…he sees across a weary land a straggling road in Spain,

Up which a lean and foolish knight forever rides in vain…

The last and lingering troubadour to whom the bird has sung,

That once went singing southward when all the world was young.

Stiff flags straining in the night-blasts cold

In the gloom black-purple, in the glint old-gold,

Torchlight crimson on the copper kettle-drums,

Then the tuckets, then the trumpets, then the cannon, and he comes!

"…It is he whose loss is laughter when he counts the wager worth.

Put down your feet upon him, that our peace be on the earth."

They rush in red and purple from the red clouds of the morn,

From temples where the yellow gods shut up their eyes in scorn;

They rise in green robes roaring from the green hells of the sea

Where fallen skies and evil hues and eyeless creatures be;

On them the sea-valves cluster and the grey sea-forests curl,

Splashed with a splendid sickness, the sickness of the pearl;

They swell in sapphire smoke out of the blue cracks of the ground,

They gather and they wonder and give worship to Mahound…

–Lepanto, Chesterton (remix)

The door of the Armoury, the barrier ahead of their racing feet, was a shifting chessboard mesh that stung the eyes. They could have struggled through it, but the Ghosts would have shot them down like soldiers caught on barb wire. As they shot Fighter–Takahashi Healed her in mid-stride before she fell. Then bullets punched Ilsa's Stoneskin black, her mouth bloody. She had to Heal herself or go down, which would mean dead.

Her earth spirit knuckled ahead, thumping the asphalt. Its spells and Shields were all that kept them running through the bullets. They barely heard the covering fire behind them, didn't know if the three marines were already dead. A handful of seconds seemed superfluous time to accept peace with their own deaths. Hotspur truly realised that he did not care if he died, so long as he saved Susan and San Francisco. It didn't feel heroic; he just could not go down, would not stop running.

The earth spirit's bullet-cracked black bulk pounded through the gate. The terror of the charge reached a momentary peak. Then a stone fist shattered crystal on the barrier's far side, and it winked out. Almost the same moment, the spirit's Shields vanished, and the unseen Ghosts sent a bullet under Takahashi's chest plate.

Arai caught his comrade's arm as he went down. He staggered, but Sarah seized the marine's other arm as bullets struck her back. Howling like a bull, she charged for the gate, with Arai and Ilsa, Fighter and Hotspur. Dragging Takahashi in a trail of blood.

The elf hidden inside the door thrust a straight sword at Fighter. She rolled in beneath it and Hotspur sliced through green armour, spraying Ilsa with blood. The Mage fell down in the unlit hall with the rest of them, swabbing her glasses, as the gunfire across the street outside danced on.

"Taka-chan! You're going to make it…" Arai groaned, with the Mage's hand still locked in his. Harry and Susan finally realised that the marine Lieutenant and Mage were together, but there were faint footfalls in the next room. They were all up and moving already.

The room past the entryway had been a ward in an asylum; the elves were crouched behind beds or cupboards, raising automatics. The Adepts kicked the doors wide, as a fireball and Arai's stun grenade flew ahead. The blasts bought them seconds to charge in. Ilsa threw her Flamestrike where she saw a fetish, but the Tir squad medic gestured; scorched flesh flowed back pale as snow. The elf shaman got his summoning off, and a swirling wind spirit spat lightning back at Ilsa.

It was a small room, but aimed shots still echoed and filled it. Bullets punched at Hotspur's street armour. Martial Defence made Fighter move, a second before the shot that singed her hair. The Runners saw trained iron through the gloom, in luminescent eyes–but their paths had forged them faster and unyielding, both of them. There were even hospital beds to dodge under, or over, or throw up into shocked, thin faces. They closed the distance as Ilsa burnt down the medic and Arai shot the shaman between the eyes.

A bearded elf got under Hotspur's guard. Harry took a combat knife across his side before he swung in his elbow and chopped down on the backswing. Fighter was lucky; nothing struck her as she flicked out a low kick to break a shin, then hook into another elf's jaw above his swinging gun-stock. The squad leader dodged her back-kick, levelling a handgun. Fighter had to lunge into her, shatter her breastbone, before side-stepping the downed elf's knife and kicking him all the way down.

Lucky? Unwounded in a fight against trained soldiers, even if all her spirit had conquered made her stronger than them? Or lucky to be alive, whatever the foe? On the threshold of all she and Harry had dreamt of, she might still die–unless they were harder, sharper and stronger than the best they had been before.

-0-

The weak, wire-caged light flickered like a prisoner's sanity, as Arai covered the onwards door with his compact Nissan Optimum rifle. The Armoury's darkened stony corridors and rooms evoked the fortress it was. The beds, wheelchair and restraints from the asylum were mouldering and discarded, which only increased the foreboding.

Ilsa could feel the residue of abandoned, bitter dreams on the nape of her neck. She wondered if paracritters, or a nest of ghouls, had moved into the empty fortress after the pornographers, BTL dealers and ruined property developers had gone. They'd need to stay alert, all the way down to the basement, after they'd taken a minute to breathe.

Fighter had rooted some old medkits out of a cupboard, so Takahashi had got shakily to his feet and thanked Sarah with a Heal spell. With four bullets in her already, the troll girl had thunderously staggered into the fight, taking out two elves stunned by the grenade and getting shot again. Tough as trolls were, resolute as she still was, simple blood loss had left her white, heaving in breaths.

"How the frag did so many Ghosts get into the city?" Hotspur glanced over the nine green-armoured corpses.

"The sniper and the gunmen outside were Ghosts." Arai grated, "Those were most likely Intelligence Directorate troops. Not spies or Ghosts, but crack fighters. They hide in silence, until activated for such an outrage as this."

"After all our work, Tir had so many soldiers in this city." Takahashi hung his head.

"When this is over, we will root them out–"

"Didn't you fragging try that already?" Sarah snarled at Arai, "Didn't you think before that all the elves were Tir, all the trogs were gangers or terrorists? Isn't that why you want to kill us?"

"Not so." Arai met her glare with a face of stone, "Saito-san intends to separate the races, to bring peace and order. This city–this continent–proves that humans and metahumans cannot live peaceably together."

"What about when we dragged your boyfriend out of the gunfire? You want to banish us, but we're not going anywhere! Unless we die in the slums, or your sweeps, or don't come back from the detention centres! Don't you understand why we followed Shavarus?"

Takahashi looked plaintively to Arai, whose immovable gaze dipped for a second.

"Some marines have acted overzealously, or shamefully. I regret this. The worst chaos descends when professional soldiers do not obey their orders."

"It almost seems trite to remind you," Ilsa muttered, tending her burns, "That 'orders are orders' has an unfortunate history as a defence."

"And do you need orders to save the city?" Fighter cut in, "Sarah, I can't even imagine how you feel about going against Shavarus, but you are doing it! Walking your own path! Aren't all of us doing this for ourselves, to take Shavarus down for good?"

"Yes." Sarah's growl was painful as a saw, "For what he did to you. And to me."

"For our comrades, for justice itself…" Arai's face was a steel mask, "…the terrorist must die."

Takahashi nodded loyally, as Fighter and Warrior exchanged a loaded glance. Whatever Shavarus had done to Susan, however it had ended, it hadn't ended.

The of those weeks would whisper poison in her mind, all her life. She only knew it now, and so did Harry. He couldn't see how he could save her without killing Shavarus. She didn't know how she could be free or strong again, until she slew the troll Mage that had violated her mind. For unresisting weeks she had shielded a spark of revenge, and now it was roaring. She might have charged down through the whole Armoury at his throat, but Ilsa's calming hand was on her shoulder.

United for the moment, by looming threat and an aberrance of terror, the party moved into the Armoury. Towards the steps to the basement.

-0-

Everything abandoned and broken cluttered the darkened rooms, smelling of damp. From museum piece weapons, through ancient cameras, to broken proto-cyberdecks. If more Tir were ahead and behind, if they were already too late, all their struggles would be as broken and lost in the dark as their bodies…Ilsa thought it, Susan buried fear in a wave of rage. Candles, instead of feeble bulbs, illuminated some dark passages and walls of graffiti. And the sinister reddish daubs lefts by squatters with more interest in unsavoury magic than street art.

Ilsa found she'd been right about the ghoul nest, when they stumbled on the bodies. A mid-sized swarm had been shot and burnt down, or neck-snapped.

"We'd have done the same." Hotspur muttered.

"Really?" Ilsa looked briefly, but astutely, "Some of these wretches were clearly fleeing when they were fried. And doesn't that one look like he's shielding the smaller ghoul with his body?"

"Can ghouls even have…?"

"…families? Yes, if they can still think, and all of them feel pain."

"Tir Ghosts could surely have evaded these monsters," Arai muttered uncomfortably, "Leaving them alive to delay us."

"So, they probably have something else planned."

"Aren't we against the clock here? We need to move!" Fighter snapped from the front. With an eye on the shadows ahead of them all, Ilsa kept moving.

They found the way down to the basement in a hall that had been a filmset–though there was nothing left but rubbish and chalk scrawlings. Sarah pulled the lock off the rusted door with a sound like a gunshot–but the doors slammed open onto a barrier of darkness, and trailing smoke.

Which congealed in a half-buried chalk circle. A burning red sword, a warrior in the black helmet of a samurai. Chill shot through all of their hearts, as a wind heaved its way through the Armoury. The laboured, stricken breath of the whole history-shadowed fortress.

-0-

"…a spirit of man." Ilsa spoke quickly, caught up in racing thoughts, "The residue of that ancient Lucas film, partially made here, must be incredibly–"

"Tell us later." Hotspur faced the dark spirit knight in an iaijutsu stance, flashing a grin at Susan, "I've got this."

Less than a minute of fiery slashing and striking later, the spirit was ragged but Hotspur was bleeding. A low voice told him he was a fatherless degenerate, no hero. It was Arai who shot the spirit rather than draw his own sword.

It hissed that his father would despise him, if he knew, as it vanished (the marine turned pale). As a monster full of teeth and leathery skin burst out of the circle, spitting poison that smoked on armour.

"Break the circle!" Ilsa shouted, throwing fire at the new-spawned spirit with Takahashi. Fighter was already sprinting round and scuffed her foot through it. They killed the monster spirit, and the ruined circle raised no more, but then another door slammed open.

Twisted, even before forbidden magic had forced them into flesh, these two spirits were all bulging skin, metal claws and teeth in unsettling places. They smelt of oil, blood and sex. A third spirit was rising within the next room, from a second chalk circle.

Sarah punching at the black wall that barred their way–her fists sunk in like a sea of oil. Before she could howl, Fighter had seized her arm.

"We face our fears every day. That's the only way we go on! This is a stupid stalling trick and we're going to break through it!"

"If they hold us up, or wear us down, the Tir will have won!" Ilsa spoke quickly and clearly, "And…yes, we passed two other summoning circles with this pattern, behind us! In the old armaments museum, and the stockroom near the entrance. If we don't destroy them, now, they'll spawn enough spirits to overwhelm us!"

"Marino-san, you two get the museum!" Hotspur called to Arai, swiftly grasping the situation, "Susan, let's run and get the furthest one together!"

With no time for debate, the marines loped back on their path, and the Adepts sprinted. Sarah and Ilsa stood their ground against the four fleshy spirits, now. The troll girl ground her tusks and raised her fists. Ilsa desperately knew, as she summoned a firewall in the spirits' shambling path, that another Tir ambush would pick their split party off like cheap candies.

-0-

Fighter's fury tinted her sight bloody, as they raced back to the stockroom. They had to stop the Tir's ritual in time, or they would have failed the whole city, failed as utterly as could be imagined. She was a failure, weak, unless she killed Shavarus now, and then this stupid distraction–

Rounding the corner ahead of Hotspur, she kicked the door open. An Abomination spirit, fast as smoke, lunged its triple row of finger-length teeth into her chest.

The space was too narrow to swing a sword–Hotspur thrust from his shoulder at a bulging eye, screaming without words. The spirit's rotten bulk belched a toxic cloud over them. It burnt Fighter's wounds and eyes, dropped her to one knee.

Ilsa had summoned such a spirit on their first Run (Ilsa who wasn't there, with Heal or Haste). She'd hoped never to face that hideous monster, and now it would kill her…no, she couldn't care. Nothing but the drive through stinking flesh with Killing Fists. Screaming over the gunshots that killed her ears. More desperate than she'd ever been, as fangs tore her–but even they carved her to death, into a scar-monster not even Harry would want–she had to keep striking.

The Abomination burst in black ichor. Two more clouds of decay and teeth loomed in the stockroom–this circle was slower and stronger. Hotspur charged the one on the right, tearing off his vest before spat acid burnt through it. With blood on her face, Fighter dashed around the left one, sliding through the circle before another spirit came out. She came up with fists up, throwing a punch of raw mana. Weaker than her Killing Fist, but it kept distance from that charnel-stinking maw.

Hotspur slashed at the Abomination, until it dissolved with a bubbling groan. Then his sword fell, as he ran to Susan and held her.

"Ow…"

"Love, love, are you okay…?"

"Yeah, but we don't have time for this, Harry. I mean it! Running together isn't date night with a few gunfights…I sort of thought it was too, and I rushed it, frag, we were made for each other…." Their kiss was brief and bloodstained, but deep.

"You got the circle in time, babe. I was so mad I didn't think. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Get used to it. I have to be okay. If I get hurt, even if I'd r-really been fragging raped, I…! I'd have had to…!"

She buried her face in Harry's neck. He held her tight as he could.

"You'd have got through it. And I'm here; I'm not going away. I'm going to kiss you better all over, once we've killed that fragging troll."

"Alright then." Fighter stood up shaking; Harry had to support her. Blood soaked into her underclothes, and she had one cheap medkit. "That elf with his slotting capoeira as well."

"Carromeleg. Tir martial art. Tell him its capoeira with a few more stances, he might get mad and frag up?"

Inwardly, Susan had sunk on the edge of despair, even with a city to save–but Harry's smile raised her own again, like sunrise on the moon. Still, they had to get back to Sarah and Ilsa, even faster than they'd come.

-0-

Ilsa held back her last fetish, but Sarah's fists pulped and tore through the flesh spirits. When a squid-like monster snuck around her, she clawed at its eyes until it unwound, then stamped it down. Ilsa's Flamestrikes cut through the gloom, keeping her sides clear. Until the troll Adept kicked her foot down through the circle, up through the last monster. The bitter, endless human darkness of the Armoury sunk back to the rest that clever elvish magic had disturbed.

They caught their breaths while Ilsa Healed Sarah. She told the troll girl she'd done well, which seemed to do even more good–Sarah grinned boldly, straightening up. The dark wall barring their progress winked out; their chummers had dealt with the other circles.

"Don't say this is it," Ilsa raised a hand, "There could be another ambush. We wait for the others."

"Okay, sure. But wouldn't the elves have hit us while we were busy with those slotting spirits?"

"One would expect so. But the last moment anyone would expect would be–"

Ilsa was already moving, as the grenade flew from the doorway into the open hall. No cover except the basement steps. That Sarah shoved Ilsa down with all her strength, as the grenade went off at her back.

The three elves moved quickly into the room. One aimed a handgun down at Sarah's head, another hefted more grenades to toss down the stairs. The one watching the corridor heard Fighter and Hotspur running. She greeted them at the corner with automatic fire.

Then a spirit rose up the stairwell, roaring like a furnace as it threw webs of fire at the elves. A lightning bolt scattered it, but then Fighter was leaping through the door, kicking the gunner down as she passed. The second elf sidestepped and landed a kick on her collarbone–he was practised, freakishly fast, and more kicks got past her guard before she punched him down.

Hotspur, bleeding from his arm, had cut down the third. Arai and Takahashi were rushing back, but Fighter only cared about Sarah on the floor. Her back, full of blood, metal and filth…somehow, she was still alive.

"…you have to leave me." Sarah groaned, faintly, "I only slowed you down. Trogs die first, never the heroes…"

"No, no, no!" Susan clutched Sarah's claw in both her hands, "You saved Ilsa. It was hardest for you, but you still fought! You're a real hero."

"If this ever gets out, this story…you'll be the hero. They won't even remember me."

"We will! And don't fragging talk like you're going to die!"

Ilsa was silent; she hated this kind of scene. She had used her last fetish, but there would probably be enough mana gathered in the basement for a summoning.

They gave Sarah the last cheap medkit they'd found in the ward, but she wasn't going any further. Hotspur and Arai were bleeding, Fighter was bleeding badly. Tough as they all were, they were about to face the deadliest soldiers in the world, made invulnerable by ancient magic. The time for speeches was past; Arai bowed briefly to Sarah, and Fighter led the way to the lowest basement. Too late or too soon, they would all go on to the end.

-0-

"…this would all be underwater, without the building's 20th century pumping system." Ilsa glanced at the wet, bare walls of the sloping passage, "I wondered if we might reverse the pumps to flood the Tir out, but it would take hours for the water to rise."

"…and then you had another idea, right, Wiz?"

"Threatening to release evidence of Tir's involvement; but without Anya, we cannot do so. No, this will have to be a straight fight. Exactly what you both always wanted."

Hotspur and Fighter shared a lightning-fast smile. Arai and Takahashi moved stoically on. To the corner of the passage that opened on them, to the end of their Run and Shavarus' dream of destruction.

The black waters of Mission Creek, flowing through the lower basement of the Armoury, were spanned by a crude sheet-metal bridge. A wall half-way across had half-collapsed, making the basement floor seem like one giant cavern. The pumping machinery past the bridge, and few collapsed walls, were illuminated by a sickly pearl-white light. As were the thin figures of two elves, and the mountainous form of Shavarus. Their chanting was a language like whirlpools and bubbles in the ocean.

Ilsa could see the packed, writhing forms under the bridge, their scales and eyes. Smelling of mud, silver, toxic waste and mountain pine; everything that River was. Poured out from the metaplane of water over the past hours, instructed in their path along Hetch Hetchy from the Pyramid data. Empowered by refined magic and the primal, dam-breaking fury of waters roaring to the sea. She shivered at the proximity of such power.

Desorn, the dark-haired Adept, in green armour now, was watching the bridge. His thin, beautiful face seemed like a white knife in the darkness. Fighter couldn't see his eyes, but she could feel his inhuman alertness.

"There must be more," Arai hissed, "Hidden. I could shoot him from here–"

"No." Susan cut in, "He'd sense your bloodlust before you pulled the trigger."

(The Adept would have already sensed their sakki, as samurai had called it, if both Runners and marines hadn't suppressed even their feelings of aggression, carefully as the sounds of feet and voices. But only a Zen master, a psycho or a robot could actually aim a gun to kill without a prickle of hate)

"Swimming, or even floating across, under the bridge," Ilsa stared at the river, full of enraged spirits, "Would be suicidal as charging across without cover. I should also mention that their preparations have… about five minutes remaining."

Five minutes to save San Francisco, if there'd ever been a chance. Perhaps the most desperate minute of their lives passed in silence, before Fighter asked Hotspur if he had ever tried wall-running.

"The Ki technique? You'd better believe I tried, but barely–"

"Same here. That should be enough."

-0-

Thankfully, their end of the bridge was dark and the river was low. If they'd even touched the water, the massed spirits would have chewed them up. Fighter and Hotspur gripped the bridge from beneath, fingers hooked into the perforations that covered the metal sheets. Feet held up by the thin field of external Ki that Fighter had watched Orion run up walls with. They were strong, they were masters of their own Ki…but it was like holding up their own weight by their toes, for every silent, straining foot. Ilsa and the marines waited at the head of the bridge, still and silent in the shadows.

Their blood dripped into the creek, making the spirits hiss. Desorn glanced briefly at the water. Before she could fall, Fighter struck a metal plate aside and flipped out onto the bridge. Hotspur leapt out beside her and they rushed at the Adept–as gunfire blazed out from either side of him.

Arai shot one of the Ghosts' hidden marksmen across the length of the bridge. Ilsa threw up a firewall for cover, half-way down, and sprinted forward with Takahashi. She saw bullets striking Hotspur and Fighter, but they were still up. She sent a Heal flashing over them, another Heal, and collapsed from mana-drain. Takahashi caught her arm, as he sent out a Flamestrike. And Desorn calmly swayed to one side, then leapt into a double spinning kick. Fighter ducked it by inches, muscles blazed with Ki and Haste, as Hotspur chopped his sword in from the other side.

"The brainwashed Kung-Fu girl and her knight," The elf observed, "Impressive that you could join us. To observe our great work, perhaps?"

"TO STOP YOU!" Fighter roared, chopping down at a low kick and splitting air with a punch "With real fighting, you mad, evil Riverdancing pansy!"

"Do you wish to kiss my foot again, wench?"

Desorn's boot shot at Fighter's mouth–she blocked, but it split her forearm's flesh like wood. Hotspur furiously cut through Desorn's side; the Ghost leapt back, deflecting a sword-stab with a twisting kick.

Takahashi had finished off the Ghost that Arai had shot, and Healed Ilsa when the other gunner tagged her through the firewall–this Ghost was a Gun-Adept, shielded from their Flamestrikes. Arai kept up his aimed shots from range, but camo-cloaks melted into the cover of brick-heaps and machinery. A shot hit his arm, but his firing hardly paused. Takahashi glanced back at him, fearful–as a bullet struck his own midriff, dropping him. Tir Ghosts did not miss.

Desorn's lightning kicks deftly countered the reach of Hotspur's sword; he danced between them, raining blows, negating any advantage of two-on-one. Fighter tagged him with one lucky kick, darted round in another effort to get inside his guard–while Hotspur broke away, dashing for Shavarus and the Mages.

Another Ghost stepped out, as he passed. Hurling himself flat, Hotspur barely kicked the spitting rifle off-target. The Tir elf dodged his sword thrust, threw a kick at his head that he caught on his arm; then Ilsa's Flamestrike burnt through the elf's chest.

As Hotspur turned back to the ritual, the Mages roared like a falling sea, and dropped their arms. In the creek, the army of water spirits churned, keened, and leapt over each other like shark-mouthed salmon. Within a minute, all of them had rushed down the creek and away from the Armoury. Aimed at Hetch Hetchy, to burst dams and waterways, with the fury of wild water unrestrained.

-0-

As the roaring died away, the fighters stared at each other. Arai gazed at Takahashi, as the young man gasped in his blood. Desorn and Fighter breathed hard, as she ground her teeth and he almost smiled. Aeirion the Defender was smiling, and Shavarus' huge lips peeled back from his tusks in ecstasy of triumph.

"So it begins. The day of metahumanity; our freedom from fear. I am so very glad you came here to witness it, Fighter. When my allies have departed, and yours are dead, we will remain here. I will sanctify this night with your agony."

The hate that burned in Shavarus' eyes was insatiable. Hotspur measured the distance between them, as his eyes narrowed like blades.

"Indeed." Aeirion clapped the troll on the arm, "The cause of righteousness prevails. Only another pointless fight remains, since we can allow no witnesses to survive. In thirty minutes, the water spirits will reach Hetch Hetchy–"

"Good." Ilsa snapped, dismissing her firewall and moving forward, "That means we have thirty minutes to persuade you to call them back. Any ideas, Lieutenant Arai?"

"Kneecaps." The marine grated, advancing slowly over the bridge, "Then burn them by inches from the feet…"

Arai had never tortured anyone, but Takahashi was bleeding out before him, and samurai Trid-dramas had given him fulsome ideas. Aeirion let out a high, rich laugh, perfect teeth flashing in the weak light.

"It's hard to see the one you love shot down, is it not? I wouldn't personally know. I have literally walked through hell for the sake of Tir Tairngire. There is nothing conceivable you could do that would turn me back from this purpose."

The white-haired Mage seemed more like a crazed dark wizard than the soldier he was. Desorn and the surviving Gun-Adept simply nodded; they'd both withstood torture before. The female Mage, Alys Morgan, smiled; devotion made her plain face lovely. They were true patriots, and the same motives that drove Arai heart and soul had made them shoot Takahashi down. It chilled him for a moment, but his resolve was iron–and love for prince and country impressed the Runners not one bit.

"You presume that you could even defeat us?" Shavarus sneer-snarled, "With our magic, and our strength, human scum?"

That was when Ilsa saw a flash of hope–and she saw that Aeirion saw it. Fighter and Hotspur didn't, but they weren't about to give up. All of them moved at once.

Hotspur was poised to charge Shavarus, but the Gun-Adept had his Steyr aimed, would have shot him dead. Aeirion had the crystal in his hand that would render all the Ghosts invulnerable–and Shavarus was tracing out his Control spell rapidly, aimed at Ilsa. She had no fetishes left, any spirit she might have summoned had already been poured out towards Hetch Hetchy–

–no. The pumping mechanism, and an unemptied septic tank. A hideous water spirit, covered in brown pustules and eyes, congealed above the tank and fell on Shavarus. Arai fired at the troll, as he raced down the bridge for cover, and the Control spell fizzled. As Hotspur threw himself at the Gun-Adept, as the shot nicked his trailing headband–and as Morgan's Chain Lighting spell hit Ilsa, Arai and Fighter.

Fighter's Mystic Shield held; she kept grimly warding Desorn's whip-fast blows and punched back, breathing hard. Arai gritted his teeth through the burn, diving down behind a collapsed wall. Ilsa had to take the pain, although from mana drain, and her aching, Healed bullet wound, she was an inch away from darkness. Dropping to her knee, throwing herself into cover, then she had to–

Aeirion raised an eyebrow, as Ilsa's gestures inverted his, and her magic touched the ancient, mighty working between his hands. Half-dead, glasses cracked, the Heidelberg Mage was still assaying a counterspell, for magic she'd seen once before, in combat! A true prodigy, hardened by the shadows…no. Not even a genius could develop a working counter to Tir magic so quickly. Hadn't these persistent Runners used misdirection before?

Aeirion moved his hand with a viper's speed. Fighter's throwing knife, hurled at his crystal foci, clattered harmlessly on the wall. Fighter swung back to Desorn, blocked one kick–then a straight punch at her jaw sent her down. Somehow, she rolled away from the axe kick, kicked up the Ghost's chest, staggered up, wild-eyed. Desorn was winded, but still smiling, and Aeirion had finished his spell.

The Gun-Adept was a Carromeleg master as well. Hotspur had taken telling blows from rifle butt and knee, before cutting through him–but Morgan's Heal spell stopped the blood, and then his katana passed through the elf's body like smoke. Hotspur leapt away as Shavarus' giant shotgun spoke–a couple of pellets hit his leg. The troll thundered forward, grinning; Arai's bullets went through him without effect. The Gun-Adept leapt around a rock to shoot down Hotspur, Morgan was aiming another bolt at Ilsa–

Then a red light, shining through clothes and armour, lit up on all their enemies' bodies. The crystal in Aeirion's hand glowed red–he stared at it, then laughed like madness. The Ghost Gun-Adept was nonplussed for a second. As Hotspur drove his sword through the glowing crystal in his breast pocket, and his heart.

A normal mass-target spell, Ilsa had told them, would have covered Shavarus at the Embarcadero as well as the Ghosts. Either the spell only worked on elves, or there was more than one foci involved. Even she could never have developed a counter within hours, but adding a trifling cosmetic cantrip to the magic coursing from Aeirion's crystal to those carried by his followers…gave them a chance.

Arai's smartlink marked a path to the glow on Morgan's chest. He fired down it as she sent her lightning bolt back at him. The marine sunk down, charred and smoking, as the elf collapsed in spreading blood from her mouth. Mad-eyed, Aeirion was inclined to hurl a torturous curse at Ilsa rather than Healing his XO. Ilsa threw up the Dispel she'd saved to counter Shavarus' mind control. Barely counterspelled the Tir Mage's next attack, as he fizzled her Flamestrike. She knew she had only seconds before either a spell or a touch of mana drain would finish her.

Flesh torn, head filled with concussion, almost semi-conscious against the fastest foe she'd ever met, Fighter chopped down at the glow from Desorm's hip pocket, with a roar like a wounded bear. Still fighting to get inside those sweeping limbs and pummel, still landing a chop on the Ghost's instep that would have hobbled him–her hand passed through, as his foot glanced off her head again.

The Ghost Adept felt a hint of admiration, as he perceived that Fighter was reaching for zathien. The fabled suicide attack of Carromeleg, accepting death for the sake of victory, was based in a universal warrior ideal. Within moments, his crystal would be smashed and either the Kung Fu girl would be dead, or they would both be. And Morgan was bleeding out. Desorn leapt away from Fighter, to stand between Aeirion and Ilsa.

"I will shield you, sir. While you Heal Morgan, I will deal with–"

Before Aeirion could cast any spell, Fighter had thrown a knife through his head–straight through, but it was a moment's bladed distraction. Without pause, as Ilsa finally managed to Heal herself, Fighter raced towards Shavarus and Hotspur.

Taking a Flamestrike on his Mystic Shield that had still scorched his limbs, Hotspur had charged the troll and finally lunged to smash his crystal. Exposing himself, so that a shotgun butt to the head had brought him down–but before the troll could stamp him out, Fighter was flying in to drive her foot up through Shavarus' throat.

With a groan of rage, the troll surged back at her, as Desorn went for Ilsa. But Hotspur was up again, slashing like lightning at Sharavus' hulking body–as Fighter leapt towards Desorn, forcing him back with kicks. Not only exhaustion but sheer amazement dulled the Ghost's response–that the humans were still upright, still fighting. Aeirion had sunk back into his counterspell wrestling match with Ilsa. Sharavus desperately Healed his own wounds, but Hotspur slashed through him again and again, held up only by the purest rage.

"You cannot kill me!" Shavarus roared, "I am the saviour of metahumanity, I cannot die here!" Hotspur raised his katana for a final blow, "WAIT! If...if you let me go–!"

"Wineg traitor!" Aeirion instantly blasted Shavarus with fire. It was opening enough for Ilsa to finally burn the Mage down, as Hotspur struck the protective crystal from his hand.

With a final third-wind burst of strength, Fighter held Desorn back from his commander's death. Shavarus, barely clinging to life, managed to Heal himself again and rise; but Arai staggered up with him. He stitched three bullets across the troll's chest, finally bringing him down.

-0-

"If you spare me…I will call back the water spirits. I swear this, by the blood of metahumanity."

Desorn shook his head, as he stabilised Morgan with a medkit. Arai kept his gun trained on the last Ghost. Fighter, Ilsa and Hotspur were barely still on their feet. Takahashi still lay unconscious and bleeding on the bridge. Eyes dull with rage, Hotspur would still have beheaded the prone troll, if Fighter hadn't put a hand on his chest.

"You piece of drek," She whispered at Shavarus, "Aren't you prepared to die for your dreams?"

"I am…not a fool. The destruction of San Francisco should have been a beginning, but without my vision and my purpose, no dawn would come. I will begin again…bring down so-called humanity down by any means, one day, but you must let me live...!"

"How many died?" Sarah cry suddenly echoed over the bridge, "For your grand plan, all you promised us? Shavarus!"

Trailing blood, the troll girl had finally crawled down to the basement. Hauled herself upright, ravaged shoulders trembling, and stumped across the bridge toward her former-lover. The bloodied fighters all expected her to fall, Susan shouted at her to be careful, but she did not. Shavarus' smile was strangely gentle but twisted with pain, like a withered desert rose.

"Sarah. My avenging angel. Where so many died and failed, with indomitable strength you have lived! You are worthy of our new world, Sarah. The only woman I ever loved. Now, save me, save our people–!"

"...not strong." The troll girl whispered, "I'm hurt, I'm weak and broken...I never wanted to kill anybody. You never felt for me, you were never kind..." Her gaze passed over Susan, and Harry, with a mixture of regret and resentment, "...but I needed your strength. Your hope. Your lies. You fragging, fragging...how could I save you...?"

Tears ran down her wide cheeks. Susan couldn't touch her, but she cried with her.

"DESORN!" Shavarus roared at the Adept desperately, "The human scum are barely alive! You could kill them all–!"

"For a thing like you, I'm disinclined to make the attempt. For my comrades, perhaps–" The Ghost glanced down at Morgan, then turned an acidic gaze on Fighter. "I suspect we will meet again."

With his comrade in his arms, the Ghost darted across the bridge. Arai fired after him, but he vanished into the shadows. They turned back to Shavarus.

"You must Heal me…let me go." His growl was shamelessly fierce, "Then I will call back the spirits…"

"It is a lie!" Arai growled, eyes crazed, "For my men, for Takahashi, no deals with terrorists! Aku Soku Zan! Slay evil immediately!"

"NO! We can still save the city–!"

Arai wasn't listening; his rifle was already at the troll's head. Then Ilsa called his name, and he turned to see her standing over Takahashi with an elf's handgun.

"Kisama–!"

"Ilsa!" Susan gasped. Sarah's lips twitched, at the inhumanity of man.

"I suspect this would have been necessary anyway," Ilsa pronounced. "To prevent you from killing all three of us in our present state or calling for backup to arrest and kill us as soon as you could. Step away from the troll, let us leave in safety, and your boyfriend will live, I promise."

"…we fought together! Shadowrunner–!"

"Marino-san?" Harry managed, trying to staunch his bleeding scalp, "What you're feeling now is what thousands of people will feel from tomorrow, watching their loved ones die–unless we let this fragger live. We're all fragging wrecked…all of us just want to go home to the ones we love."

Torn between humanity and duty, Arai threw his rifle down in tears. Ilsa's gaze barely shifted; she wasn't about to take a chance. Fighter and Hotspur had been ready to heap praises on her–she had held off a Tir Archmage through burns and bullets, she had saved all their lives with her plan–but now they could only turn back to Shavarus. There was very little time left.

Fighter stared down at the troll. Weeks of constant torment, years of pain and killing, all screamed at her to kill the trog. Saving the city seemed an insubstantial thing, beside this hulking villain who'd struck her about as he wished, killed so many others for his madness…yes, he was beaten, pathetic, mad but it wasn't enough. She had to hate him, had to fight and kill the monster…

"…why should we trust you?"

"I would not, in your place."

"Why?" Sarah growled, "Why kill so many people, for nothing?"

"Yeah, why any of this? Your family? Not getting into college–?"

"I could think!" The troll's bloodstained beard shook with the moan, "In this drekheap, troll-hating world, I could not think without hating! I could not hate without acting, without pain! I sometimes wished to be the brute, unthinking trog you think me…but I am what I am. We have no choice, no choice at all…well, then? Are you going to kill me?"

Fighter slowly stepped back. She stared at Sarah, who quickly nodded.

"Give us that fragging Azzie paydata, get out, and call back the spirits. I'll kill you if I see you again…but I hope I never do."

"You will meet with me again," Shavarus hissed, staggering up, "And for all your unforgivable humiliations, I swear I will kill you by inches."

The troll just couldn't stop hating. Susan wondered how much she had ever changed, while Ilsa wondered if she ever could. His oath to metahumanity was kept, however; a rumble came down the creek as the spirit began flowing back to where they had come from. Shavarus was gone, but the datadrive with the paydata was finally in Susan's pocket. She and Harry leaned on each other, hand in hand. Arai stared from them to Takahashi's pale face. Bitterly, but with a trace of hope.

Arai's comm had started working, informing them that the Armoury had finally been surrounded by Marines. The Tir, however, had used a small Zodiac to infiltrate via the the underground creek itself. They floated a mile down a darkened tunnel, found a sewer exit, and finally struggled out into the dawn.