Dagus flexed the “muscles” of his powered armor as he lumbered up the steps to the secret door that opened into the cathedral graveyard. He was stiff from having spent so long sleeping and immobile, and he could see his limbs responding to his will, but the movement gave him no relief except the satisfaction of having control again. It must have been phantom pains—after all, the stiffness was in parts of his arms and legs that were no longer there in the flesh, parts that had only been restored to him by machinery.

  Dicken Rosegrew’s feet pattered behind him. Why had the Bishop insisted that this timid bureaucrat follow him? He would be nothing but a liability in a fight. Perhaps to appease the despicable Alderman—although he had hardly looked pleased. Neither had Dicken, for that matter. The Bishop must have perceived something Dagus did not, although the crusader was at a loss as to what it could be.

  He took a deep breath as the hydraulic doors opened and he stepped into the cemetery, lit only by incandescent lights. The air was filtered through the respirator of his armor, but it was nonetheless fresher than what he had been hooked up to in the tank. Far off to the west, despite the darkness of night beyond the glare, he could make out a great, shifting swarm of demons flying above the gate. A fire burned in his heart, as if the smothering ashes had been brushed from its embers, letting them breathe and unleash new flames. Without stopping to savor the silence of the graveyard, he marched west down the street.

  “Sir Dagus,” Dicken panted, “my apologies, but you seem to have much longer strides and much more energy than I do.” He was lagging behind.

  “Naturally.”

  “Of course, what with the armor and the height and...anyway…”

  “You are struggling to follow, it seems.” Dagus had cast a glance over his shoulder. A heads-up display in the visor of his helmet had flashed a reading indicating elevated heart rate and heavy breathing—not that the latter wasn’t visible or audible enough. As Dicken merely nodded, Dagus continued, “I am trying not to leave you behind, Mr. Rosegrew, but I have no interest in allowing a gate to fall and guardsmen to die on account of a political liaison. Perhaps you would prefer I carry you.” He chuckled, quietly enough that it didn’t reverberate from the helmet’s speaker.

  “You’re right.” Dicken stopped, panting. “Our bosses both told us I need to be with you—which, no offense, is ridiculous to me—”

  “I agree.”

  “Good, then. But we’ll never get there at this rate. So, we can slow down and get there late, which risks losing the gate and the men, but that’s—”

  “Unacceptable,” Dagus interjected.

  “Exactly!” Dicken was regaining his breath now, speaking with a bit more passion. “Or you can leave me and get there fast, but then we’ll both be in for it, which is less than ideal. Or...you could carry me. Do you think you can run in...all that?” He gestured up and down, indicating the hulking suit of armor.

  Dagus looked down, then focused on his HUD. He thought for a moment, then nodded slowly.

  “I will try. You are willing to be carried at a run with only a metal arm for a seat?”

  Dicken sighed, then shrugged. “Not particularly, but it’s hardly an ideal night.

  Dagus laughed. This time, it boomed from his helmet. “You surprise and impress, Mr. Rosegrew.”

  As Dagus thundered down the streets at a sprint, Dicken was less impressive and surprising, bouncing between armored plates as he clung to the suit’s shoulder and letting out occasional grunts of fear or pain.

  Dagus kept an eye on various readings on the HUD. He was hitting his stride, so to speak, as far as it came to using the powered exoskeleton to its full potential. Any faster, and he could overcharge one system or another and compromise power and endurance. Any more gradual, he would lose precious time.

  Finally, he could see the gate. Dybbuks swarmed at the bottom of a staircase, surrounding artillery firing into their midst fruitlessly. Dagus stopped 200 yards short.

  “Is that the gatehouse?” he asked Dicken.

  Dicken dropped to the ground, losing his footing but quickly jumping back to his feet. “Agh, that hurt...yes, that must be.”

  “All units!” the voice rang in Dagus’s head—or at least, his helmet. “We need reinforcements! They’re almost through and we don’t have enough weaponry to hold them back!” Dagus’s HUD identified the voice as a Guard captain named Lochlan—the one he had heard was holding the gatehouse—and sure enough, there was a marker indicating he was transmitting from somewhere inside the swarm of dybbuks.

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  Dagus saw an icon indicating his comms were open.

  “This is Sir Dagus of the Knights Slayer. Hold your ground. I have come to reinforce you.”

  The transmission crackled wordlessly, and Lochlan spoke again.

  “Are you serious, sir?”

  “As death,” Dagus replied. “Hold fast.” He turned to Dicken. “Stay here.”

  “What are you going to fight them with?” Dicken asked. “Fists and a shield? You don’t have a gun.”

  “No,” Dagus said simply.

  “Well, what else is there to fight them with?”

  Dagus gripped the protrusion at the top of his shield, pulling it free. For a moment, it would have seemed to be only a rod shaped vaguely like a cross, until the sword’s blade of magical energy materialized like a jet of blue flame.

  “Fair enough.” This was the last Dagus heard from Dicken as he charged into the swarm.

  The air was so thick with dybbuks, even as large as they were, that many could hardly help flying into the energy blade. The spray of sizzling black blood made it even harder to see, but it at least was evaporating off of Dagus’s visor quickly.

  The flying demons began to avoid him, circling as if to attack. One hovered in front, strafing one way and then the other. His sword and shield were up and ready. It dove straight at him.

  He brought the shield in front of his face and raised the sword, then positioned the blade behind his back.

  There was a shriek as the dybbuk diving at his flank, which he had never looked at, was sliced in two, its remains flying over his shoulders as the one in front of him, the decoy, smashed into his shield. Only at that moment did Dagus swing his sword back around to cut its head off.

  More fuel had been heaped on the fire in his heart. As it burned, he raised the sword high, slicing down every single dybbuk that dove for him. One at his head—slice to the belly. One at his feet—slice to the neck. One to his right arm—slice down the middle. One at his shield—crash, then crush under the point of the shield. No slice necessary for that one.

  Step by step, he advanced toward the gatehouse. It was almost visible now, but each step forward required progressively more dybbuks to be slain first as the swarm converged on him.

  “CAPTAIN!” he roared. He knew they could hear him, but he had no idea how to radio them. He continued to slice and crush and even stab here and there.

  His comms beeped.

  “Sir! Boy, are we glad to have you here!”

  “The feeling is mutual,” Dagus replied, now that the line was open. “Now, I must order you to take cover and hold your fire.”

  There was a pause. The laser fire from the gatehouse windows had been key in keeping the building secure, and thinning the cloud of screeching bat-demons, even before Dagus arrived.

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Trust me, Captain. Have I not already exceeded the expectations you had of your reinforcements?”

  There was another pause. It was true that the dead demons littering the ground were significantly more numerous than before by this point.

  “All right. Whatever you’re going to do, do it after I fire off one last shot as a signal.” Click.

  The blue beams faded one by one. Dagus now stood with his back to the gatehouse wall, bracing himself against an onslaught. The dybbuks were piling up on the other side of his shield, snapping at his helmet and shoulders. He watched the flurry of alarms and meters on his HUD.

  There was a single blast of blue light, and he struck.

  He hadn’t been sure it would work, having not used such technology before his retirement, but the Bishop’s technician had shown him repeatedly how to make full use of the equipment he would be given. So, after confirming the energy meters were about were they should be, he smashed the blade of his energy sword to the glowing blue core at the center of his shield.

  The result was so magnificent, the fire in his heart blazed with glee. He felt almost like he had as a young boy, shooting his first demon with his father’s rifle. A shockwave of magic unlike anything he had ever seen burst forth, like a storm of electric-blue fire and lightning. The demons closest were vaporized immediately, many more seemed to be spontaneously ripped to shreds, and even the furthest out were thrown so violently that they smashed into walls and stairs with gruesome results.

  Dagus was glad he had ordered the guards to brace themselves. Though the explosion was directed forward, there had been enough force at work that cracks had appeared in the ground around his feet and at the wall behind him. He had no doubt the windows would have been blown out, had they not been destroyed that night already.

  Demonic shrieks still echoed through the air, but there was no source of them within range of the gatehouse.

  The door opened, and Dagus turned, seeing a man in officer’s armor—a powered suit like his, but much less imposing—approaching him with a salute.

  “Captain Lochlan, I presume?”

  “Yes, Sir Dagus. I don’t know what to say...I didn’t know there were any Slayers left.”

  “I am the last.” Dagus had practiced well. The comment was matter-of-fact, not betraying any of his shame and regret.

  “Well...thank God you were here tonight.” Lochlan looked around, trying to see what the next goal was, now that he had unexpectedly survived. “It’s been worse every night. I don’t know how we can keep up like this.”

  “God willing, the tide turns today,” Dagus replied.

  “Yeah, maybe now that you’re here, the demons will be the ones praying!” Captain Lochlan and his men laughed. “Sorry if that’s...irreverent, sir, it’s just…”

  “You and your men are glad to be alive.” Dagus nodded, which he realized must have looked odd with his horned helmet.

  “Yeah, but now that we’ve secured the gates,” Lochlan continued, “we need to...What the…?”

  A strange sound was echoing through the air. Not shrieking, but something like groaning and hissing and screeching all at once. All the men looked for the source of it.

  “Hmm.” Dagus didn’t realize he had made the concerned noise in his throat until it echoed from his helmet. Captain Lochlan turned to look where he was looking. No doubt, his HUD identified the same thing Dagus’s did.

  Another swarm of dybbuks had been attacking the hinges of the gate, ripping at the wires with their teeth. Now, the gate was beginning to open.