The front doors to the house hung open and abandoned from the chaos their attack had caused. Through it, the sounds of battle ensued with surprising ferocity as the defending forces suddenly surged from their hiding places in order to intercept Oliver’s secondary unit. This assault was met effectively by the experienced fighters accompanying the lord, who kindled blade snaked and struck as an indomitable force all of its own. He was tempted to open fire on the unaware foe, but the chance of a stray bullet passing through and hitting an ally was too great. Presently, Pavejack finished setting up his weapon, and the sight of tracer rounds slamming into the backs of the enemy from a safe angle caused the flow of combatants into the melee to abruptly cease. In response to this, the great thuds and crashes of the unknown spearman’s scattergun assault renewed with heightened intensity.

  “The door’s unlocked.” Whim reported as the others hugged the wall on either side.

  “Alright, let’s keep this simple. Seven and I shall enter and move left, Two and Six will move right. You're free to engage the moment we step through, but ensure you’re not gunning down any chambermaids or whatever. Seven, on your go.” Alter ordered.

  A pair of heartbeats later and Whim nodded once before shoving the door open, as one he and Riptide turned through the gap and immediately sidestepped so Alter and Walross could follow them through. The room they had entered was a gallery of sorts, every available surface was covered in large portraits of very regal and self-centred men and women who had feared the passage of time. The ceiling was coated in murals that seemed to have a religious flair, Alter recognised the twin eyes of Kalaton at either side of the rectangular space, he imagined that the depicted people, scenes and symbols in between them must belong to the other members of the Four. But that was enough art tourism for now, there was a small gathering of men in the centre of the room, each was armed and armoured. At the centre of this human cluster was their target of interest. A figure in full helm and plate mail, standing well above their contemporaries, held aloft a mighty spear of ridiculous length, something that was fast becoming a theme. Up and down the shaft of which ran waves of blue flame, and his progress around the room was clearly marked by ugly gaps in the painted ceiling.

  The team needed no order to offer them a meters-per-second greeting. In a single second, several bodies clattered to the floor, but the kindler remained standing. They showed impressive reaction speed as the bottom half of the spear’s shaft detached and fell with a clang and the top was whipped around to meet the incoming fire. With precise, lightning-fast movements, the spear slashed and spun as each bullet that flew towards them was intercepted.

  “Oh, that’s bullshit.” Whim complained as he saw their initial salvo fail.

  “Keep up the assault, vary your shots and drive him back. He can’t keep this up forever.” Riptide snarled in response.

  The four men widened the gaps between them, attempting to form a semi-circle around the armoured figure. Alter kept his fire off-beat and varied as his lieutenant suggested. Centre of mass, right leg, left shoulder, anywhere where a bullet might be able to creep through. As they began pressing forward, the spearman was forced to back away in order to prevent Whim and Riptide from slipping beyond their defensive arc. It was not as if they were deflecting the team’s shots, thank goodness, but as the spear moved to and fro it left behind a searing blue trail that lingered for a couple of seconds. Any bullet that flew towards the flames began to glow and then pop like a miniature firework. There were small gaps that would appear between the spear’s arcs, small windows in which a lucky bullet could sneak through. However, their opponent was aware enough to ensure that those openings only led to the parts of him where the armour was thickest, or to sections at such a steep angle as to cause the bullet to ricochet deeper into the room.

  Step by step they pushed onward, occasionally the spearman would attempt to go on the offensive but all their attempts were met by withering fire from the opposite direction, forcing them back into their protective stance. There were only two possible avenues for the foe to escape, an open archway at the end of the left wall, or through one of the closed windows looking into the courtyard. Spotting this, Riptide and Whim pushed forward aggressively, looking to cut off any opportunity for retreat. Then, as the heel of the spearman’s backfoot touched the wall, and their window to escape was slammed shut, their behaviour suddenly shifted.

  A low, unnerving moan began to rise from behind the closed helm, rising to a shriek of frustration and rage that set Alter’s nerves on edge and caused him to tightly clench his teeth together. Matching the noise, the blue flames billowed across the armour, growing in brightness with every passing second. The scream reached its crescendo, and in one last defiant surge the flames raced outward in all directions. Alter squeezed his eyes shut and on reflex dropped his rifle to cover his face. Strangely, it was not a wave of heat that washed over him even as the intensity turned the backs of his eyelids into the bottomless depths of the empty ocean. It was emotion that pierced through him, raw and unbridled, lances of anger slammed into peaks of frustration all amidst a storm of resentment. Beneath all of this swirled an undercurrent of terror, and bringing the experience to a finale was a healthy dose of emptiness. Confused but seemingly intact, Alter slowly opened his eyes and was immediately thankful to see all his friends were still on their feet, and their foe had crumpled to the floor. To his alarm, he saw that several patches of flame still clung to his arms and chest. The fire licked defiantly across his gloves as he frantically patted himself down, but it was blessedly quick to be smothered to nothing.

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  “Talk about a dramatic exit, is everyone okay?” He asked as he watched the others deal with their own blue wisps.

  “I think so.” Riptide peered suspiciously at the collapsed body. “Did that guy just … throw his soul at us?”

  “I guess, in a manner of speaking. It’s better than going out with a whimper, I suppose. Check him.” Alter tapped Whim on the shoulder.

  Whim moved up to the body and knelt, placing his rifle on the floor beside him. Carefully, he reached out and slowly lifted the helmet visor and peered at the face inside. With a sudden fit of coughing, he hurriedly slammed it shut again and reeled backward.

  “Yeeurgh, gods above. Oh, they’re gone alright, cooked themselves to a blackened husk. Urgh, why am I always the one being made to stick my nose into these roasted horrors.”

  “You would think that that level of self-sacrifice should’ve made the attack much more devastating. But look, it barely even singed the artwork, let alone us.” Walross observed, ignoring his colleague's complaints.

  “Maybe they had no strength left? You’ve seen how quickly Olliver gets drained when he’s using his powers.” Alter mused before turning around. “Come on, we’re done here. Fall back to the stairwell and prepare for phase two. I can hear rifle fire coming from upstairs, that means Three and Eight have company. They’ve not radioed for help but they’re getting it anyway.”

  Their return to the entrance was perfectly timed as Oliver’s force made it in from the courtyard, the last remnants of their attackers still harrying their rear. A quick glance at their number gave him the reassurance that all known faces were alive and accounted for. He waved to the other to continue without him, and waited to be noticed. Once he had confirmed that everyone was inside, Oliver turned to him and waved.

  “I’m glad to see you’re still holding strong. We heard something terrible and saw the glow through the windows, what happened?”

  “We had a close encounter with a knight with similar powers to yourself, but we overcame them. What about you, any problems?” Alter saluted quickly.

  “It was a bit of a scramble to get here, we assumed you’d wait a little longer before sending the signal. As far as I’m aware we haven’t lost anyone during the assault, although I had to use up a little more energy than I would’ve liked. What about my uncle? Do you have him?” Oliver looked at him intently.

  “We do.” Alter nodded. “He’s in the first floor lounge, tied up and under guard. I’ll take you to him now.”

  Oliver ordered the Houseguard to hold the entrance before he, the as yet silent priest and the Silver Wolves accompanied Alter back up the stairs where Pavejack and Boats were waiting.

  “The downstairs problem has been dealt with, you’re free to set up as you see fit. Anything to report, otherwise?” He asked them.

  “We’ve had a couple of attempts to charge at us from the bedrooms, and I’m pretty certain I’ve heard people moving on the top floor. The machine gun is running pretty hot at this point, I’d like to give it a few minutes to cool down before using it again.” Pavejack reported, patting his weapon at its mention.

  “We’ve got the forces available to give you a break. Don’t worry about the outside for now, just focus on keeping the lounge secure.” Alter clapped him on the shoulder as he moved past and into the aforementioned room, confirming that his friends were still in control.

  “Here he is, tucked up and ready.” He pointed to the corner where Bertrand still sat, his expression still one of rage that only intensified as the others entered his field of view.

  Oliver took a second to look the man up and down, but felt no need to address or acknowledge him further in any way. Satisfied, he turned to the priest.

  “Excellent. Master Pinfario, you may begin as soon as you are ready.”

  Alter took his first proper look at the man in the soft green robes as he stepped forward. First things first, the man was huge. Alter was a pretty tall man, but this Pinfario stood a full head higher. At a rough guess Alter would say he was approaching forty, with short, brown hair and tanned skin. Piercing green eyes that seemed to look straight into the deepest recesses of one’s soul turned down to the captured man. From within his robes, Pinfario produced a finely crafted silver goblet. The priest uttered a short chant in some unknown language, and suddenly the goblet was alive with jade fire. The purifying flame of Sirrithae raced out towards Bertrand, and within moments the man was engulfed in translucent light. Bertrand didn’t scream, he couldn’t after all, but his body convulsed and spasmed. A shadowy figure began to appear, with a strange elongated body that wrapped tightly around him and a vaguely humanoid head and torso that appeared from behind his right shoulder. Long fingers from one hand were wrapped around Bertrand’s throat, while the other seemed to attempt to cover his eyes. The Lingering screamed and fought, defiant against the priest’s efforts to banish it from the world. Seeing this, Oliver sighed quietly to himself before turning to Alter.

  “The creature has its claws dug in deep. Mind your perimeter, Captain. This will take a few minutes.”