“Warning,” the HUD’s feminine voice said, “defenses nearing critical—”
With two more strides, Simon burst free of the flamethrower’s superheated blast. He leveled the Spike Bolter at the demon wielding the flamethrower. Instead of aiming at the Darkspawn’s face, though, Simon aimed at the fuel reservoir on its back.
He squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession.
The palladium spikes both embedded in moss, in what he hoped was the fuel reservoir. In the next instant, the mossy blob exploded, creating a fireball that washed over Simon.
“Warning,” the HUD called out. “Defenses now approaching critical levels.”
Staggered by the concussion, Simon peered through the haze of smoke and distorted vision caused by the HUD’s attempt to find focus. He stared in the direction he’d last seen the Darkspawn with the rocket launcher. Heat flooded the armor even as the cooling systems cycled through the liquid cushion. Smoke hung thickly in the tube tunnel. No wind existed to blow it away.
Movement within the depths of the smoke caught Simon’s eye. The HUD marked it as well, automatically adjusting to bring the scene into clarity.
The demon swept the readied rocket launcher up. Simon leaped, holstering the Spike Bolter and closing both hands around the sword hilt. Landing near the Darkspawn, Simon whipped the sword down at an angled slashing attack. The blade sparked as it collided with the rocket launcher, then the rocket launcher shattered and the sword’s edge bit into the demon’s shoulder and sliced through its chest.
Squawling in pain and fury, the Darkspawn fell back. It threw the broken rocket launcher away and reached for the pistols belted at its waist.
Pressing his advantage, Simon thrust his sword before him and followed the point through the demon’s heart. His momentum slammed the creature up against the wall behind it and pushed the sword back out. The Darkspawn flailed one large arm at Simon’s head. Twisting, Simon caught the arm. According to his training, the Darkspawn were articulated like humans, with elbows and knees structured like hinge joints.
Simon trapped the demon’s arm with his own, then jerked. The elbow snapped and bent inward. Bone tore through the flesh. Using his grip to aid him, Simon shoved the sword sideways, shearing through the Darkspawn’s chest, hoping to cleave the heart. He felt the spine break, then the demon dropped to the ground.
Breathing hard, knowing he had to find a rhythm to get his oxygen consumption back under control before he asphyxiated or hyperventilated, Simon placed a foot on the demon’s chest and yanked his sword free. Malevolent fires glinted in the Darkspawn’s eyes, reflecting the flamethrower fuel still burning on Simon’s armor. Then the eyes locked, focusing on some impossible distance.
Another blast of coolness ghosted across Simon’s skin as the armor’s cooling systems got ahead of the residual heat from the flamethrower blast. He turned and looked back in the direction he’d come.
None of the demons remained alive. Derek and his group stood around two fallen members.
His weapons naked in his hands, Simon walked back to them. He saw at once that the fallen warriors wouldn’t be getting back up. The rocket had blasted one’s breastplate into pieces, tearing open his chest as well. Blood covered his body, but metal shards stuck out as well. The other had been blown nearly in half, but he still managed to hang on to life for a few desperate moments.
Helmet open, Derek knelt beside the dying Templar. He held the dying man’s bloody hand in his own, then softly talked him over to the other side. The man seemed calm, accepting his death without complaint, but Simon knew part of the serenity was due to the drugs that the armor fed into the warrior’s systems through slap-patches.
Leah stood nearby. Firelight limned her face. Surprisingly, she showed no emotion.
Simon guessed that she was just overloaded with everything that had happened in the past few days.
Derek kept speaking till the dying warrior could no longer hear him. Then he quieted and sat there on his knees for a time.
One of the other Templar knelt beside Derek and talked to him briefly. Gently, the other Templar loosened Derek’s grip on the dead man’s hand.
Standing again, Derek looked at Simon. The Templar’s face was haggard and filled with pain. “This is what you came back for,” he told Simon. “All the dying, the pain, and the loss. His wife was killed three days ago. Now I’ve got to tell their children that they’ve lost their father, too.” He took a ragged breath. “Are you certain you’re ready for this?”
Simon let out a breath, focusing on hanging on to the calm that he needed as a warrior. They had prepared for this eventuality, of course. But his teachers had colored the loss of warriors carefully in layers of courage, bravery, and self-sacrifice.
Thomas Cross had offered no such illusions. He’d always maintained that dying was hard, frightening business no matter how prepared a person was to end up there.
“No,” Simon said. “I don’t think anyone can be ready for this. But I’m not going away.” He paused, putting everything he felt into words. Not just for Derek, but for himself as well. “You and I both know there’s nowhere to go. If the demons are left unchecked, they’ll take everything.”
Grimly, Derek nodded. “If you’re with me, you’re going to do what I ask, when I ask. Without question and without fail.”
“I will.”
“Good.” Turning back to the fallen men, Derek frowned. “Let’s get these warriors home.”
Two of Derek’s warriors invaded the tube train and brought back blankets and cargo netting. They placed the dead men on the blankets and rolled them into them. After putting the warriors on the netting, they lifted the bodies from the ground and carried them.
Derek called one of the men forward and instructed him to take the point position. Simon took the man’s place on the blanket to help
