---Chapter 17
The streets were littered with vehicles that had stopped running long ago and were rusting away to nothing. Some where painted with words in garish colors, done by dissatisfied Ratpeople. 'Food is Life’ and 'Rats Will Die’ were some of the favorite slogans.
Broken glass and metal wheels that used to hold tires lay about near the dilapidated metal bodies. For some reason, most of the rubber tires had been hauled away. Bits of garbage like plastic bags and crinkly paper blew by once in a while, making him jump with their pale blur of movement.
The three travelers walked down a long stretch of street, dodging behind the rusted vehicles whenever they heard a suspicious sound. These varied from wind making pieces of scrap metal creak to far-off shouts or the sound of an engine running.
“Findin’ fuel gets harder and harder,” Raggsy muttered out of the side of his snout, “that’s why I gave up drivin’ about, oh, ten years ago. Some Ratpeople find supplies of it and still run about in their dressed-up rigs. Like the ones who found diesel enough to chase me down the street with their Battlehounds. My ol’ neighbors.”
The words did not have any affection in them, or pleasant reminiscence. He wrinkled his snout up and kept leading the way, with Patch coming behind him giving directions from the compass. Lenny took up the rear, until the light began to fail and a deep, inky blackness fill the streets like a befouled pool.
Then he moved up beside Patch, blinking his night vision optics on. The world became fuzzy and tinted green. He had to take the compass when it was too dark for Patch to make out the needle any more. It was slowly, steadily turning blacker and harder to see. It was not much longer until Raggsy halted against the edge of a broken brick wall and held up a paw to stop them, sniffing the air cautiously.
“Thought I saw somt’ing moving around over dis way,” he muttered, gesturing towards an open lot in front of a nearby building. It was speckled with heaps of trash and the usual old cars, throwing deeper shadows even in Lenny’s enhanced sight. But when he scanned that area he saw a faint blur, before a pair of pale shapes stepped from behind a heap of rubble into the open. They were carrying something darker between them, something like a Ratperson’s body.
“There is someone over there.” Lenny pressed himself against the wall, peering over Raggsy’s shoulder. He knew that the Ratperson could see better than a normal human in the shadows, but not as well as he could. Patch was breathing hoarsely beside them, unable to spot anything in the dark.
The figures were crossing towards the gaping hole of a blown-open subway entrance, still carrying the dead Ratperson between them. Looking closer, Lenny thought that the figures were also Ratpeople, with fur the pale color of moonlight on oily cement. But they also wore long capes of a dark color, perhaps deep scarlet or purple. The green tint of his vision made it difficult to tell.
He described them to Raggsy, who whispered back, “mus’ be the Bloodsworn. I smell something fouler than usual around here. See anything else?”
Lenny scanned over the rest of the looming buildings and broken heaps of garbage nearby. For a moment, he thought that the area was clear. But then he clutched at Raggsy’s sleeve and directed his gaze towards a tall structure at a distance. Skylined against the vaguely paler horizon was another pair of shapes, these ones apparently stringing a flag up on a tall pole affixed to the roof. After a few moments, the dark scrap of cloth hung against the sky and they disappeared out of sight.
“They’re gone. Let’s keep moving.”
The Bloodsworn with the dead Ratperson had gone down into the subway entrance. No sing of them remained outside. The compass needle pointed in the same basic direction, though they followed it over the top of the subway and through an alley into an old, dilapidated strip-mall.
“What was that?” Raggsy spun around suddenly, at the same moment as Lenny heard a sound behind them. Whipping around, he brought his arm up just in time to knock away a pale shape which sprang at him. It’s weight knocked him back even as he shoved it off, making him stumble into Patch. The pirate steadied him with a muffled exclamation, as Lenny regained his feet. As soon as he was steady he looked up and saw the figure crouching in front of him, drawing a knife from a belt at its side. It was a Ratperson, dressed in a long scarlet cape and with pale, slimy fur.
In a moment Lenny’s energy lance was glowing blue into the night, slashing through the crazy shape which jumped towards him. There was an almost animal squeak, unlike anything Raggsy would make, and the lance sheared the whitish Ratperson in half.
“Ye all right, mate?” Patch drew his own blade and blinked his eyes, trying to get rid of the after glare from the lance. He had not been able to make out the attacker at all, though he had heard the swish of cape and caught Lenny when he stumbled back.
Raggsy had paused, looking over his shoulder with a snarl as he scented the creature.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Lenny let his lance go out and his hand pop back into place. “I think it was one of the Bloodsworn.”
Moving over next to it, he bent down to look at the fallen body. Its fur was pale and appeared wet, almost slimy like some sort of underground algae. On its chest was a strange, twisted mark, painted in red on the fur. Its eyes were huge, as big as his fist and solid black. The scarlet cloak was sliced in half from his energy blade, fluttering on the ground. Purple ooze leaked out of the body, staining it darker.
“Definitely something created by the Power Core,” he muttered, moving away in disgust. “Better keep our eyes open for more.”
Raggsy nodded sagely. “Yeah, they don’t usually go alone.”
But they did not see another chalky body moving or even the flutter of a scarlet cape before they began to perceive a dim light ahead.
At the same time, Lenny looked down to note that the needle in his compass was beginning to turn black. Faint sounds of laughing, shouting and cheers began to echo down the ruined streets towards them.
At the end of the street was another open lot, this one blocked off by heaps of rubble on all sides except for where a narrow entrance let into it. The compass pointed over the improvised wall. Crouching near the top of one pile, with distant firelight dancing on their faces, the travelers could make out the whole scene.
The open area had been made into a sort of stadium, with cobbled-together seats ringing it on three sides, facing inwards. On the fourth side was a huge barricade built of car tires, bricks and other heavy refuse, neatly stacked into a wall. In this was set the entrance gate, with four of the Bloodsworn guarding it.
In the center of the open area was a wide, shallow pit, seemingly dug by hand and lined with smaller paving stones. Beside it roared a huge bonfire, creating the light they had seen. Something too person-like in appearance for comfort roasted over it on a spit, with a young Ratperson attending.
Torches were also fastened around on the sides of various buildings, throwing their glare forwards. In the seats facing the travelers and the ones below them, rank after rank of Bloodsworn sat with the hoods of their wine-colored capes pulled up over their ears. Sticks, knives, guns and many improvised weapons rested casually in their paws or laps. Their giant eyes watched the scene without a glimmer.
To the traveler’s left the grandstand had been built even higher and more magnificent in the center than any of the seats surrounding it. Here there was a box such as one might find at an old-fashioned theater, with crimson velvet drapes and banners. Flags hung at its sides, furled sheaves of purple and black. Regular Ratpeople, their fur dark and often painted with bright shades of blue or silver, stood at attention along the inner edges of this box. They held polearms in their claws and had helmets stylized to look like bird’s skulls on their heads.
Between them, in a large easy-chair with a folding footstool, lounged a giant of a Ratperson. He was like two rats standing shoulder to shoulder, topped with a single, brutish head made more ugly by a heavy, flat skull. He wore a cape and some sort of chain mail shirt over green trousers, but it was difficult to make out the details because of the Ratpeople standing between him and the viewers. Sitting chained in front of him, laying with their ugly, tentacled heads on their paws, was a pair of enormous Battlehounds.
Lenny had switched off his night vision, so that the colors came to him rich and clear. He could see, down in the pit, that a Ratperson with a spear was fighting another pair of Battlehounds. It was, he guessed, like the ancient sport of gladiators. The Bloodsworn watched the game silently, sitting almost perfectly still, but the actual Ratpeople in the left-hand stadium were doing enough shouting, cheering and laughing to make up for it.
“I can’t draw a bead on him,” Patch muttered, aiming his stolen pistol at the figure enthroned in the box. “Not without hittin’ one of those scurvy guards in between, first. And that would ruin our whole kettle o’ fish.”
“Same here,” Raggsy agreed. He had brought his rifle with him the whole way, lugging it across one shoulder while carrying the hourglass in the other claw. “An’ it wouldn’t make a difference turnin’ over the hourglass. Those are real Ratpeople same as you – er, me.”
“Perhaps I could blast--” Lenny began, only to be cut off by a noise from behind them. Turning, he saw that they were no longer alone. About a dozen of the Bloodsworn stood around them in a half-circle at the base of the mound, weapons in paws. They had appeared as silently as wraiths, never making a sound to betray their presence. Now they advanced in the same deadly silent manner.
Lenny looked wildly behind them for a route of escape, but saw only the steps full of more people watching the game, with the fire and pit behind it. They were trapped between the oncoming Bloodsworn and the ones sitting below the hill behind them.
“No guns!” Patch warned in a hiss, “blades and bludgeons only, mateys, or everyone will hear us!”
Though greatly outnumbered, they prepared to hold off the enemy from their position on the hill. The Bloodsworn broke into a run, rushing up at them. That was when Lenny remembered one of their best weapons. “Raggsy, the hourglass!”
His energy lance jumped out at the same moment, slicing both paw and club from a Bloodsworn’s arm. The caped Ratperson made no sound, but opened his mouth and flung himself forward madly. Lenny soon had all he could do to fight them off, with Patch plying the cutlass beside them.
Raggsy grabbed up the hourglass, dropping his rifle to the ground. But if his companions had a reason to avoid shooting projectiles, the Bloodsworn had none. Raising a semi-automatic rifle to his shoulder, he aimed it towards Raggsy and pulled the trigger. But he was not shooting to hit the Ratperson.
The hourglass was half-way over when it exploded into fragments of glass and sand, splinters piercing Raggsy’s paws as the wood shattered. With a wild cry he dropped the pieces and jumped for the side of the nearest building, which was worn and crumbling all down the side. There were even bricks exposed with gaps between them. Digging in his claws, he soon disappeared up it into the shadows. Meanwhile, Lenny and Patch were still fighting for their lives, hacking and slashing at the pale creatures. The one with the rifle did not shoot it again, but ran at them using it as a club. More of the Bloodsworn began to join the fray, pouring in around the corners of the shadowy structures to join the fight. If they had been given any time, Lenny would have seen that the stadium had emptied of Bloodsworn, while the Ratpeople were being served ‘refreshments’ by young Ratlings.
“Davy Jones is waiting!” Patch shouted above the din, diving towards a mass of Bloodsworn with his sword scything around him. Desperately, Lenny realized that his energy could not hold out forever and activated the mental link back to the airship.
“Leaflow, we’ve ran into some trouble. The hourglass was smashed and we may be overrun!”
In return, he got the impression of a sword slicing through fur and skirmishing going on all around the wielder. “We’re having a bit of fun of our own, back here. I was just about to ask you to flip the hourglass--hold on--”
There was a blurred sensation of both Lenny and Leaflow fighting off the pale creatures, two different locations at the same time. Then the cloaked one added,
“we can pull out by Di-jump, if we must. Can you fight free?”
“I don’t--” Lenny began a transmission, but it was abruptly cut off half-way through. For a moment, he was afraid that Leaflow had been slain on the other end. Then he realized that all of the Bloodsworn had pulled back a little, except for one figure standing in the gloom before him.
It was dressed in a purple robe which trailed on the ground all around it. There was a blood red hood and cape over the top of that. Out of the hood stuck a long snout, ending in a ratty nose. Its claws were held out to each side, flaming with purple orbs of power.
“Do not resist,” a new voice crept into Lenny’s mind, cold and slimy, “Ratcombo is the representative of the master on this land, and I am his Powerwielder. You will no longer be allowed to fight.”
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Lenny’s hand snapped back into place without his meaning it to, shutting off the energy lance. He felt a surge of anger and tried to get it back, but nothing happened. Nearby, Patch had dropped his sword and was struggling futilely with a band of Bloodsworn. Quite abruptly, he fell still.
“I have great powers of the mind and you will be forced to do as I say. If Ratcombo did not enjoy sport so much, you would be dead now. But...everything as he wishes it. I am only his servants.”
The feeling of an invasive personality in his mind was so strong that Lenny felt sick. When Leaflow had made the link, it had only been a brief touch, which made him uneasy but not truly afraid. Now he was frightened.
He could not control his own body, neither the cybernetics nor the natural half. He was forced to his knees by a power not his own, while the vile, wet touch of the Bloodsworn grasped his wrists and ankles, binding them together. Under the conquering spirit, Lenny felt a surge of self-loathing and anger. Once again he was made captive to the enemy, helpless despite all of the powers he wielded.
But what about Raggsy? The thought crossed his mind breifly, before he pushed it away. Best the Powerwielder did not hear that.
“Too late,” the Powerwielder’s gruesome voice echoed in his thoughts with a touch of vanity, “we will deal with your missing companion presently. He can’t run forever. Not here. Not now.”
Lenny and Patch were both picked up bodily and carried around the darkness of the buildings to the entryway of the stadium, where four Bloodsworn stood on guard. These ones bowed to the others and opened the gate, murmuring a strange phrase in salutation,
“Marked with blood, fed on blood, our oath is to the Master.”
“May it be so forever,” the Powerwielder returned, speaking aloud for the first time. His voice was surprisingly flat and squeaky in the physical realm. It was only his mentality that would have given someone the creeps.
Lenny and Patch were hauled into the firelight, which made them blink with its brightness. In the shallow pit, both victorious Ratperson and dead Battlehounds had been cleared away. Now the two travelers were thrown down in it as the Powerwielder announced, “Oh leader, Ratcombo the most high, keeper of--”
“Get on with it,” the great Ratperson in the throne called down in a bass growl.
“We have two of the travelers here, captive for your amusement. What shall be done with them?”
“Make them fight.” Ratcombo plunged his claws into a basin of some sort of food bits which looked like like roast nuts, cramming a bunch into his mouth at once. When he had room to speak through it, he added, “then get the rest of those people and roast them for a late-night snack. No more excuses!”
“Yes, your mightiness.” The Powerwielder bowed and moved away towards the audience box, while two Ratpeople jumped down into the pit and cut the bonds from Patch and Lenny. Before they could move, the Ratpeople had run over and been given paws up out of the pit, leaving the two humans in it alone. They stirred and got to their feet, feeling a little less pressed upon by the Powerwielder’s mentality.
The Ratpeople, but not the Bloodsworn, all began to chant. “Fight, fight, fight!”
A pair of long sticks was thrown down to them, each being sharpened and fire-hardened into a point at the tip.
Lenny once again heard the odious voice in his head, “you shall not be allowed to use your robotics. Or your dimensional apparatus. Only the skills of your hands. Fight, or else I will make you and determine the winner myself...the painful way.”
Patch’s expression showed that he had just received almost the same message himself. They looked at each other in dismay, realizing that there was no way they could climb out of the pit and destroy Ratcombo before something stopped them. It was fight and die no matter how they looked at it, unless someone outside came to their aid.
---
Raggsy scrambled panting to the top of the building, leaping over the low wall which stood around the top to land on the flat roof. Below him he heard the sounds of his friends fighting and felt ashamed of himself for fleeing so soon. But they were in a dead-end alley. Staying to die or be captured by the Bloodsworn would have been no true help at all. The only thing he could really do to save them was kill Ratcombo on his own.
He pressed his paw to the fur on his chest, feeling the little scratches on it where splinters had gone in from the hourglass. It was rotten bad luck losing it, but a Ratperson couldn’t rely on magic all of the time. In this old world, it was sheer perseverance and ingenuity which could keep a person going, even in the worst of times.
By the time Raggsy had caught his breath, Lenny and Patch were being dragged into the clearing below. By leaning on the edge of the building, the Ratperson could see them as small, bright figures in the molten firelight of the arena.
“Think, think, think!” he told himself, to the same rhythm as the Ratpeople below were beginning to call for a fight.
He bit his claws, narrowed his eyes and began to study the situation coolly. He was up on top of a building, one of perhaps four that surrounded the courtyard below. His friends were down in it, about to be forced to fight each other or perhaps killed in some other horrific way. The mastermind of this nightmare sat in a box below Raggsy, surrounded by armed Ratpeople.
Raggsy considered simply throwing a large stone down at him, perhaps a brick pulled from the wall. But if he missed...they would spot him. And it was a difficult throw to make accurately, since he was over to the side as well as high above Ratcombo. Besides the fact that there was a cloth overhang on the box, making it so that he could not see the leader clearly. Another choice was to go down and try to act like just another spectator, wiggling his way closer until he got near enough to shoot Ratcombo with his rifle or strangle him with his own paws. But that was too risky. Especially as his rifle might have been taken by the Bloodsworn when it was dropped down below.
Suddenly Raggsy’s bright, soft eyes fell on something on the far side of the courtyard. Tucked up against the base of a tall, tottering building, just on the outside of the rubble wall, was a fuel pump. A truck sat in front of it, in good enough shape where it must be serviced and run from time to time. It was a large pickup truck, decorated with huge stacks and a toothy bumper, the whole thing painted black and orange. Trucks take fuel. Fuel has to be stored in a tank. Raggsy’s mind lit up with a crazy, wonderful plan.
It took him a few minutes to scramble down the side of the building again, this time on the opposite side as he had climbed up it. Ducking, dodging, moving as quickly as he could, he began to circle around the stadium. Inside of it, he could dimly hear the sounds of the Ratpeople booing and calling out mockeries, as if they weren’t enjoying the show much any more. But Raggsy kept to the shadows and did not stop to check on his companions.
It did not take him long to reach the back of the pickup truck, moving in this manner. Peeking out from around it, he saw that the fuel pump had a large hose fastened into the back of it, which ran into the side of the building. This building was one of the four corners of the stadium, with rubble heaped against it. There was a small, red light gleaming on the pump, a generator running somewhere inside the building and a sleepy Ratperson leaning against the side of the pump ‘guarding’ it. Raggsy picked up a hefty brick that was laying nearby and, holding it behind his back, came strolling up to the guard.
“Say, did Ratcombo tell us we would get a replacement any time? I’m missin’ the show.”
The guard looked at him suspiciously, hefting a rusty pistol in one hand and patting a knife at his belt. “So’m I, but I didn’t hear of a replacement. In fact...”
He came forward, frowning at Raggsy under oddly heavy brows for a Ratperson, “I didn’t hear of you, neither!”
Without deigning to give a reply, Raggsy skipped one step closer and clobbered him on the head with the brick. The guard fell down in a heap, his gun clattering to the cement. With a little, irrepressible giggle, Raggsy stooped to tear the other Ratperson’s baggy shirt off and pick up his weapon.
“Fancy dat! Well, now ya know all about me.”
Going over to the gas pump, he used it to hose the shirt down until it was entirely soaked in gasoline. Then he followed the line back towards the building, through a hole in the wall. Inside, there was a large, hollow chamber. He continued to follow the hose across it, over to where a large, rusty tank sat in the shadows. Feeling his way by whisker and paw more than sight, Raggsy found a ladder leading up to a hatch on top of the tank.
The whole building creaked in the wind above him. He was actually surprised that it had stood upright this long. But it was leaning just perfectly towards the left-hand side of the stadium, where Ratcombo sat. And that corner was where the tank was stored.
The hatch of the tank opened with a horrible groan. Raggsy took his old lighter from his pocket, humming under his breath, “...See you standin’ in the sunshine, runnin’ errands in the rain..”
The ragged shirt burst into bright-orange flames, licking upwards at his paws. There was a gap between the ceiling of the iron tank and the fuel within, as it was only half full of the liquid. That was a good thing; it would make it so that the rest was full of the highly-flammable fumes. Once the shirt was burning furiously, he tossed it into the air above the open hatch.
As it drifted above the hole he jumped down and ran like a whole world of Battlehounds was after him. A moment later, the bottom of the tall building blew outwards in a burst of flames and smoke, flinging bricks around it. The building moaned as if in pain, dust sifting down through its layers in a torrent as it began to tip over. Raggsy hid behind a pile of garbage not far off as the whole thing started to go down. The edge of its roof slipped sideways against the sky, swinging downwards with gathering momentum. The huge structure slammed into the ground, piling itself across the end of the stadium in a tangled mess of bricks, iron bars and metal roofing.
Dust exploded upwards, flames still leaking from the corners where gasoline pooled out onto the street. The heap of rubble spread itself across the stadium, over the wall of junk that had been there before and half-way across the street beside it.
Once it had settled just a little, Raggsy ran and jumped up on top of his glorious mess, running across it towards the courtyard to see if his friends had survived the wreck safely. He was almost to the outer edge of the heap when something stirred in front of him. Only then did he he remember that the world had not yet torn away from EX-2 or been settled back into its correct state.
In the light from the distant glow of the bonfire (which was still burning, despite having almost gone out from the wave of wind created by the building falling) he saw a shape pry itself up out of the bricks. Torn, bloodied and looking like a monster from a nightmare, Ratcombo pulled himself up from the morass of junk.
With a glance, Raggsy saw the stadium full of Bloodsworn starting to get up and surge towards him. Down in the arena, Lenny and Patch were crouching with their hands over their heads, looking around in astonishment.
“Stop!” Ratcombo held up a paw towards the moving mass of cloaked Ratpeople, waving it dramatically towards Raggsy. “I’ll deal with him myself.”
His eyes focused on Raggsy as he put his paws together and cracked the knuckles. All of the Bloodsworn halted in their tracks, still warily holding their weapons but not moving. Raggsy looked at Ratcombo and mentally shuddered. The Ratperson was twice as big as him, thickly muscled and had paws that looked like they could crush rocks.
But then, Raggsy had a gun. Recalling the stolen pistol, he swung it up and pointed it at the monstrosity, pulling the trigger. There was a small click...and nothing happened. The gun was only for show and held no ammo.
Ratcombo roared with laughter and ran towards him, beefy arms grasping the air. Raggsy decided on the spur of the moment that it was no time to play hero. He ran. Across the clattering, uneven bricks, still gasping in the dusty air and coughing on it, he tried to keep ahead of the beast chasing him. Ratcombo kept laughing and calling evil names at him, somehow gaining all the time.
Finally, on the edge of the building, Raggsy caught his foot on a piece of metal in the shadows and tripped. He fell tumbling down into a sort of valley in the rubble, where pieces of hard rebar lay in a heap. Unable to stop himself, he hit his snout on one of them. Ignoring the pain, he rolled over, grasping at a longer stick of iron, only to see Ratcombo leaping through the air down at him.
With a final effort, the exhausted Ratperson tilted the jagged-edged bar upright, so that it was pointing at Ratcombo’s chest. The heavy body plummeted through the air, struck the metal and fell with a thud on top of Raggsy. The world went even darker around him. But that was only because Ratcombo was entirely covering Raggsy’s face, stifling him and shutting out the comparative grayness of night time. The monstrosity jerked, gripped at him with crushing paws, then fell still.
Even in this difficult position, Raggsy felt the world ripple a moment later.
He tried to shift Ratcombo off of himself, but the heavy body was pinning him down. His right paw felt crushed by the protruding end of the thin bar, which was twisted over sideways, while his left claws scrabbled uselessly under Ratcombo’s shoulder. Raggsy had to turn his head sideways to even get a breath of air; otherwise the dead Ratperson’s fur would have stifled him. He heaved, shoved and tried to get up, but there was just no getting rid of Ratcombo’s weight.
Well, Raggsy thought, this is a dull way to end a life. Smashed under a ridiculously large and fat Ratperson. If only he could wiggle sideways...but no, he was trapped in by the bricks and iron rods just as much as by Ratcombo. He began to imagine the funeral that his companions would give him. Lenny could read the eulogy, he would put the proper solemn, pathetic tones into it. It could even end, ‘our good friend, died under the weight of his defeated enemies.’
Then Amber would cry, putting flowers on his grave. And Patch would sprinkle gold coins on his grave...or put them on his eyes to pay the reaper’s toll. Everyone would be affected, weeping and sighing over their good Ratperson friend whom they would see no more in--
Something shifted the dead body above him. There was a heave, Ratcombo moved a little, then was rolled aside. Raggsy found himself looking up at the dim night sky, with a pair of human heads silhouetted against it.
“Raggsy...Raggsy! Are you alright?” Lenny’s voice asked. Four pairs of hands grasped the Ratperson by the arms and pulled him out of the dip he had been laying in.
“He’s just knocked silly.” Patch’s deep voice came reassuringly. “He’ll buck up soon, won’t ye matey?”
“Heh, heh, I’m n-not silly.” Raggsy stumbled over the words, but then gave himself a shake and added firmly, “an’ I pulled your marshmallows out of the fire. Both of ya!”
“Yeah, you did.” Lenny let him go to put a hand to his own head. “That was the most despicable situation I’ve been in yet. No more mental connections for me. Not Leaflow’s, or that of anyone else!”
Raggsy had not yet had time to see how the Power Core’s absence had changed the world. Surprisingly little was obvious. The sky was a cleaner shade of blackness, like usual, and any scars on the buildings had faded away. But the biggest difference was that the Bloodsworn were gone. Them and their hooded chief, the Powerwielder.
“Let’s get back to our ship an’ friends,” Raggsy said, “our business here is finished. An’ so is he.”
He kicked the stiffening corpse of their late enemy, turning to climb off of the heap of rubble.