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I'm dead.

That's what she thought when the sentries came bearing down on them. Jake's screaming had suddenly stopped, as had hers, and was replaced with Gale's, and now there was just a galloping herd of horsemen, weapons brandished, and she thought with utterly terrifying calmness, Well, this is it, then. She had never been a fighter before Deus, not really: just a girl who adapted to whatever new trouble came her way. And she knew at this point she couldn't fight them back. These were seasoned warriors they were dealing with, and now they were on their turf, injured and hurled into chaos.

Her arm had broken so quickly and cleanly Stormy hadn't realized it at first. One moment she felt hot blood pumping through her coat, the next absolutely nothing at all. There was pain, oh there very much was, but it was too much for her brain to register--just an impending, pins and needles feeling all through her nervous system to foretell what awaited the moment she stopped moving. So she didn't.

How the trainee got to her feet was anybody's guess, but it was a stumbling affair that made her cough out more blood. The greatsword was meant to be wielded with two hands, and it never felt heavier in her good hand; but God, she couldn't go out without trying. Because there was one thing she had learned at Deus that she hadn't been able to process back home, and that was that you couldn't always be looked out for. You couldn't always excuse yourself as someone lesser, someone to be coddled and thought of as a child. That was what Thane had kept pounding into her skull. Maybe it was how light-headed she was getting, but Stormy swore she could hear the Book of Pride still whispering in her ear, unintelligible words filling her with the drive to keep going when she had been inches from despair.

Not dead, just dying. Which meant there was precious little time to act.

The gold blurred figure tossed about she deduced to be Sherry, the blue one Marcus. He was probably going to kill her for running ahead instead of sticking by . . . Assuming this didn't first. God, she hoped the moon and life hunters could handle themselves; if anyone could handle a outright firefight, she figured they could.

Gritting her teeth against tears of pain, Stormy adjusted the grip on her weapon and lurched forward, letting the swing of her weapon to try and bat them off pull her towards Gale, who she'd heard taking a blow to the head. Her own vision was starting to narrow and blur as she groaned and lifted the large greatsword up before her defensively, her periodic swings slow but aimed at their legs where it was easiest for her to strike at this point. She could barely spare the thought about whether Jake was alive or not, because in her mind it wasn't possible for any of the group to. If he had stopped making noise, then it was because he was making his way out. He was going to help.

Just had to survive until then. But her swings were getting sloppier by the second, and God it was unnatural to feel her arm smack against her body, each tap a burst of extra pain getting past that mental barrier that made her want to scream until her lungs gave out--

When s**t hit the fan, it hit the fan. When things went south, they it ice. Nothing was ever mild or in moderation, it was do or die, good or bad. The grey area didn't exist where it should. That's what made it difficult. That was the burden of choice. That was the life they led as hunters. In the end they had made their choices. They would reap those rewards.

Choice to try and catch the trainee, to take a blow, knowing that his life was being put to the front of someone less experienced, someone others would call a liability. Dis was hissing angrily, protecting Marcus while urging him to abandon the trainees. Gale had his uses, the trainees didn't. But Dis was not Marcus. Marcus wasn't that callous, that able to abandon others. He wasn't able to turn a blind eye to what he was supposed to do, not matter how risky it was.

Gale was yelling, there was screaming- he couldn't tell who it was- and the clash of seasoned warriors on two hunters and two trainees wasn't even that grand of a fight all things considered.

He'd have bet against himself.

Stormy wasn't in any shape to keep fighting, Gale had taken a blow and him- he was screaming. Wordless sounds of anger and frustration as he tried to fight back the doubt, the fear of death, the knowledge that miracles didn't happen. You had to make your own miracles. He had to keep moving keep fighting, use his own body if he had to. He was the moon, the meat shield.

He was the one called to sacrifice when needed. He looked past the horsemen, hoping that maybe Jake might appear, fleeing.

Hope was in the end, a cruel thing.

Jake only grit his teeth when the horseman spoke to him.
Visitors? s**t, did that mean the rest of them were here?
No, NO. HE DIDN'T WANT THIS TO HAPPEN. Dammit all, why did they have to go after him? DAMMIT ALL.

When the horseman left, he struggled against his bonds, determined to get out. He wasn't sure how far he would get with this foot injury, but he had to get out of here. He couldn't keep dragging the others down because of his mistake. He had to get them out of here... somehow...

But first, he needed to get himself out.
Struggling only made his foot hurt, another small pool of blood already gathering underneath it.
Ok, he needed another strategy.

----------

HP: 35/40

He eyed the horseman, weapons held up defensively as he waited to see what he would do. When the horseman didn't come for him, he scoffed, and started to run, cursing loudly as each step spurted blood out of his foot and the pain made his vision blur, and he hadn't gotten far before he had to stop, planting loudly before he started limping again.


Nothing really.

I told you it's nothing.


When he caught sight of the hunters, he froze, the group looking worse for wear.
s**t, this was all his fault.

"Get out, GET OUT!" he screamed, stumbling towards the horsemen as he lashed out at them.

----------------

HP: 15/40

Things were still blurry, but she recognized that voice. Sherry froze, attempting to figure out just what was going on. Jake was alive, he was there and then-- Jake was against the wall and Marcus was not where he had been a moment before. Sherry's eyes went back to where Jake was. Where the horseman was.

Her head felt like it was underwater, between the noise and the adrenaline and everything else. She tried to watch, to see, assess the situation and do something about it. Everything was happening too fast, there was too much. Armagnac seemed more focused, and she felt the weapon recoil in her mind. Something was wrong.

Sherry heard the word surrender. She blinked, focusing on the speech they were being given. She was pretty sure she caught the gist of it. They were dead. If they went without a fight, the weapon's would be spared. Wait...what did he mean by that? Had that been what she saw? A new panic began to rise within her.

Armagnac grumbled. Sherry leaned on the glaive, using her for support. She knew how Armagnac felt about things like surrender. She hated it. Self preservation and retreat was one thing, surrendering yourself to death was another. Which was good, because Sherry really thinking about surrender right then.

She was thinking about Jake. He was bleeding again, like in the Sahara. She couldn't go through it again, she couldn't watch him die again. The Horseman was making it worse. He was killing him.

"Stop it. Stop it!" she screamed. Things were clicking into place in her brain. They were hurt, they were outmatched, they were dead. All of them. "Stop hurting him, you big stupid cuss."

She was moving toward him then, toward that big beast of a horseman. She didn't care that it was pointless. She couldn't just stand there and surrender while he killed Jake. He was going to have to kill her first.

She pointed her weapon at him as threateningly as she could, and told him as much. "Kill me. I'm not going to sit here and watch you kill him."

Somewhere in the back of her mind she hoped he paid attention to her. Enough attention to her that the stronger Hunters might be able to do something. Anything.

He felt as though he were moving underwater.

Each swing of his arm, each step was sluggish, slow, and Gale's head felt as though it were going to split open. Maybe it already had. Maybe that's why he could feel something warm and sticky on the side of his face, trailing down his neck and staining his bright gold scarf a dark, sickly red instead.

He could hear Jake screaming from what seemed like far away, but there were two horsemen advancing on him, and Gale was trying desperately to stay focused, though his vision kept wavering in and out. He was pretty certain he'd managed to get a concussion, but he grit his teeth in frustration, swinging the rifle around and slamming it into the nearest horseman's side.

"Get AWAY!" he shouted, and his voice was raw, hoarse. Something cut into his arm, and he let out a hiss of pain, feeling the sting. He made another halfhearted lash, but it was becoming more difficult to concentrate.

Someone was talking - the horseman next to Jake, and Gale twisted away from his own attackers, closing the distance between him and Sherry, the sound of her own screams of pleading still echoing in his ears.

He stepped in front of her, moved around, stepped towards Jake, though it took every bit of effort he had left, and he kept his eyes on the big horseman, Jake's agonized shrieks loud and unnerving. One of Gale's hands found the other's wrist, fingers curling around it in a pathetic attempt at soothing him, though it would most likely do little.

"Don't kill her," he said, meaning Sherry. "But you can kill me in exchange. Give up this one - he's not worth anything anyway. Look at him, he's pathetic."

Stay distracted, his head pleaded, and Jinhai made a soft noise inside of his thoughts, Gale's eyes flickering towards Sherry, then to Marcus, then to Stormy, then back to Sherry, trying to formulate a plan, something anything.

What is there we can do?

There was a flicker of hope, that maybe things would be alright, that they could do this, fend them off just long enough for the others to get away, call for help. That hope was smashed as a fist collided with his face, sending him back, the crack telling him more than he wanted to know.

Bitterness, the choking back laughter of Dis as pain exploded into his face, and warm blood rushed to his mouth. Copper, a taste familiar that made Marcus want to retch. A taste of pain and promise- that it was just the start. The start of what could be next. Would be next. Dis was cackling, bitter and cold and cruel. He wanted to succeed, wanted Marcus to live and rise.

The hunter was not unfamiliar to defeat, to loss, but Dis loathed the sensation, the reality that it very well could be the end. His anger that his work might have been for nothing, that as far as he'd gotten with Marcus, it could all be undone. The ring in his ears lessening, the pain ebbing, the fact a choice was being presented-
Dis never accepted such choices easily, not ones that would require his loss.
Marcus understood the choice clearly as it became apparent.
They both understood the chance that there would be an end, that one day, they would die and it wouldn't be by a choice.

At least the horsemen were kind enough to give him one.

"Cowards." He spat the word, along with blood on the ground. "Use others to win- You're nothing but cowards." Dis laughed. In the end, in the end-
Marcus moved to stand, moved to fight- even as he could taste blood. He knew that he alone couldn't take them on. But at the very least he could try to protect them. Spare them perhaps, or maybe just spare himself, condemn himself. In the end it made little difference. Everyone would die one day. Even horsemen could die.

He couldn't fight them, but he could try, enrage them, spit on their laws, on them. Just buy a little time. A little less pain maybe.
He was after all, supposed to be the shield.

"....Did it even work?"

Cass threw Marcus' coat over her shoulder and proceeded to start investigating the sensor some more. Did she need to hit it? Should she press more buttons?

Was Caelius going to fly out of the sky and murder her for playing with the toys?

Was it a life toy? Would she need to take this back to H?

No, Caelius seemed more likely. She had a feeling like he'd just been giving her a stare of death for some reason....