The goblins, those who still lived anyway, were thoroughly routed by this point. At least, those that we could see.

I couldn't discount the possibility of other greenies trying to subvert the Granny out from under our noses, but even someone as routinely paranoid as me had to admit that the chances were negligible, now that a thrice-dammed necromancer had shown up.

Despite what some of the boys and girls in the research division thought, magic was not some placid force that could be wielded by anyone with enough know-how.

It was a living, feeling thing. One that had its own likes and dislikes, as well as it's own predilections. That meant it wasn't nearly as consistent as, say, the laws of physics.

Some tricks and spells would be very well liked and so they would be relatively cheaper and easier to cast, while also coming with the added bonus of calming down the localized magical fields. However, there were other uses that were, not so well liked. Ones that casters really shouldn't be playing around with, lest that very same localized field take offence.

So it was that, as powerful and devastating as necromancy was, you really didn't pull it out unless you meant to go scorched-earth. Not only would the caster be killed, but all the casters in the vicinity as well as any that were stupid or ill-informed enough to follow would be as well. Their own bodies would be ravaged and their troops would be flayed alive as the living energies wove themselves into fiery vengeance. More ferocious than even our Geneva Suggestions.

The upside was that it was, well, necromancy. Almost as devastating to our side as it was to theirs.

It would have been unthinkable as an opening thrust. But as a final curse towards the obvious victor...

Yeah.

That was one of the worst things about goblins. If they lost, everyone else had to lose too. If they died, everyone else might as well die with them. They couldn't help it. It was in their nature.

I sighed and took up the headset.

"This is Weasel going for Rhino. Overturning radio silence. Code: High Winds 451-5. Come in Rhino. Over"

"Copy that Weasel. Rhino here. Over."

"Status report on the landmines. Do we have any left? Over."

"Negative Weasel. The mage dug them all up. We also used up the tripwires on some greenies trying to sneak in from the flanks while the mage did his big show. Light casualties when two of them got into melee range. Two units are making their way to the evac site as we speak. Still my squad remains combat-effective. We have the cold iron frag grenades as well as the standard launchers. The charges under the civilian vehicles remain operational, as are the charges inside the nearby civilian homes. Haven't had the need to use them. Yet. Waiting for orders. Over."

I winced. Realizing that I had less cards to play at this critical juncture. But there was nothing I could do about that. Rhino and his troops knew what they signed up for. We all did.

"Copy that Rhino. Fall back to a defensible position and hold. You are clear to use explosives. You are clear to demolish property if the greenies try to take cover or otherwise pass them. No wraith or goblin zombie is to escape out into the rest of the suburbs. We cannot allow another Santa Monica. Over."

"Copy that Weasel. Getting into position now. Over."

I nodded. Turning to all but one of the surveillance teams and getting them to back Rhino up.

I was taking another deep, calming breath, when my nose began to itch. Just as my scar did.

I resisted the urge to go for my service pistol or my knife. Keeping both hands close to the table while tapping a single finger on the cold iron surface.

Mole would understand.

I then recalibrated the communication systems once more. Sending another signal out for all the forces I had left.

"This is Weasel, going for roost. Do not answer. Follow migration protocol two and standby for orders. Over."

There had been a faint sound of rustling up until that point. The inevitable consequences of Mole's squad moving about in their thick body armor. Now, those sounds became just a little bit quieter, as the man himself stopped dead in his tracks and sharpened his senses. Paying close attention to what I was doing and why.

'Good. I hope you take this as a lesson learned. You bastard. You kept whining that I was too paranoid. Too focused on preparing for impossible scenarios. Well, here you have it. I'd like to see you talk back to me after this.'

Mole waited for a few more seconds as I kept tapping my finger, before resuming his walk around the attic. None of the others in his squad seemed to notice. Too preoccupied with pre-battle jitters as they stared at the cameras with a mixture of mute horror and fascination.

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There, out in the park, the bodies started to get back up.

It was slow going, at first. The scraps of melted, broken iron embedded into the earth and into the still burning flesh dispelling most of the magical potency that the gem had unleashed. Those goblins that had been scoured by the metal shook violently for a few seconds, as ethereal strings struggled to pull them upwards. To infuse them with a malevolent hatred towards all living things on the face of the earth.

One by one, they were separated. Those too damaged to be of any use falling down to the blood-soaked soil as the spell gave up on them, while the rest were made to stand. Their beady little eyes now as black as pitch and growing blacker by the second. Shadowy veins spread from their green, angular faces and down the rest of their bodies. Making it seem as though each and every one of the greenies was suffering from some inexorable plague that would consumed all that they were and all that they had been.

And those were the nice ones. The remains of the grunts that their leaders had thrown into the meatgrinder.

The mages had a far darker fate.

Their bodies utterly disintegrated. In spite of the iron within them.

Whatever was left of their carcasses sloughing off like rotten offal so that the spirit was laid bare.

The thing that remained, bore no semblance to a regular goblin.

It was too tall and lanky. Too faint in the moonlight. Too, insubstantial.

It has a mouth, but had no teeth. It had sockets, but had no eyes. It had hands, but had no fingers.

Instead, it was like a rough sketch of a person. The kind a toddler might draw as their own clumsy digits failed to move as they wished.

The thing was a wraith. The end result of a mage refusing to stay dead after their plans had been foiled.

It now raised a hand in the direction of the house. Sending chills up my spine even from my current position behind the iron plates embedded into the attic walls. I could hear voices. Faint whispers at the edge of all my perceptions that buzzed incessantly with every one of my heartbeats.

Its contempt left scars on the magic nearby. The portal screeching with an otherworldly pitch as it collapsed upon itself. Cutting off the retreat of the very few living goblins trying to escape. Their bodies fell like wheat before a sickle. Their last gasps drawn out of them by the specter's mere presence.

And then, it wailed.

And all hell broke loose.

Dead goblins bolted in every direction. No longer caring about abducting the grandmother under our care. The wraith was hatred incarnate and all it cared about was despoiling those of us that still drew breath. Those that were still capable of feeling happiness.

That was when the RPGs started to fall. Showering the sad remains of the park with cleansing fire and shrapnel. Unmaking all the corpses caught within their blast radius or sending those on the periphery flying.

The sniper teams had switched to Exorcist Rounds as well. Targeting the apparition from three dozen different directions so it was kept confused as to who its next target would be.

The sounds of warfare overtook the battlefield as more and more shots rang out with violent explosions as their backdrop. The few drones that remained dropping the last two Suggestions near the biggest piles of dead goblin meat they could find.

Such was the ferocity of our assault that it seemed as though the entire park had turned into one colossal bonfire. Brilliant flashes accompanying plumes of black smoke that rose higher and higher as the flames licked the buildings across the street and set them ablaze as well.

The wraith did not waver. It did not truly understand the concept of defeat.

So, it rose up. Above the smoke. It's presence pushing the warm air away as if it were surrounded by industrial fans.

Then other apparitions rose from the zombified goblins. The necromantic curse giving up on more numbers so that it could empower their caged spirits to rend and rip and sunder. Supernatural spite fueling their will to keep fighting.

The iron kept them slow. Enough so that the snipers still had somewhat clear shots for a little while longer.

However, that changed when the smoke thickened. The plumes veiling the vile sorceries whilst they fully charged themselves up with the corrupted energies the gem had unleashed.

And then they kept moving. Half a dozen shades leaping through the night. Now diminished in numbers, but strengthened in potency. Howling their bitter vengeance for all to hear.

Rhino's squad blew up the first line of booby-trapped vehicles. Creating yet another wall of steel, iron and fire to ward off the spirits.

At the same time, what remained of his team rose up in concert with the re-enforcements from the surveillance squads. Opening fire with their rifles.

The iron-tipped rounds staggered the ghosts. Making them flinch and slow down as their spectral forms struggled to stay together. The metal draining more and more juice from the spell the more it came into contact with it's effects.

But it was not enough.

One of the ghosts broke through. Half-dissolved by gunfire and eager to inflict suffering on those who had bested it. That pale, stretched-out jaw opened and a gust of black wind was expelled outwards.

Rhino had been leading from the front. Hidden behind the cover of an iron-coated semitruck.

The shadowy particles grazed a portion of his right arm. And that was that.

His body slumped downwards into a heap. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

To their credit, the rest of his squad held. Shooting the apparition until it was fully dispersed and continuing to fire on those that came howling from the inferno.

One more fell in return for a goblin's spirit. Then another and another.

Until the rest fell back in accordance to their training and a gap opened up among their ranks.

"Right then." I said. Standing up and taking some of the rookies by surprise. "I'm heading out. Mole, you're in command in my absence. Follow protocol to the letter. I'm counting on you."

He nodded. His face grim and impassive.

I nodded back, grabbed my hammer and bolted down the stairs. Sprinting towards the carnage.

I was there in less than two minutes, but another two soldiers had died in that time.

I grit my teeth. Not stopping to look at them, as I passed the retreating troops and made for a screeching shade. What few features it had left curled upwards into the visage of a precatory smile. It's mouth-hole opening to spew out more curses in hopes of sending me to my maker.

The black gust hit me straight on. Without effect.

Now, I knew these things could no longer feel emotions like surprise in the same the living could. Yet I liked to think it was surprised then, as my cold-iron war-hammer erupted into silver flames mere seconds before finding its empty, gaseous form.

There was a loud pop afterwards. Not unlike that of shrink-wrap bubbles.

Then there were less voices. Less curses clogging up the darkness; and the wraith and the rest of its minions knew fear again.