"Forwards, men! Show these ruffians no quarter! Carve a path through them, dismantle their lines, and lay low the shackles that they are so quick to place upon others!"

About halfway up the highrise that comprised the main base of operations for the Gentleman's Club, a smash-and-grab operation had devolved into a protracted siege. Crack squads of Landed Knights advanced inch by bloody inch through room after room lined with ramshackle cages, methodically clearing the close-quarters environs with pikes, shortswords, and the occasional enchanted blast from the few soldiers who still had Domain crystals to spare. Every step bringing them closer to the Earth-hardened walls of the gatehouse built just around the prison's stairwell access.

It was slow going. Javelins were completely out of the question, here. Even if they weren't worried about bringing the whole building down on top of them by tossing those around, they'd cleared this floor to free the mage-slaves in the cages, for God's sake.

The captains of the Knights' forward cadres had charged men fiercely into the heart of the building, looking to quickly secure these poor souls and bring them back to safety and civility. This captain in particular hadn't expected an easy fight when taking this posting, per se, but he and his men were professionals. Some of the best of the best. More than enough to handle whatever scraps the Gentleman's Club could scrounge up.

While he couldn't show it, that initial assumption may have been a tad premature. As good as they were, some support would be greatly appreciated if they wanted to break this encirclement.

They were merely supposed to be the speartip. And if the shaft of that spear didn't arrive soon, the developing stalemate was threatening to drag out even further. Perhaps they'd been a bit overzealous with the preparatory wolf-herding. Even now, there was quite a sizable force circling the lower levels and sniffing around the entrances, any one of which would keep good men tied up fending them off. Sir Henwood was still acting as the only visible source of entertainment for the battle-hungry creatures, but there were plenty more that could have squirreled themselves inside by now.

"Upturn their stolen goods! Seize their weapons! Strip them of their lives and their possessions! By tonight's end, the Gentleman's Club shall be no more!"

All he could do now was keep his men fighting. Capitalizing on slip-ups, making each life on his side worth ten on theirs. It paid in hairy situations like this to be a fiery orator, he found. Really rile up the boys into a frenzy, so that they never even consider things like morale or superficial wounds.

As it stood, it would cost, but… they could fight through this. They'd fought through far worse to get here.

"We bring the light in these darkened streets! WE are the sword that cuts through the blinding haze! The spear that pierces the heart of the beast! MEN!! WILL WE DIE HERE NOW, LIKE THE DOGS WE'VE SWORN OURSELVES TO ELIMINATE?!?!"

"NO, SIR!!"

"WILL WE LEAVE THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN DOWNTRODDEN TO THEIR FATES?!"

"NO, SIR!!"

"WILL WE LEAVE A SINGLE ONE OF THESE SWINE ALIVE ONCE THE NIGHT IS OVER?!"

"NO, SIR!!!"

"MEN! CHARGE FORWARD!! FOR OUR HOMES! FOR OUR PEOPLE! FOR LORD CAVENDISH!"

A deafening roar of approval resounded from the beleaguered fighters as they brought all weapons to bear on the hastily fortified gatehouse. Submachine guns rattled at them in their charge, denting armor and punching holes in some of the more paper-thin walls, but their equipment held up just fine. The mundane, unenchanted trash these looters maintained could never hope to stand up to full sets of properly enchanted steel nearly three centimeters thick. None faltered, and before there was time for the enemy to react the first line of soldiers was already digging sharp steel into the flesh of their hated enemy.

Once the battle had closed to melee range, it was already over. No mercy for the misguided. They were worse than the monsters they'd learned to fight, choosing the path of attacking their fellow man in their time of greatest need. The slaves in the cages were proof enough of their depravity.

Repulsive. The captain spat on the corpse of the man he disemboweled. It was better than he deserved.

Looking up to seek another target, he quickly discovered there were none left. As the men mopped up the last of the defenders on their own, he took a breath to steady himself. Excellent work on their part. They'd earned a breather to consolidate what they had on hand, he figured.

"Fine job as usual, men. Once we re-establish contact with the rest of the force, we shall link up with the extraction team and get these folks somewhere defensible while the werewolves work it out of their system. Menial, fetch me the two-way radio so that I might update our status."

"At once, sir."

One soldier, who had remained at the back of the formation during the fighting, nodded at his command and unslung a large, metal frame backpack from his shoulders. It was a weighty, unsightly amalgam of aluminum and steel tubing, covered with a shabby tarpaulin, but devices such as it were unparalleled in Hallow London when it came to storage capacity. Provided you had the strength to carry its contents.

Every good soldier respected their squad's menial. It was thanks to them that they could maintain the edge against foes much greater than themselves, cut off from the world or on hunting expeditions.

Against wolves and vamps, mobility was survivability, and a steady supply of magic was what allowed the Knights to turn that survivability into offensive potential. Carrying a full squad's worth of supplies and excess mana crystals on your back might not be seen as a blessing, but everyone else did their best to treat the act as such.

Or they would soon find themselves without their needs tended to at the worst possible time, the captain noted wryly.

The receiver of the radio entered his hand without a word, and the boxy construct was unloaded from the bottom of the pack so that the captain would have better access to it. Removing the blank faceplate of his helmet so that he could put on the radio's earpiece, he powered up the machine and began cycling through frequencies for the one they'd been assigned. A lime green crystal inserted into the radio's receptacle flashed to life, glowing faintly as the leylines within siphoned the mana necessary to fuel the enchantments needed to keep their communications secure from prying eyes and ears.

"This is Moriarty Cadre. Primary objective secure. Repeat, primary objective secure."

"Understood, Moriarty Cadre. Teams are being notifi…"

A squawk of interference made a shrill whine in his ear, causing the captain to wince and hold the earpiece further away from his head. Static hissed over the channel, cutting off the tail end of the message.

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"Sorry, repeat that last? Hello? This is Moriarty Cadre, please, come in."

No response. He had a bad feeling about this.

While he technically was supposed to keep the other lines of communications clear, the captain decided in this instance to bend the rules a little. Thumbing through most of the other channels only brought static like his own, but eventually he stumbled upon one that was in the midst of broadcasting.

"I repeat, Quixana Cadre is suffering heavy casualties! We need immediate backup or else we'll ARGHk-"

The voice on the other end went dead, the only sounds remaining in the tinny speaker coming from the battle taking place around the operator.

Sounds of battle… but not a single gunshot. Just hisses of air, like a pneumatic hose.

He gripped the hilt of the saber at his hip instinctually. Quixana Cadre was in charge of holding the access point to the ground level. If the wolves had begun pushing through them already-

"Men, defensive positions, now! Company's on its way!"

With drilled efficiency, they obeyed. And just in the nick of time, too.

Sounds of something heavy slamming against the door to the stairwell rang out as the last pike was being hefted into place. The safety glass window was boarded up on the far side, so they had no idea of what it might be, but whatever it was, it wanted in badly.

"Steady…", he commanded with a level tone.

Another slam.

"Steady…"

A third hit, and now the door jamb was visibly beginning to deform. Sounds of gunfire rang from the stairwell, only to be silenced shortly after. The captain licked his lips nervously, the only visible sign of unease amongst the featureless faceplates of his companions.

All eyes were on the doorway when the intruder finally broke through. A stream of bullets tore through the tattered remains of the doorknob, and a heavily bloodied and maimed Gentleman's Club thug tumbled through the open portal.

He was ashamed to admit it, but that had not been what he was expecting. It caught the captain by surprise for a moment, honestly. From how savagely the door had been broken down, he'd have thought it might have been one of the wolf betas or omegas barging its way in by using its more compact frame to its advantage.

For it to just be another piece of filth scared for his life was… disappointing, to say the least. Even still, that a man might be moved to attack with the ferocity of a caged animal…

The pikes moved in quickly to finish off the sorry excuse of a human.

But his pursuer was faster.

Bursting through the door in a storm of whipping blades and metal, the thug never stood a chance. Wooden shafts of spears were shattered like toothpicks in the opening fury, and an unlucky few too close to the door were lacerated by the metallic wingtips that shredded through cinder blocks like they were made from chalk. It loomed over the fresh kill, sparks bursting from various joints and fixtures on its body as it jerkily rose up from its kneeling position.

The captain thought, in that moment, his men put it the best.

"Shit, it's the Harpy! Kill it now, or we're all doomed!"

They fought as hard as they could.

< -|- -|- >

"Oh GOD!! Oh noplease-"

The visor-less knight in front of Evelyn's pleas were cut abruptly short as she removed his head from his shoulders. Serves her right for trying to not fight the enemy of her enemy, for once. They hadn't even blinked before they'd decided to start slinging magic at her.

Her neck jerked as the lingering remnants of a particularly potent Fire-enchanted blade grazing close to her head. A hand came back slick from a puncture near her abdomen, a murky red color that appeared to be a mix of both blood and machine lubricant. That couldn't be healthy.

These constant battles were starting to accumulate on her frame, now. She needed to be thorough in checking Guillaume's hideouts, but every engagement was another delay. Delays that she couldn't afford for long.

Look around you, the Frenchman's voice echoed inside her skull through their mental link, rattling against her psyche like a chained prisoner. You think you are anything without me? They only saw the Harpy of Woolwich. It's all anyone will ever see. It's all you've ever been.

His sickening laughter echoed through her mind, and she let out a groan of frustration at his constant needling.

"And why do you think that is?" She began talking to herself. "It's because of you, I earned that reputation, remember? Month after month of doing your dirty work. Using me to get what you wanted most."

She strode angrily through the gatehouse, past the rows upon rows of captured mages as they shouted in alarm, terror, or just plain shock. A slight limp in her robotic leg caused her to shuffle a bit as she moved, working her way towards the back of the floor with driven purpose.

Got to make sure he's not here… Got to-

You think I'm really there, foolish girl? Evelyn pictured the old man grinning fiendishly, as he leaned against the chains that kept him from recapturing her mind. Maybe I am. Maybe not. Perhaps you missed one already. You can't possibly know all my secrets, now, can you?

"SHUT UP!!"

A fist slammed against the center of a sheet metal wall, denting it considerably and sending a lance of pain traveling up her arm. The slaves in the pens, long since beaten into submission by the Club, did not respond to the outburst with words of fear, but the cries of those seeking for the beatings to stop.

It sickened her that she'd been used to help build this place.

"I don't care if I have to bring the whole world down on your damn head, Guillaume! You're not getting away! Not after everything you've done to me! What you've done to everyone!"

Oh, come now, little Quatre-

"EVELYN! CHAO!! Use your little pet names one more time, and I'll personally-"

There. The hidden space behind the mana crystal processing room. A few heavy hits from the servo arm, and it folded just like everything else in her way.

Behind the hidden recess was a small compartment, just about large enough for someone to squeeze inside of. Very much empty, like every other one she'd torn open on the way up.

You'll personally do nothing. How can you destroy what isn't there for you to fight?

More cruel laughter. Evelyn didn't waste another moment on it, spinning on her heel immediately to head towards the door.

And where have I heard that name before…? let's see.. Chao… Chao… Guillaume's voice echoed ponderously for a moment. Oh, yes! That scrawny engineer we persuaded to give up his mage-tech secrets for. What was his name again… Ron? Rand? No, that wasn't… well, it doesn't matter. Shame what happened to him, in the end. He was without a doubt holding out on us, and our little partnership could have been so much more…

"You… bastard…"

If only I'd been a Devil back then… iterating on his work would have been nearly trivial if we could have simply tapped his mind. Think of the heights the Club would have reached then!

She wanted to lash out again. Every fiber of her being wanted to rip him to shreds, right now. Her one chance was slowly slipping through her fingers, like grains of sand in an hourglass. Was she wasting time?

Now, you see the futility of your efforts. Struggle all you want, you will never be free of me. Not even the Knights and their little tin men can rid themselves of me fully. Soon, I will have control of you again, and from that point on I will make sure even your most base of thoughts – even the tiniest sliver of your soul – can never reach the surface again.

You. Are. Mine.

…

Freedom.

That's what it all boiled down to. She was doing this for freedom, the simple freedom of being herself again. Guillaume was a master of turning someone into no-one. She was walking among the prime examples of that as she spoke. Trembling masses, whipped to enfeeblement and forced to dedicate their lives solely to producing mana crystals for their overlords. Unable to raise a finger against them any more than their magic could light a candle, so weak their own powers were. The logical end point of might makes right.

It wasn't right. For her, or for anyone else.

Evelyn didn't think twice. This would cost her precious minutes, but it was something she felt she had to do.

What are you-?

Feeling halfway between a fever dream and a trance, she moved.

She flitted from cage to cage, slicing open locks, prying apart bars, forcing openings wherever she could find a weak point. At first, the prisoners screamed, thinking that she'd snapped and was finally coming for them after they'd witnessed her slaughter their jailers wholesale. When she stepped aside, confusion erupted in her wake, as they slowly realized that they were not being killed, but instead freed.

Grown a soft spot, have we?, Guillaume snarked. What do you think will happen to them once you leave them behind, huh? How do you expect them to live for themselves, when even the weakest of vampires would have torn them to shreds if not for my protection?

"They won't need your protection. Not anymore."

So that's your plan, then? Foolishness. Pure foolishness. The Knights like to parade around as paragons of virtue, but you know as well as I do they'd lock them up the exact same way in a heartbeat if they ever get a hold of them.

"I'm not letting the Knights have them, either. Once I'm through with you, they are going to be my responsibility to protect. As fellow humans, not cattle."

Hah! Making a promise you can't keep is the height of folly, Quatre.

"Oh, really? Because right now, I'm feeling downright motivated to put you on ice, Guillaume. And each one of them is a very big part of that feeling."

She turned to the gathered crowd of wide-eyed curiosity behind her.

"There are some weapons in the gatehouse to defend yourself with. Barricade yourself inside, and wait for my return. You're safe now."

Maybe she couldn't win this in time. But maybe she could. And now, now that she'd used her strength to help people rather than be used as a tool to keep them in line, she'd won a small, personal victory for herself.

Even if this was to be her last flight, Guillaume would never be able to take that from her. No matter what.

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