The prey was in her grasp. It would know its place in existence for a moment before it died. Some manner of shield had been erected around the prey, a paltry defensive measure, hot and spherical. It would soon be crushed. For a brief moment, there was pain. Then nothing… almost nothing the pain was there but not where it should be. Mother withdrew her hand from the dimensional pocket where the prey resided. She let her grasp on the magic go, shrinking down to her normal, but still significant size. Her left arm now ended in a burnt stump. Nothing, no Fae had marked her such in millennia let alone prey that did not know its place. Mother put all her rage into a roar and the realm shook. Nearby minions would from that day know only silence.

Red rained down on slate roofs and asphalt streets. The Whistler attack party was too busy being dead to lament the damage to their matriarch. A large cat happily licked Fae gore off the window of a beige Volvo. Nearby a man wept. John Barrington had spent too much time on the Fae side. he had spent months in that fetid place thanks to the time difference. But It had suited his purpose. He had even made great headway with his goals. But he had only a single outfit. It had been hell. Upon returning to regular reality he had taken time to smarten up, to feel like himself again. A cravat. Matching shirt and tasteful trousers. All tied together with a jacket that was just off the hook. All now soaked in viscous Fae blood and chunks of abomination flesh. It. Would. Never. Wash. Out. The others gave the devastated man the respectful time and space he needed to process this devastating loss.

“Wanker” Said Dr Singh.

“Will he be okay?” Said Debs, a note of genuine concern in her voice.

Rusty shrugged and flicked a tiny lump of gooey Fae meat from his jam and toast. He was after all committed.

“Guys… Where did Myles go?” Asked Zara.

Everything hurt. Broken bones ground against each other as Myles tried to move. The pain was immense, Protected from the worst of the fall by his armour it had dematerialised due to extensive damage and left his raw flesh and bones to deal with his remaining debt to physics. He had been an idiot. He was so used to having a surplus of resources to play with. No thought had been given to pumping everything into the grenade he had tricked Mother into taking. He hoped it had worked since the last thing he saw was bright white with a quick fade to black. Possibly with some pain in the middle, things were a bit too fuzzy right now to confirm. He was very hungry. But he supposed if there was any time for weird intrusive thoughts it was while lying in a person-shaped hole in the ground. He was hungry… there was that stray thought again. The beginnings of a gnawing sensation could be felt. Not so much in his literal gut.. but the gut we talk about with gut feelings, the existential one. It was growing… despite the pain, Myles could feel his mouth fill with saliva. He sat bolt upright, or rather his body sat bolt upright for him. bones crunched as his injured body moved with little regard for its sub-optimal state. Myles fought for control but he was so tired. Months of constant battle had worn him down. Help had come only at the very end and that help had decided he needed more training. He lost his cat, he saw people die because he was not good enough. The pack of Whistlers running towards him made noises of both joy and anger. The great apostate that had insulted their matriarch had not gained her. This couldn’t be forgiven. but here the prey was, alone, injured. Weak.

The flash of red came as a huge surprise to the charging Fae.

“Nasty, big, pointy teeth.”

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The transformation sound was new. Myles barely had time to consider this fact before he blacked out in pain.

The Cash armour dematerialised around John Marquis and the cool evening air rushed in against his skin. He had barely broken a sweat defending the old quarry from the Whittlers. It was a silly name, they carried nothing to whittle with. Maybe he had seen one or two with a weapon, but all dedicated weapons, nothing for craft. His Scythe Sword had cut through the creepy pink monstrosities like they were made from highly processed canned ham. Pulling in all the Far corpses his suit could handle. He did envy Myles that, a bottomless inventory. But whatever, the Cash armour was lean and efficient like him. Strolling through the town centre John Marquis noted a lot of Fae bodies around. Normally most would be absorbed to fuel the Triggers, but the ones that were outside of capacity… Myles got lucky there, that bastard… seemed wrong. The realisation was what finally brought sweat to the brow of John Marquis in the rapidly chilling evening air. The bodies were not clean, No surgical slices, no pin-point exit and entry wounds… or in Myles’ case no blunt force trauma, but even he had some kind of sharp poking stick now if the reports were right…. or maybe not The speaker had nice boobs and John Marquis paid attention to the important things so who knows what may have been going on. His briefly derailed thought process shunted itself back on track… the bodies were savaged… like something had been taking bites from them.

Turning a corner he saw it, amid the empty shops and crouching atop a pile of pink Fae bodies. In its arms it held a limb, lean like every Whistler limb. So instead of the slopping of flesh he heard crunching and grinding. sinew and bone were torn and ground as it chomped away. The armours resembled Myles’ Trigger armour. but not quite. It was emaciated, or at least gave off the impression of emaciation. The bigger difference was the faceplate, it moved. The armour, or whatever it was, sat atop a pile of bodies eating the Fae. Underfoot something crunched. john Marquis held his breath, but it was too late. the thing slowly turned its head towards him. glowing red eyes met his. The mouthpiece opened. An unholy sound boomed forth from deep within the emaciated thing. it turned its head and its glowing crimson eyes met with John Marquis. Recognition.

“Myles?” Said John Marquis.

The thing leapt towards him. John Marquis was many things. Player of the game, prolific enjoyer of capitalism, extravagant peacock of sexuality. But most importantly, he was a boss and a good boss did not let down his subordinates.

“THE SCYTHE IS REMORSELESS”

The Cash armour rematerialised around John Marquis. The gold-trimmed fist of capitalism hit the abhorrent-looking rabbit thing right in the jaw, halting its forward momentum with an almighty crunch. John Marquis swore at the pain in his hand. The emaciated armoured thing recovered and swiped at its attacker in green and gold.

“Myles, this isn’t you, don’t do this.” pleaded John Maquis

The revenant thing stared back at the manager. Crimson eyes bored into him, they sighted weakness and leapt. It was strong. Stronger than John remembered Myles being, but it lacked technique, it was animal… It was feral. The leap was dodged and then an armoured fist cracked right into its guts altering the trajectory. The abomination crashed through a window behind John Marquis. His strength had increased dramatically thanks to the loan of Dr Sing's large bag of shillings.

The momentary triumph was cut short as the thing rose through broken glass. Crystal shards tickled to the floor. The discount music store whose window was broken gaped, jagged. open and raw to the world. Dead centre it loomed, a ghoulish figure. Falling glass tinkled as it rose from the broken bits of the shop front. It moved like the Fae, janky and wrong as if random cells had been removed from a piece of footage. In a blink it was on John Marquis, swiping and tearing like an animal. The faceplate opened up. The gaping maw inside held only a black void. It roared, the blast of air was hot, wet and stank of copper. A stray uppercut belted John Marquis over to the other side of the street in a parabolic arch. A badly maintained council-issued planter broke his fall. The combined impacts were enough to disengage the suit.

John Marquis rolled off the cheap soil and onto the defaced with chewing-gum town centre brick floor. One punch from the thing he was sure was Myles had brought him back to normal squishy if somewhat handsome, flesh and blood. But Myles needed him. Myles was an important subordinate, a little brother… albeit albino and if you squinted hard. It had pained him to have been keeping secrets from Myles, but it was after all, in his best interests. He had not thought he would be needed so soon and while he was still so weak. The shillings Dr Singh had given him were not enough. If only he had access to his real money, his accounts, his stocks, his shares, his investments.

In his hand, John Marquis held his community-issue phone… loaded with each and every one of his banking apps… his entire portfolio was accessible with this device. How had Myles done this? It can’t be too hard, this was nothing compared to eating a forest. John braced himself and drew the phone into his inventory.