Cecil understood that he was probably about to die.

He'd been expecting it for some time now. Attrition was a numbers game, and with each irreplaceable man lost, the odds of his own life being the next one on the line climbed higher and higher. Like a game of Russian Roulette, carried out on a scale of hundreds of friends, allies and comrades over the past year.

Was he the lucky one or the unlucky one in the equation? As he stared down the encroaching monsters gathering in the dark outside, he'd asked himself that very question several times already. But, now that all signs pointed to the end approaching…

He couldn't help but think maybe he'd known a better answer all along.

There was no real point in trying to quantify misfortune. It all ended the same way, regardless of how long you held out for. He could have died in a ditch during the First Witching Hour, and to the outside world it would have made absolutely no difference. Every second he stuck around for longer than expected was, mostly, spite for how things turned out.

Spite that, even now, he still carried with him. Like hell if he was going to go down without racking up as much damage against these sub-humans as he physically could. Let the Devils play their little games. His quarry is – and always was – the immediate dangers the wolves and vamps possessed.

"East Front," he ordered over a short range radio in his hand. "Seeing a lot of movement on your side. I'm lighting things up for you so pick your targets and make 'em count."

"Roger," came the clipped response. "Ammo should hold for now, but a few more big clumps like this and we'll be sitting ducks here."

"Then don't give them any reason to think you're running dry. Wish I could give you something better than that, but…"

"Yeah, yeah, we get ya." The voice on the other end was slightly bitter, but not at Cecil directly. They both understood the situation all too well, and were more angry at the world than at each other.

Nothing else needed to be said between the two, but Cecil felt it important to leave things on a high note.

"Let's give the rest of the boys a story to remember us by, huh? Give 'em hell."

He cut the line short, taking a moment to center himself and begin channeling his Domain. Motes of light coalesced in the palm of his hand, condensing themselves from a gentle warm glow into a blinding white orb shining from the roof of Kensington Palace.

With a flick of his wrist the orb flew high into the air above the palace's east wall. It grew brighter as it travelled, and when it finally reached the apex , there was a moment where one could almost be forgiven for mistaking it for daytime.

It was like a new sun had bloomed in the air above, the cold glow of white light banishing hiding places across the entire line of trenches. Creatures of the night hissed and snarled, faces his own soldiers were more than willing to match with angry rictuses of their own.

The machine gun nests opened fire as one, beating on and on and on like drums. Chanting a primal hymn of stubborn defiance. Like the trained marksmen each of them were, many shots struck true and left the scores of vamps revealed dead or near enough.

But there would be more. They all knew there were always more.

Cecil sighed. It was a good effort, he supposed, as the last twinkles of light faded from the sky. But even their best wasn't going to be anywhere near enough to do more than delay. He was – regrettably – starting to realize that he may have had too much faith in his friends from Greenwich.

And wasn't that a whole can of mixed bitter feelings there. He doubted Layla or William even wanted to talk to him after he led the Remnant's little secession from Hackney. Grace was… complicated even before she'd been revealed to be a vampire herself, and certainly more than busy enough in her own ways now.

He'd thought that Henry might be able to pull him out of the fire this time, considering their actually actually amicable relationship. Add in the fact that he'd racked up more than a few favors owed by now, and you'd think he'd have at least showed up by now.

Typical Henry… always thinking he'd make some sort of breakthrough, naively going through the motions… but in the end, it would seem that even he had began to flake on that little saying of theirs.

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Greenwich looks after its own… Yeah, right. As if he hadn't been a fool to believe that would hold out for longer than was convenient.

The radio crackled to life, coming from one of the other defensive positions. "Sir," they reported in. "We've got eyes on a target coming in from the Southwestern Front. You… might want to take a look for yourself."

A… target? Maybe he'd spoken too soon about broken ties. Maybe he-

…

No, no… that wasn't Henry coming this way. That banner the hooded figure was carrying could only be one person, unfortunately.

"Southwest Front, hold your fire." he ordered. "It would seem that a familiar face has decided to come back for a visit."

He looked to the figure approaching under the white flag, then to the rest of the battlefield encircling him. Everywhere had gone almost deathly still. A subtle gesture, he recognized, that meant a talk was expected, not an ambush. Though, any commanding officer worth their salt would recognize it still held the potential…

"I'm going in," he decided. "If they try anything funny… Shoot him down. Take me with, if you have to."

The response was slow to come back, not that he waited around for it.

"...Your funeral, sir…"

The radio clicked off. Cecil let out another heavy sigh, one that carried the weight of several regrets that were coming back to haunt him now. Men condemned to the gallows, all of them. He returned from his perch atop the roof, clambering across the slate tiles with the black obelisk at his back.

Quincy… he thought to himself. I wish I could say it was nice to see you again… but the way things stand currently that would be a lie.

The path out of the Palace he took was more direct than the original floorplan intended. No shortage of holes in the wall to choose from, at this point. You could even afford to be picky about who made the hole – the attackers trying to break in over the course of months, or the defenders who'd restructured things in favor of better firing positions in that same time. Some were even a mix of both, he was pretty sure.

Would anyone know the stories each one carried, after he died here, spitting cold defiance until the end? Probably not. To everyone else, the damage would look much the same as any other smashed up piece of history. Some might try to guess, some might get close even, but any level of accuracy… was likely more than any of them could hope for.

His thoughts spiraled like that the whole way, carrying him out onto the crunchy, dead grass of the palace grounds. By the time he was close enough to address the once friendly face of his commanding officer, he was no closer to a satisfactory answer.

"Quincy Rutherford Kynes," he addressed, stopping just a few paces short of his audience. "I take it you're here to get us to come quietly?"

"Ah, haha… C-Cecil," came the all-too-familiar quiet stutter. "I-it's good to s-s-see you again."

"…Is it?"

Cecil glowered. His words came out sharp. Prickly. Full of anger that he thought he had been able to vent already. Evidently not, as there was more vitriol in those two syllables than he'd ever given out in a lifetime.

"Is it really that good too see us again, after sitting by and watching us get butchered piecemeal by that… that… fuck, I can't think of a word accurate enough to describe what he is. Everything I think of doesn't even come close. But you get what I mean, right? So tell me what you think of him. I want to hear an honest answer from you."

Quincy's face was hidden behind the hood of his cloak, betraying no sense of unease with the request. His voice, on the other hand, absolutely reeked of nervousness. "H-hahah…" he chuckled anxiously. "Surely, this can wait until after the n-negotiations…?"

"What negotiations?" Cecil countered. "Unless you're trying to tell me that your vampire friends somehow aren't making use of the lapse in coverage my being here provides them with. If you want to pretend I'm that dumb, fine. But unless you have something actually worth my damn time, I'm going to walk back home and be as much of a pain in the ass for that grey-skinned shitbird over there as I can be. So go ahead. Make your pitch."

He crossed his arms behind his back, leaning in close as he delivered his ultimatum. He wasn't answered right away, but he did hear a response that sounded suspiciously like a whimper from under the hood. Which, if he wasn't mistaken… was just sad, honestly.

It was a stark reminder that even the mighty of yesterday could fall far. A cruel fate, especially for the man who'd once organized the Kennel into the first actually safe haven for survivors. Cecil understood that he was being unfairly harsh on the man, but frankly did not have a long enough life expectancy to care much at this point.

"I…" Quincy finally deigned to speak, voice wavering like it was on the verge of breaking. "I can… st-still… save you…" he insisted.

"W-when the Master thought to take me in… my o-options were to join, or t-to d-d-die. H-he is not opposed t-to servitude. I can… I-if you surrender now, I can plead a case to h-his Lordship to take your men on a-as subordinates. H-he has been in need of c-competent staff for his holdings, a-as of late. If you just… if you just…"

With shaking fingers, Quincy reached up to pull the hood from his head. As his sunken, misshapen head was slowly revealed, Cecil audibly sucked air through his teeth. It was like looking at a twisted version of his own reflection. A shallow, defeated husk, begging and pleading with teary eyes to make the call nobody ever wanted to decide.

Give up, was the silent message that was being given to Cecil. It's your only chance.

It… really was a shame, then. He'd made up his mind on that particular front long ago, and now didn't make things any different.

He looked up to the night sky, to make sure he got one last good look before he burned the last bridge they had even a phony chance of upholding. It was calm, but… he'd wanted to see the sun again. Just once. It felt selfish, knowing that even that would be built on the bodies of those he'd fallen into the role of commanding…

Huh?

Something in the air flickered. A shadow, noticeable only because of how it emerged from the mist. He just barely kept the surprise off his face, and cast some subtle Light magic to try and determine what it was. To an outside observer with really keen eyesight, they might have noticed his irises glow just a little brighter for a moment. Quincy, even in a healthy condition as their former lieutenant general, had needed some pretty heavy-duty specs. Nowadays, it was a miracle he wasn't legally blind.

Subtle though the tell might have been on the outside… it made a world of difference for his own perception. It wasn't exactly night vision, but it was close enough that the name was apt. Higher clarity of visual, higher contrasts between subtle shades of color, even an effect akin to high shutter speed cameras. It picked apart every detail in mind-bogglingly crisp detail, revealing that there were not one, but four human-shaped silhouettes approaching from the sky above. And one of them had a faint light emanating from chest level in a very familiar cool blue.

Oh… well, shit.

They were approaching rather quickly, he realized. Maybe he should try to stall these negotiations out a little longer…

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