." the arms dealer sneered.

"Angel of death?". The Mongol muttered as his men rushed the arms dealer.

"There are some things worth dying for... see you in hell." They tore him apart.

The deep hum of rotary blades coming from above was followed by another whirring sound: a twin pair of 25 milimeter minicannons capable of spewing seven thousand rounds a minute warming up. For the first time in centuries, Tamujen knew terror. The AC-130 Hercules dipped it's wing, and opened fire from all it's ports - slaughtering them all.

...

"Stay down!" the German member of the team ordered as he lay upon Sam, both covered by a kevlar tarp, "scorched earth, and that ain't hyperboles."

...

She floated to the surface, the sudden rush of euphoria subsiding, her head clearing as she tasted the night air. The Hercules had just finished it's pass, and was returning to it's hangar before the press showed up. Trinity had over run the surrounding area, surrounded them. Hundreds dead, and counting, but hundreds left closed in as their general regenerated.

He spotted her, "None of this had to happen," he shouted as he regained his feet, "had you just seen the wisdom in the wizard's words. There is still time..."

"General!" She could 'hear' what he was hearing, "General... The stag is dead. The bar blew up. We can't get close, but nobody c..."

The Mongol ripped off the com.

"The stag?...Evan?"

He didn't respond quick enough.

Before he could twitch she was moving, hands snatching him up like a ragdoll, tossing his suddenly withered carcass across the breadth of the field, catching it, and slamming him to dust.

Picking up two pistols, she turned to the trembling agents, "You really should be running."

Stay tuned!