Chapter Text
"Just think about it," River said. "Ventriloquism. Kid-friendly. A good PR trick, hm?"
I couldn't stop grinning at the bigfoot. While he might have looked like a small, shaggy mountain of dark fur stuffed into a suit, he had the temperament of a teddy bear. If you were on our side, that is. I watched him casually backhand a huntsman into a wall with no more effort than it would take me to swat a fly. The huntsman hit an overturned car and bounced, only to be torn to pieces by the ghouls marching in lockstep all around us.
"Start with balloon animals," I said, trying to force down a giggle.
A bubble of laughter would sound like a discordant note against a backdrop of screams and vicious snarls. But with the arrival of Titania ahead of us, the oppressive weight of the city's terror had washed away, leaving me feeling as clean as though I'd stepped out of a shower. Paired with the thrumming remnant of Lasciel's will trapped in my skin, I was almost completely immune to the worst of the psychic mortars that were flying around.
Marcone led the charge, brandishing a seemingly endless supply of pistols at the fore, calmly and efficiently dispatching them before he moved on to his next target. Beside him, Gard went through a row of turtlenecks, ax scything in great, graceful arcs. Fomor blood stained the street.
Gliding out of the night behind River and I were a group of lithe, silver-haired goddesses, their gowns plastered with conflicting stains of ichor to their supple bodies. Lara moved like a dervish, sending heads spinning with every liquid flick of her sword. Her sisters fanned out like a horribly compelling group of backup dancers, sashaying their way through the Fomor ranks with deadly efficiency.
The Archive was chewing through Fomor ranks like a lawn mower, using a similar technique to the one I'd used on a jotun. Nothing survived being hit by heavy objects moving at terminal velocity. Wizards brought their talents to bear.
And I was riding on the back of a friend who'd once owed me a favor, riding into battle with a Sword of Light clutched like a beam of lighting in one hand. The chorus rose into an angry crescendo when I came within striking distance of a froggy Fomor sorcerer.
He tried to lob a sphere of force at my face. With a confidence that was not my own, my arm swept up to meet the opposing force. The energies collided with a sound that was simply tectonic and then the Sorcerer went flying, knocking a furrow into the lines of their legion.
Let me tell you, if there's one thing you don't want to do on a battlefield, it's fall. The Fomor troops didn't have a chance to climb to their feet. Marcone's banner rolled forward with the strength and inevitability of a juggernaut, and their discipline broke. Some turtlenecks started screaming. Some ran. I didn't chase them. I had bigger game in mind.
I spotted Harry and Butters across the open field, cutting a swath through the Fomor troops on their way toward Ethniu. Sanya vaulted over an overturned car and let out a battle cry so furious that I could only echo the challenge. It drew his eyes to me, and he froze for a fraction, staring in incomprehension at my upraised sword. And then the light of Hope itself suffused his face, burning through the miasma of the Titan's will like a corrosive acid. He let out a whoop and ran at the Titan like a freaking madman, laughing the entire time.
I risked a glance toward Marcone. He didn't speak. The jerk of his chin toward Ehtniu was order enough. I nodded, steeled myself, and took off in the direction he'd indicated.
The battle near the Titan's flanks had grown unspeakably savage. I watched a young blonde woman go down under a wave of howling huntsman, only for one of the trolls that had accompanied the Winter Lady's charge to bat them off her with the deadly precision of a pro golfer. Except, when the ball is soft, you end up with chunks. Fomor sorcerers threw the bodies of both friends and foes in front of the Knight's charge, trying to slow Butters down.
He went through them like a whirlwind, striking down only the foe. I threw one hand forward, helixes of soulfire that Lash left behind spiraling into the enemy ranks like a canon ball. I was already moving through the gap, moving with the utter certainty that there'd be a passageway to the heart of the enemy.
For this instant in time, there was hope. There was room for choices to be made. Because, as my father had said, obfuscation was the best way to convince a population that all hope was lost. The light of Hope, Faith, and...God, what did I even call the temporary holy sword? Love was already taken. Though she had done it for love, it hadn't been the pure, unbiased kind I'd grown to expect from angels.
Sacrifice, I decided. I held up the Sword of Sacrifice, and its light shone like a beacon over the battlefield. It thrummed in sympathetic pain with the loss of so many souls. It told them that it had not been in vain. That Evil could only seem to triumph for a time. Because there were always those willing to lay down their very souls so that other people would live. It wasn't a Sword, in the same way that Butters and Sanya knew them, but an accompanying note that enhanced the flavor of power that shone from its sister blades.
I extended my free hand and gathered power into my palm. It wasn't much. There was no more fuel for a city-wide boom box. But there was enough for a megaphone. A big, distracting shout at just the right moment.
Guns and Roses' Sympathy For the Devil blared into the night, casually defiant in the face of the titan's will. I felt a small, warm pulse of amused approval from the Sword before its attention turned back to the task at hand.
The spell did exactly what it was supposed to. The Titan's head swiveled toward me. Her heel lashed out and broke apart what meager shields I could muster in the split second before it hit me.
I went flying like a ragdoll and hit a pile of debris. Things broke. Mostly me. But before my eyes slammed shut, I saw Butters reach her. I saw the Sword of Faith flash.
And I saw a Titan bleed.