McGee was correct in his calculations: by procuring the gun and firing at D'Amico, he burned the last of his stored energy. Because of this, he fell to his knees before he got to see whether his bullet was worth the effort.

It could be argued that yes, it was, for though it didn't kill or even directly hit Thad, it did graze his arm, and he lowered his gun, distracted. Victoria, following Tim's lead, used the little strength she had to break from the grip of her captors and pounced on him, and she was able to wrench the weapon from his hands before she was thrown into the nearest wall. This is where the battle of the D'Amico house really began…and while it wasn't even the worst battle that the little vigilante group would face that night, it certainly was the most bloody.

Tony saw McGee fall onto his knees and rushed forward. In a normal firefight he would have focused on catching Tim and easing him to the ground to prevent further injury, but in this moment, time was of the essence. He took the gun and turned it on the men who'd held him, dispatching of them in moments. With this diversion, Apollo was able to knock down his own guards. The soldiers who held onto Gibbs and Ziva turned their guns on the older man, but Apollo ducked out of the way, and between him and Tony, were able to make short work of the men. In the blink of an eye, they were all free, each with a gun in their hands, and soon they found themselves with a room of powerful flightlings, all ready to kill them.

Despite the cacophony that came with this fight and the exhaustion that was catching up to him, McGee could hear Tony's comments as he pulled his friend towards some sort of cover. There really was very little in the room to hide behind, so he had to settle for a small pile of rubble where the floor had been broken beyond repair.

"If you ever do that to me again, I'm gonna kill you, McGee."

Even though DiNozzo's efforts to drag him to safety caused, an awful amount of pain, and even though there was a very good chance they were going to die, Tim couldn't help the breathless laugh that escaped him.

"Sorry. It was a spur of the moment thing," he said, reaching for one of the dead flightlings and stealing his weapon. Tim reached around the rocks and shot down several of the new initiates, who, crazed by the newfound energy that the stolen souls afforded them, were too disoriented to effectively fight. "I had to make it look like I was going to kill you or he would've just shot me on the spot."

"Well you sure had me fooled," DiNozzo retorted, firing into the room as well. However, he realized that he would be more useful if he actually entered the battle, and got up to leave. Tim grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"What are you-"

"Stay here, McGee, you're too weak to fight."

"I'm not sitting here while you-"

But the senior agent was already gone, shooting at anything that stepped into his line of sight. Tim weighed his options. He couldn't fly- he couldn't even handle standing for more than a few minutes at a time. His arms were so weak, and his hands were shaking, so his near-flawless aim was now messy and unreliable. He could still hit any one of the flightlings in the room, but doing so while running or even standing was another story. Still, there was no way in hell that McGee was going to hide while everyone he loved sacrificed their lives to take down these enemies.

Self-preservation be damned. Trying not to drop the weapon in his hand, Tim stood and staggered into the fray.

At the same time, Gibbs and Apollo were working together to fight a small group of flightlings in one corner of the room. Jethro, while dodging and weaving around the fists and wings that came at him, used his gun to pick off their adversaries one by one. Apollo once again opted to fight without a firearm, instead using his skills in hand-to-hand combat.

Tim's eyes locked on the woman he'd refused to kill. Once the fighting broke out, she was forgotten by the men and women who sought to murder her, so she was able run to the corner of the room and was now cowering there, too afraid to move. Her only way out was currently blocked by the fighting- Gibbs and Apollo's fighting, to be precise. McGee remembered that there were many more humans being held in the next room, and possibly more back in the dungeons. They had to get out alive.

He spotted Ziva taking cover and grabbing several weapons off of the bodies of fallen guards and, dodging a hail of gunfire, went over to her.

"Ziva, we need to get the rest of the prisoners out," he said, now having to shout as the noise level was still rising. He wondered how long they had until the gunfire from the mansion would be heard, how long until the police would arrive. But then it occurred to him- not only was the mansion large enough that no sounds would even reach any ears who weren't listening, but the police were owned and controlled by Thaddeus. Any that weren't actually on his side were either dead or being held downstairs.

All the more reason to save them.

"I will take care of it, McGee," Ziva promised, putting a newly pilfered knife in her pocket and a pair of large machine guns over her shoulders, even as she held a third in her hands.

"I'll cover you," he said, and they burst from behind their cover. Immediately a handful of flightlings went for them, but Tim, wings extended to literally cover Ziva, fired at will while the ex-Mossad agent grabbed the frightened woman by the hand and led her over to the door. They didn't run- in fact, they stayed behind McGee as he backed over to where the large set of doors remained shut. But as soon as she could reach, Ziva yanked them open and disappeared into the hallway. Tim could hear a Ziva's gun rapid-fire and the screeches of scared humans before he went towards the center of the room, Tony, now surrounded, was fending off more of the blood-soaked initiates. It felt like they'd already been fighting for ages, but it had been all of five minutes. And the fact that only around a dozen of D'Amico's followers were actually dead, was all the more disheartening. It seemed as though he'd killed at least twice that many on his own, but in reality the six of them still had a long way to go.

….

The moment she stepped into the hall, Ziva was bombarded by a pair of flightlings, who, while aware that something was going wrong inside the ceremony room, were under strict orders not to leave the small group of prisoners unattended. Surprisingly, these two flightlings were women, not much older or taller than Ziva, though of course that didn't stop them from attempting to kill her. But she had the element of surprise, and both were on the ground in an instant. There were only ten human prisoners in this little side chamber, and as soon as the two winged women were dead, they panicked, all speaking at once, many hysterical.

Ziva fired once into the ceiling to get them to be quiet.

"Everyone listen to me," she ordered. "I am going to get you out of here, but you have to do exactly as I saw. If anyone does not follow my orders, I will not hesitate to leave you behind, understood?"

Extricating hostages was something she'd done several times when she was still working for Mossad, so she knew what to say to get them to listen. And it worked. Believing her threat to leave them behind, the prisoners were silent. All eyes were on her, and Ziva turned to the woman Tim had saved.

"You are going to be in charge of everyone once I get you out, alright?"

The girl's wide eyes and shaky nod were not all too convincing, but she would have to do.

"Alright. Then everyone is going to follow me. Stay behind me, do not speak unless there is an emergency. You," she pointed to the girl. "Make sure that everyone stays together. Let's go."

She took off down the hall, and the prisoners did as she said, following behind her like ducklings. None of them knew who this woman was, but suddenly the Israeli was their lifeline. Either way, she was easier to trust than any of the flightlings who'd held them in the dungeons for the past few days and weeks.

The house was enormous, of course, but Ziva did her best to remember the route they'd taken on the way to the ceremony. She did take a wrong turn, but regained her sense of direction when they passed an ornate door that belonged to Thad's study. From there she was able to navigate her way to the dungeons.

They didn't encounter a single person until they burst through the door to the cellblock. There were a few flightlings watching over the rest of the prisoners, but thanks once again to the element of surprise, it didn't take long for Ziva to finish them off. Grabbing a set of keys, she was reminded of when Tony and McGee had come to save them…it felt like so long ago. If only they'd known what they would be facing back then…

She started with the cell closest to her, and when she looked into it she was surprised to see an older man with a large set of tawny wings.

"Are you here with Apollo?" the man asked, his Italian accent heavy, and she realized that this must be the police officer who was friends with the eldest Clark.

"Yes. Are you the only officer here?"

"No, there's a few more down the row. But I am the only flightling" he said, stepping out of his cell.

She moved on and unlocked a few more doors but turned to him. "I need to get back upstairs."

"I'll come with you," he offered, but she shook her head.

"You have to get everyone to safety."

He looked like he was about to protest, but closed his mouth and nodded. As a police officer it was his job to protect the civilians of his city first and foremost.

"Here," she handed him the knife. It wouldn't be much, but he was more likely to be stopped on the street with a heavy machine gun slung on his back. Once everyone was free, all of the police officers took command of the prisoners, quickly calming them and planning on how to get everyone to the nearest hospital. There were only a dozen or so humans present, which Ziva was thankful for, although she had a sneaking suspicion that many more had been killed over the past few weeks. But she didn't have time to think on it, as they were all preparing to make a run for it.

She opened the door to the dock and the officers led everyone out. The last person to pass her was Apollo's friend, who thanked her profusely.

"I'll take care of them all. And I'll be back with reinforcements as soon as possible."

"I don't think there will be much left by then," Ziva said grimly, but she watched them run off into the night before racking her gun and heading back upstairs.

….

Shortly after Ziva left, Gibbs found a moment to look around and take stock of the room. He saw McGee and Tony, back to back, firing at anyone who dared come near them. Apollo was still busy, but Victoria was locked in a frightening one-on-one match with Thaddeus himself. The only reason he hadn't killed her yet was the fact that she'd regained control of his gun and had hit Thad several times. However, none of the wounds were near vital organs, and not a single bullet made him stop for more than a second. Jethro had seen Victoria fight before, and on a good day she was an unstoppable force of nature. This, however, was a bad day, and she was holding her own, but only just. Either way, her opponent was the reason they were fighting- he was the one they had to take down…He was the one who'd tortured McGee. Anger and a faint sense of vengeance filled the agent and he started towards them, firing at Thaddeus. They made contact, and some even caused him to bleed…but the injuries were like paper cuts. Little rivulets of his inky blood ran down his arms and back, but it was clear that when it came to D'Amico himself, guns weren't going to do much good in the long run.

Meanwhile, the gun was ripped from Tony's hands and someone grabbed him. He cried out but then Tim was there, and with a growl, the younger man tore open the flightling's arm. The attacker staggered back with a howl of pain, and DiNozzo almost worried that the events of the past few days were starting to get to McGee, because the sounds emitting from his mouth were more vicious and animalistic than usual.

Luckily for them, some of Thad's army abandoned him at the first sign of danger. These were the younger flightlings, not the brand new initiates, but ones who'd been promised that souls would eventually make them indestructible. They must have assumed that it would only take days or weeks of killing (instead of the centuries that it took for Thaddeus) to become so powerful, for the moment they realized that they were not, in fact, indestructible, a handful of cowards ran off, not bothering to use the door but instead climbing the walls and slipping out through the holes in the broken stained-glass windows.

Eventually Ziva returned, and her added help made a big difference in shifting their odds. She was able to help Tony and McGee out of the corner they'd worked themselves into and then, all at once, everyone seemed to trade places.

Victoria latched onto Thaddeus and scraped open part of his back, as though her fingers were claws. He threw her off and Jethro fired, though it was still making very little impact. Victoria landed on one of D'Amico's followers by accident, and though she felt weaker by the minute, preferred dueling this flightling over Thaddeus any day…not that she had much of a choice, as the man grabbed her by the ankle and attempted to lift her before she kicked him in the shin. Apollo and Jethro resumed fighting side-by-side, though of course it was now against a much more formidable opponent. McGee turned to help Gibbs and Apollo, but he whipped his head around too quickly and the world blurred before his eyes. He fell, the impact making him gasp, but then he was back on his feet, stumbling across the room to where his two father-figures were fighting D'Amico.

Ziva, Tony, and Victoria all worked to get the rest of the unorganized followers down, but it was painfully slow going. At every turn, one of them took a blow or felt the whoosh as another bullet missed them by millimeters. In fact, it was a miracle that none of them had been killed yet. Ziva was fairly certain that one of her ankles was sprained, and she'd been grazed once on her leg and once on her arm. Also, though she didn't have time to check, a nasty bruise was forming on her face from a punch that, had she not attempted to block it, might have shattered her jaw.

Tony was doubled in on himself, as the ribs that had been injured earlier took another blow. His arm had several gashes in it where multiple followers had tried to grab him and pull him away so that they could get their hands around his neck or his chest. Victoria acted as a personal bodyguard, pulling flightlings off of Ziva and throwing them into the ones that were trying to attack DiNozzo, though Tony was worried when he could hear the scary rattle of her breathing. But there was no time to think too hard on any one thing, even their wounds. Adrenaline had kicked in long ago, and every one of them felt it.

Each move gave McGee a flash of pain, but he extended his wings as far as he could bear as he faced down the monster in front of him, Apollo and Jethro on either side. This movement of his wings was meant to be a show of aggression, but it acted as a way to restore what was left of his feeble equilibrium.

For half a moment, Tim wished he had killed that woman. Then, at least, he'd be a bit stronger. Perhaps he'd be a better match against Thaddeus, because right now, they had the man backed into a wall, and somehow it still felt like they were losing. He hadn't broken a sweat and all six were struggling to stay on their feet. And McGee wasn't sure why Thad had yet to unfold his wings, but he realized that when that happened, it would be all over. If they added another set of weapons to this fight, even feathered weapons, Tim knew he didn't stand a chance. None of them did.

Meanwhile, Ziva, Tony and Victoria were continuing to fend off the members of D'Amico's dwindling family. Only three were left…then two…then one.

And he looked familiar.

Victoria recognized him first. It was Jude, the young man who'd broken out of their home, and led the assault on Simon's home. It was a wonder that Thad needed a second in command so badly, because Jude was an impressive solider. Heck, he lasted this long, right?

Jude tore the gun from Tony's hands to quickly that it left stinging red marks on his palms. The bastard was about to turn it on DiNozzo but Victoria pulled her human friend out of the way before leaping into the air. She used her wings to get her higher up, despite the agony it caused, and the young woman put all of her energy into throwing a devastating punch to her adversary's jaw. Well, it would have been devastating to anyone else- it only knocked him down. But that was all the time they needed, and before the young man could lift his head from the stone floor, Ziva sent enough bullets at his chest to end his life three times over.

And then, it was the six of them against Thaddeus.

He snarled, and Apollo, Victoria, and Tim all responded with threatening growls of their own. It was silent for a moment, and then D'Amico sent a menacing smile at McGee.

"Now look what you've done. Gone and wrecked my family."

"We stopped monsters from ruining innocent humans," Tim corrected.

"You killed frightened, confused young people just looking for guidance. Seems like that list of unnecessary deaths is getting longer."

McGee flinched.

"Don't worry," he assured the younger man. "I'll put a stop to that for you."

"Like hell you will," Gibbs said.

"I wouldn't be so sure. I seem to have a knack for hurting Apollo's loved ones, don't I?"

"That will never happen again," his former friend snapped. Thaddeus, sure of the fact that he wouldn't be taken down by the ordinary guns the agents held, (and certainly not by the hands of the three wounded flightlings in front of him) launched himself at Apollo. But this was his fatal mistake.

That's not to say that he didn't cause some serious damage. He did. Thad tore at Apollo's skin, attempting to rip him apart. His more genteel counterpart did the same, and the two came away with hands covered in each other's blood.

The sight of their enemy bleeding spurred on the rest of Team Gibbs, who opened fire, riddling the man's body with bullets. But most hit him before falling to the floor. Those that did impact the skin lodged themselves in but caused as much bleeding as a splinter might. When the agents were finished shooting, Tim and Victoria ran forward. She landed another fierce punch to Thad's face before ripping open the man's shoulder. The ancient man grunted and hissed, and yet he still was able to throw her off. That was ok, because, much like her strategy with Jude, Victoria's goal was to distract her opponent for just a moment. And for the second time that night, it worked. McGee had just enough energy left in him to send his hand at Thaddeus' chest. It hurt- and in fact Tim was fairly certain he broke several fingers on impact, but he followed through with the punch. He felt skin and bone give way beneath his fist, and when he pulled back, all he could see was the black ichor on his hands, and the huge gaping hole in the center of his adversary's chest

It's almost anticlimactic the way Thaddeus fell, hitting the ground with a thud. He didn't have time for dramatic final words, no last expression of surprise, nothing. Nothing, that is, but the blood, which was so hot it burned Tim everywhere that it made contact.

That black, inky blood that indicated just how impure his lifestyle was, but even more telling was the way the skin looked unnaturally malleable and warped, as if they'd thrown a rock in clay instead of ending a man's life. Still, none of that mattered now.

They'd done it. They won.

The world seemed to tilt, and time seemed to return to it's normal pace. McGee looked around at his family, at this wonderful, bizarre little group of warriors.

And promptly fell to the ground.

"Tim!" Victoria and Tony moved to catch him, though they weren't quite fast -or strong- enough and the three ended up in a heap. However, McGee wasn't unconscious, and after he caught his breath, which had been knocked from his lungs, he stood back up with a groan.

"Sorry," he croaked at his friends. Tony was already back on his feet, but it took Victoria another minute before she could follow suit. Gibbs looked on in concern. Tony's glazed look told him that his senior agent had a concussion, and the bruises around his face were bad enough, but he was hunched over slightly, trying to find the right posture to take in air. His ribs were broken. Ziva was limping, her sprained ankle now definitely broken, and holding one wrist close to herself- it was broken as well. Even Jethro himself was broken and bruised in multiple places. And the amount of cuts, scrapes, tears and grazes between the bunch of them was enough to knock anyone on their ass. Everyone needed a hospital, that was for damn sure, but given the previous night of torture McGee and his surrogate sister had faced, it was clear that if they didn't receive some sort of medical attention, they were going to die, and soon. Both of them were swaying on their feet, and neither seemed to notice. This was not good. He turned to see where Apollo was, hoping he could help the agents carry the two out to where they could get a cab…or a boat. At this point, a gondola would suffice.

Apollo was standing over Thaddeus' body, looking at the face of the man he'd once called a friend. When he turned, everyone's blood went cold.

There was a huge gash in Apollo's side. It didn't look like he'd been in a fight, it looked as though he'd been mauled. Flesh was torn away in huge strips and blood was everywhere.

"Oh my god," Victoria whispered, going to Apollo and helping him sit before he fell like McGee did.

"Apollo, we're going to get you to a hospital, alright?" Tim assured the older man, kneeling down so that their eyes were level.

"No. I need to go back to the house."

"In Valero Notte? Apollo, that'll take too long. You need-"

"I'll be alright, son," he gasped, pressing a hand to his side. "I just need to get home."

"No," Victoria refused. She could hear him giving up and wasn't about to tolerate it. "We all need medical attention. That means you too."

He gave the two of them a look, that while outwardly calm and placid, was his way of begging for them to respect his wishes.

Tim didn't have the energy to contradict him further, and he and Victoria shared a look of agreement before bending down to help lift and support the eldest Clark.

"What are you two doing," Gibbs asked them, and two sets of sparkling eyes looked up in confusion. "Neither of you are strong enough to walk right. You're not carrying him."

"Boss-" McGee started to protest, but Jethro and Ziva, the least injured of the group, already had Apollo's arms across their shoulders and were moving towards the exit.

The halls echoed with their footsteps as Apollo directed them on the fastest way out of the fortress. They were alone. Everyone who'd once inhabited these halls was dead. It was certainly a victory, but none of them felt up to celebrating. At this point, they were all close to death themselves…there may not have been any more combatants, but their survival was not guaranteed yet.

It didn't dawn on a single one of them that this success, this victory... it was far too easy.

…..

He stood among the bodies of his fallen soldiers. His followers. His family.

Sure, they were little more than pawns meant to help him carry out his plans. He did not love them any more than he loved his knife or his guns. They were just tools for him to use.

That was only half true. He cared. Maybe not for his followers as individuals- he'd called them his family but it made him sick… they were nothing like the people he once loved. But he did care. He gazed at each body and saw the life lost there. He saw the faces of children who'd looked to him for guidance. They laid down their lives for his cause, a cause they didn't fully understand. This was a complicated thing; he saw them as drones and could hardly respect their thoughtless obedience, yet he also saw them as loyal disciples willing to do whatever he wanted because they trusted him. Either way, they were his, and they were dead.

It was an all-too familiar occurrence.

He had a hard time admitting it to himself, but he'd truly lost this fight. They thought him dead, and for a moment there, he was. He hadn't been knocked unconscious in decades, and he hated the feeling, but even worse was the sensation of waking up after his heart restarted itself. Since he wasn't awake at the time, he wouldn't be able to prove that he'd been dead, but the dent in his chest that was just now closing suggested that his heart had stopped beating.

But their mistake was in not making sure that he stayed dead. That was the mistake of the last group of hunters to wipe out his family, too. But what heavily on his mind were his own mistakes. His pride, his arrogance…they had been his downfall before, and these traits came back to him this time, too.

He wouldn't let it happen again. Now he was thinking clearly, and with the laser focus of a madman. All he could see were the Clarks and their feeble little hunter companions. Somehow they'd survived while all of his followers were gone. It didn't make sense. It was some folly of fate, some freak happenstance.

It wouldn't be made again.

He looked up at the gorgeous stained glass windows. He hadn't truly loved much in the past century or so, but he loved this house. He was reminded of everything it stood for and everything it had been through every time he looked around. The noble woman depicted in the glass, overlooking the horror below with that neutral, regal expression…there was so much power and grace and beauty in it. That was what it once meant to bear such impossible wings. But the woman's calm face did little to quell the rage that burned inside of him.

He turned and left the room, going up to the roof and taking off as he'd done so many times before. He would end this- would end these pathetic opponents of his tonight. He swore to it.