Father Renaldo had done everything he could. When he'd strapped on the harness loaded with grenades, he had not expected his brash and youthful companions to follow his example. It had brought tears to his eyes to see the Iscariots, his pupils, his family, as they prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice to help cleanse the world of the vampire's filth.
Despite the fact that Alexander Anderson had killed Archbishop Maxwell, Renaldo still knew that the big man was their only hope. The old priest ushered his flock of killers out of the shelter where they'd turned themselves into living bombs and back into the thick of the melee.
The paladin became the killing point of the wedge the Iscariots formed. When the first explosion sounded, Renaldo was too immersed in the dispassionate focus of battle to say goodbye to Father Samuelson. They would see each other in the afterlife soon enough.
He watched more of his students go down without giving up, taking with them as many of the damned undead as they could. Every Iscariot made his death count twenty times over and more.
Renaldo glanced away from the creatures he was fighting to assess their progress in getting Anderson to his opponent. He could see a flash of red from a flaring coat and heard the distinctive report from the vampire's hand cannons. For a moment, Father Renaldo was transfixed by the sight of Alexander Anderson's own version of his companions' suicide attacks.
Dear God, we've all sacrificed so much in your name today, please watch over your servant.
Renaldo never found out whether God answered his prayer for the traitor paladin. At least not in this life. The creatures around him took advantage of the man's distraction to break through his guard. He forced himself to hang on until enough of his enemies had gotten close to him to make the sacrifice worthwhile.
Choices made, prayers said, Father Renaldo looked at the pin in his hand and wryly thought, I'm getting too old for this.