The morning's surprise assault continued to unfold, and the Bloodstone members—both recognized and prospective—responded in a way that was seriously demoralizing their living Iron Jackal adversaries. For better or worse, it seemed the pack's reflexive response to match violence with greater violence was working. As the smoke continued to swirl, the Bloodstone pack coordinated their collective efforts. The two Iron Jackals, whose light wounds had been hampering them, reached the other group of five gunmen by the front entrance.
Their arrival distracted the gunmen long enough for them to witness Rhetta and Snow bullying the terrifying monsters they'd brought with them. By the front gate, the ghouls Fernando and Steven were utterly nonplussed, wishing they hadn’t volunteered for this gig.
We could have been partying back home, Steven thought ruefully as he watched Fernando’s regenerating leg be cut down. Is this really necessary, Avatar?
Our Lord didn’t merely want them squashed, but measured Estefan. He holds our souls, and we hold our tongues. Continue your task—
Over by the boat, however, even the hooded figure flinched as the force striking Fernando to the ground resonated through their link. Avatar-Bardiche turned her inhuman eyes to Snow, effortlessly seeing him through not just the smoke, but the several tons of earth that lay between them from her vantage point. Had he possessed any magical acumen, he might have felt a slight chill as some form of extra attention was laid upon him.
This is bullshit, Fernando thought into the spectral conversation. He was prone, face down on the floor—an easy target for his spine, and thus his control of his host body, to be directly attacked.
I’m not riding a fucking chicken, how does she know where to cut? he bemoaned.
None of the other Ghouls responded, though feelings of amusement resonated from far above them in the undead-group-call. This reassured Fernando, who took the opportunity to wish for the honor of payback.
Meanwhile, Steven was finally back on his feet, intestine-free, just in time to witness Snow’s deft maneuvering around him. He panicked for a moment, confused about the tactic, before Snow’s words reached him moments before a fusillade of friendly fire struck him.
Despite Snow's heightened capacity for being a danger to them, it was Rhetta's savagery that most unnerved their Iron Jackal companions. It apparently made them hesitant to aim at her, opting instead to take shots at Snow, even at the risk of hitting him. "Fucking substrate," Steven groused, trying to maneuver his towering bulk to turn and catch Snow. Lacking another tactic given the absurd suit he wore, he wished he was different.
The gunmen noticed their error and paused, presumably adjusting their aim toward Rhetta. Before they could strike, however, they were forced back into cover by Ziessel’s suppressing fire.
Did anybody catch when she moved? Avatar-Bardiche queried to a chorus of sheepish silence.
The Ayman-trusted puppet turned her magical sight to the Bloodstone secretary, perplexed by her unexpected actions. The choice of song, however, was appreciated.
Bardiche’s favorite verse rang out as Ziessel’s shots fired:
"Lights are dimmin', night's been spent,
You don't gotta go home, but it's time you went.
Had your fun, raised some hell,
Now fuck off before the last bell."
One of the previously wounded men had the misfortune of one of Ziessel’s bullets striking true, bringing the total of gunmen at the front down to six—a literal halving of the frontal enemy forces.
Over by the train cart, another of the ghouls wasn’t having a particularly great time either, despite the lack of perturbation from the physical damage it had endured so far. Save for Bardiche, Joey was the oldest among them and was well accustomed to the honor of being redesigned.
We have a serious problem, Bardiche, Joey the ghoul broadcasted, even as a cloud of buckshot rained on him, Liam’s shots ripped through his unbeating heart, and one of Nessa’s bullets miraculously grazed his leg, to little effect.
The ghoul wasn’t contemplating any of the prospects, however. Instead, it was focused on the rapidly growing shape it could see behind the bars of the train cart, right above Liam’s head.
The figure by the boat turned its gaze from Ziessel to the train cart contents before responding.
Oh my, where’d they get one of those to cooperate with them? Ornery bastards— responded the Avatar, surprised. This one hadn’t been in the briefing.
—I know my werebadgers from my ass, Bardiche, there is no point in—
The ghoul’s response was cut short as the distraction of the impending force-multiplier made him miss Nessa’s reckless approach entirely. Her machete slice didn’t sever his head, but it cut through the vital bundle of nerves needed to keep the creature upright.
Joey fell like a sack of potatoes before Nessa. Her machete, however, slid off the wound as small, filament-like tendrils began to writhe madly within. Rather than waste time responding, the intact remnants of Joey’s soul began to wish things were different.
Meanwhile, Jonathan continued unimpeded into the yard through the hole in the fence he'd made, accompanied by the four Iron Jackals who jumped off the boat. The smoke worked against the human enemy combatants, keeping them grouped around the ghoul and unable to fire on Liam, Nessa, or Rian.
Lark and Jimmy’s emotional rush to the warehouse went unimpeded. The concealing pall of smoke and the distraction of all the other players allowed them to reach the warehouse without incurring further damage.
The men around Bardiche prepared to unleash another salvo of smoke grenades but were stopped by a command from the Avatar-Ghoul. Instead, the ancient being pointed the way to shore and directed them to make landfall. Reluctant as the Iron Jackals were to leave the safety of their long-range bombardment—they didn’t have magical radio, but the screams in their earbuds, transmitting their rundown of the morning’s events via mundane radio waves, worked just fine—they obeyed. They couldn’t see her, and they didn’t dare voice their contradictions out of sheer fear.
Avatar-Bardiche cast off her hood, revealing a grinning death’s visage, separated from being an outright skull only by the remnants of paper-thin skin still attached. Dull green pinpricks of light smoldered within the hollows of her eyeless sockets, scintillating gently with Ayman’s sickly and unholy light. They pierced through the pall of smoke that had yet to be dispersed by the morning's lack of steady breeze.