The rapid-fire gunshots rang out like artillery cannons straight out of a war movie, and Mikey balked at the thought of running into that head first.

  Didn’t even want to come to Franky’s mansion, wanted to slip away, grab his go bag, and get out of dodge. That’s all Mikey could think about as he approached the big house, how he should’ve gotten out while the going was good. The Puglianos were done for, a hard truth he’d come to accept the moment he’d left the Don in that crazy Priestess’s hands. Forgetting all else, the other Families would soon learn of the Don’s death and come looking for a piece of the action, and Franky was crazy to think their people could hold out against any one of them, much less all at once. Couldn’t count on the Rangers either, because the Family didn’t have enough people to put up a fight, so chances were they’d all get rolled in a single night and it’d be a week before the Feds even noticed.

  Yeah, they’d lost too many people to hold Rimepeak. Two full boats of muscle and all their best hitters including Dom and Matty, to say nothing of the lives lost to the fucking cultists themselves. There’d been little chance to talk on the frantic ride back, but eventually, they had to walk their horses to keep them from dying hours, and that’s when the boys got to talking. Mikey had kicked things off since everyone wanted to know what happened to the Don, so he made it sound like they put up a better fight than they did. Was a little worried he made the Priestess sound too powerful, considering he put her in magical slugfest with the Don as they traded Spells back and forth while Mikey defended. Everyone ate it up though, because turns out there were plenty of powerful Spellslinging cultists among the townsfolk. Like the fisherman, which was what they called the guy using a fishing rod to lasso and garrote their guys from a distance, or the gardener wielding a spade who laid down a track of Spike Growth all along the main path to cut off their path of retreat. There was a fat bitch who got all armoured up in layers of blubber, ballooning up to three times her normal thickness with repeated uses of Ablative Armour, and one lady who smiled the whole time while maintaining a Force Barrier to block all their gunfire.

  Worst of all was the big man himself, the leader of the community who always paid the dues. Craig Mueller, who Mikey had met countless times before and written off as a jolly sucker who was all smiles and good cheer even when he was being shook down. Always figured the man for a snake, since he knew how to get in good with the Family to keep his dues low, but now Mikey knew better. The Don cut a deal with cultists of all things, crazed Abby worshipping cultists, and while Luisa was their High Priestess, Craig was a true-blue believer too, one blessed with Magics no one recognized because they didn’t come from no Spell Core.

  That was one of the trademarks of these Cultists, what with all their Ritualistic human sacrifices and Aberration bonding abilities. Some said it was carnal in nature, and others claimed it was a physical bond where you implant some of the Aberration inside you, while still more said it was pact magic where you sell your soul to the Proggie. Whatever it was, Craig was in deep and powerful as can be, summoning dozens of giant dark tentacles that shot up out of the ground to grab, slam, or sweep aside everyone within reach. Pulped a half-dozen guys in one go, turning them into meat paste while flashing his freaky smile, and that more than anything is what sent Franky and the rest of them running.

  Mikey wanted to keep running until he was out of Federal Territory, but there was no chance of that now. A whole string of panicked messengers brought them bad news on the way back, news that got progressively worse the closer they got to Brightpick. Soon as they were out of the forest, they all saw the thick smoke blocking out the twin moons and starry skies, and they knew the Family was done for. Mikey had written them off back at the quay, but the rest were starting to see the big picture, except Franky wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “Whatever damage he’s done is structural at best,” Franky had said, which was his way of reassuring them even though it didn’t sound all that reassuring. “He’s one man, so there’s no way he could’ve gotten into the vaults to move everything away, not even with help from the cultists.”

  Would’ve been better off not mentioning that last bit, because up until then, Mikey hadn’t known there were cultists inside the fucking town itself. How deep did it go? How badly did the Don let them get fucked by these crazy cultists? There was a good reason why the Feds cracked down on cultists more often than criminals. A bit of theft and bribery never hurt nobody, but those cultists had a way of getting inside your head and turning everything upside down, where black is white and up is down until the next thing you know you’re dicking down some Aberration or getting shafted in a hole you had to use a knife to make in yourself.

  Or whatever it is those crazy fuckers did. Mikey didn’t know shit about them, nothing besides the fact that they worshipped Abby and were rewarded with dark magics for it. Magics that fucked with your head and made you all sorts of crazy, like that fucking Priestess who thought that Deviant ranakin was her fucking son.

  Say what you will about Franky’s lacking leadership, but he’d learned a thing or two from Iggy these last few years. “Every man who sticks with me gets a cut of what’s in my coffers,” Franky declared, which was enough to make Mikey consider staying, and the next bit sealed the deal. “Iggy, Gio, Dom, and Matty, their personal accounts and holdings too.”

  Which had to be a real score, even split 30 ways, and fooled Mikey long enough to get him over to Franky’s house. Where the repeated cannon fire knocked some good sense into him, but it was too little too late. Back out now and Franky might well cut his throat after working himself up into a frenzy worrying about his wife and kid, so wasn’t nothing for it but to head on in. To make matters worse, Franky still had sense enough to stop outside the main doors and turn to look at Mikey. “You call the shots here,” Franky said, throwing off his jacket and rummaging through his component’s pouch for his quartz. “Go in loud and distract him. I’ll circle around back and take him out.”

  Meaning they’d all be getting shot at while Franky played it safe, but Mikey knew better than to say as much. “You got it boss,” Mikey said, turning to Fingers who made it out of the quay unscathed. “Take half and go hard left. I’ll take the rest and go right.” Looking over the remnants of their once powerful Family, Mikey stifled a sigh and said, “I’m gonna push in without stopping. I need you all behind me. It’s just one kid with a couple revolvers, so we’re gonna go in hard and fast. Whoever he focuses on has gotta keep him engaged, while the other group double times it to flank and hit him before he got any time to think, much less reload. Wham bam, thank you ma’am, we’ll be in and out in less than a minute, so youse should all be familiar.” Got him a few chuckles, but Mikey didn’t have much faith in their resolve, so he glanced at Fingers who nodded in reassurance, meaning he’d have at least one reliable man to work with.

  Nothing for it though, so it was time to show all these mooks why Mikey was the Snow Show.

  Mage Armour. Shield. Elemental Barrier. All three Spells went up one after the other, and Mikey was heartened to see how impressed the other guys were, their eyebrows going higher with each successive Spell. Had a Spectral riot Shield up in front of him, and a glowy blue sphere all around him, while his Mage Armour had shimmered into existence before fading away, but that wasn’t all he had. Usually, he preferred to break out the wand to Ritual Cast his ace in the hole, and time was he’d keep it up on at all times while they were out and about, a bit of extra protection in case some hunter in a blind takes a shot at them as they approached. With no time to waste, Mikey had to cast it normally instead, activating the Spell Structure he’d so arduously put together after so many years of study, so much so that he refused to remove it no matter what.

  A good thing it wasn’t a restricted Spell then, but one that could’ve gotten him a post in the army if he was dumb enough to sign on. The Aid Spell was the bread and butter of military Supports the world over, a Second Order Spell that bestowed a formless protective covering that shimmered like oil on water as many as three targets at a time, and he picked himself, Franky, and Fingers. At base value, it was almost laughable, maybe enough to save you from a knife in the back or a spear to the chest, but Mikey was a tried-and-true Abjurer who could make the Spell shine. Combined with his Elemental Barrier and personal Barrier enabling him to get more out of Abjuration Spells than most, and he was all but immune to small arms fire for at least a little bit.

  Didn’t make it any easier to charge headlong into the fray, but Mikey couldn’t look scared in front of the boys. Moving up the half-flight of stairs to stand in front of the main doors, he glanced around in search of Franky, only to realize the Phantom had done ghosted and disappeared. To do what he said most likely, go around and hit the Firstborn from behind, but seeing your leader go Invisible didn’t exactly inspire confidence in the troops. Especially when the only reason they were here was to save his fucking family, but that’s how Franky fought, so wasn’t nothing anyone could say. Didn’t change the facts none, so Mikey sucked it up, looked over the rest of the crew to make sure none were ready to rabbit, then opened the doors and charged on in through with his Bashere Tomcat at the ready, a glowing blue sphere all around him, a riot Shield raised before him, and and a layer of translucent, scintillating Ectoplasm to protect him.

  Run on in and keep moving forward no matter what. That was the plan, right up until Mikey stepped one foot through the doorway and took a speeding truck to the ribcage. Least that’s how it felt as he staggered back and spilled down the stairs to land hard on the interlocked paving stones of the path. Seeing stars despite the clouds of smoke in the skies, Mikey groaned, blinked, lifted his head, and watched as the rest of the crew stared back at him, their expressions all wide-eyed with shock and dismay as the world spun all around him. Wasn’t nothing for it, so Mikey grit his teeth, waited a few seconds for things to stop spinning, then popped back up to his feet with an energy he knew was all adrenaline. “Fucker,” he growled, rubbing his chest and dreading how he’d feel tomorrow morning while casting Aid and Elemental Barrier again to refresh his shattered defenses. That was some fucking heat the Firstborn was packing, like nothing else Mikey had ever been hit by, and he had to imagine it was some heavy-duty sniper rifle or something.

  Only then did he realize he’d dropped his Shield Spell too, unable to maintain Concentration after the spill he took. Nothing for it except to cast it again too, because Franky would cut his throat if he backed down now, what with his wife and daughter at stake. Taking a deep breath, Mikey hyped himself up as the boys patted his back in passing, some hard enough to actually tax his barriers, the stupid fucks. Before they could ruin it all, he let out a roar and charged back into the house, not just challenging the Firstborn to take another shot, but hoping it would fucking miss if he dodged and weaved a bit.

  Fuck them other bastards behind him. They didn’t even offer a hand to help him up, much less check if he was alive while laid out flat on the ground. Besides, the more of them that died, the bigger his cut would be once it was all said and done, so why was Mikey busting his balls to keep those chucklefucks safe?

  Soon as he was through the door, he cut hard right and dove into the living room as Bolts whistled past him, only to come up and almost blow Louie P’s head wide open as he stood hidden in the corner like a goddamned lamppost. “Fuck Mikey! It’s me!” the big galoot declared, holding his hands and gun up.

  “Then fucking saying something!” Mikey bellowed. “The door’s right there!”

  “I didn’t want the kid to know you were coming!” Louie P retorted.

  “Pretty sure he already knew considering he just done fucking shot me, you stupid piece of shit!” The last 8 years of tension just came bubbling out as Mikey got right up in Louie P’s face. The man was his capo, the person he kicked up to, but when did Louie P ever do anything for him after getting out of the clink? “Get out of my way,” Mikey snarled, shouldering past the bigger man to push on through towards the kitchen. “And turn the fucking lights on you moron. He’s got Darkvision goggles.”

  There was some scattered gunfire coming from Finger’s boys, but nothing that matched the gun the Firstborn had used. Was just nervous fools popping shots at every dark shadow and blind corner, which only went to show how fucking stupid Louie P was to hide in a fucking corner with his gun in hand. There was another idiot there too, and Mikey was lucky the fool didn’t return fire, because then they wouldn’t all started blasting and made a fucking mess of it all. That opening shot from the Firstborn had rattled them all, to say nothing of the cultist attack they spent the last 8 hours riding away from. Add in the sheer scale of destruction they saw coming in, with a building on every street and intersection set ablaze or in ruins, and everyone was on edge, so standing in the shadows armed with a fucking gun while your allies came through was just about the dumbest thing a man can do.

  Mikey almost wished he’d shot the big idiot, but he’d have to make do with shooting the Firstborn. He moved in through the mansion checking every corner and shadow, hating how jumpy and skittery he felt. Felt like an idiot turning this way and that, looking anywhere and everywhere for signs of danger. Couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, maybe 5 or 10, but he could swear time was moving at a crawl as he moved through the darkened rooms in search of the Firstborn.

  Just as he was about to speed things along, he was hit by a blast from the past as the intercom crackled alive with white noise and static. “He’s in the butler’s pantry Uncle Mikey,” Mia said, her voice all distorted like she was speaking through long metal grate. “Cut him off from the kitchen.”

  Mikey stopped, thought about what Mia said, then glanced around to see if anyone knew where the kitchen was. Three of them shrugged, and the others all moved aside until Mikey could see Louie P at the back, barely two steps from where he’d found him. “Kitchen’s straight ahead, all the way to the end,” the big idiot said, making no fucking move to come along. “Butler pantry’s over that way, right next to the dining room.” Seeing Mikey’s blank stare, Louie P added, “A butler’s pantry is like a second, smaller kitchen, so the hired help don’t gotta walk so far to deliver food to guests.”

  “Get the fuck up here,” Mikey said, unable to believe how dumb one man could be. “You the only one that knows the house, so point the fucking way.”

  Louie P puffed up, looking like he was going to argue, but then Mia’s voice crackled to life again. “He went out the north exit into the dining room.” That got Louie P moving, but not quickly enough as Mia shouted, “He’s got a – ”

  The booming RAT-TAT-TAT of the Firstborn’s Aetherarm drowned out whatever Mia was gonna say, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. A fully automatic assault rifle in the hands of a psycho Qink hellbent on revenge. How the fuck did Mikey get mixed up in all this? Still felt surreal, walking through the ruined town and seeing the destruction one man had wrought, and Mikey couldn’t shake the thought that the Firstborn had to have help. Now? Now he was a believer, because the kid came ready to fight.

  “Move,” Mikey said, as the screams sounded out over the rapid Bolt fire on the other side of the house. “While he’s distracted.”

  Soon as Louie P was behind him, Mike set out towards the back of the house, double timing it since they knew roughly where the kid was. Was a fucking massive house, and Mikey couldn’t believe the kid popped him in the chest at the door from all the way back here. Had to be a 150 ft easy, and was there even a clear line of sight from that far away? Fucking hell. Mikey moved fast as his feet would take him, putting his faith in his Barriers and Spells, with his spectral Riot Shield held up front and his pistol ready to shoot from the side. As he moved through doorway after doorway, he kept expecting to finally see the runty kid in person for the first fucking time since Carter’s, which didn’t seem all that long ago now that he thought about it. How’d things get so fucked in so short a time? All Mikey wanted to do was ask the kid about Ron and what happened to Vangauard National. Now the little fucker was hosing down Fingers and his boys with a fucking fully automatic assault rifle, pausing only briefly to reload before opening up again.

  RAT-TAT-TAT RAT-TAT-TAT RAT-TAT-TAT RAT-TAT-TAT. The Bolts must have been flying over on the other side, but Mikey was stuck stepping over a dead body and onto the white kitchen tiles. Almost slipped in the pooling blood as he went by, then actually slipped when the lights came on and he saw two more bodies splayed out. Wasn’t his most graceful entry, and made all sorts of noise as he smashed into a countertop and righted himself a moment later. A door on the other side of the kitchen flipped open, and Mikey raised his shield and sidearm both while hunkering behind the counter, waiting with bated breath for the kid to pop his head out. One shot, that was all he’d get, and he better not miss, because he’d never stood in front of no high-caliber assault rifle before and didn’t want to find out what that was like.

  No kid stepped out though, not even a head, just a single gloved hand for a brief moment. Mikey shot all the same, but it was too little too late, as the hand retracted before he even thought to squeeze the trigger. Kept shooting all the same, shifting to his right to get a better angle and unloading shot after shot into the wooden door, only to notice the glinting glass tube far too late as it hurtled end over end towards their side of the kitchen. Even though it wouldn’t help, Mikey ducked down behind the counter, only to watch the vial land neatly in front of him, about halfway between him and Louie P standing on the other side of the doorway.

  Blocking all the other boys from following up mind you, though it worked out this time. Wasn’t a vial of Impact Oil at least, or anything all that dangerous, just an Entangling Grenade that Conjured up a half-assed mat of spiralling grass that grabbed onto his ankles and wrists since he was crouched low enough for them to reach. Got Louie P too, but he was standing, and a couple of the boys behind him, but the range wasn’t enough to get all or even most of them. Nor was it strong enough to hold Mikey down for long as he struggled back to his feet, tearing his arms and legs free from the grass only to get snared again a few seconds later. “There another way over?” Mikey asked, fighting free of the pastel-white growth and over to the door, where Louie P had easily torn himself free and backed away. “Somewhere that don’t bring us over behind the others?”

  Louie P nodded, and waited for Mikey to make his way out of the Spells effect while over on the other side, the Firstborn reloaded and kept shooting into the Dining room. Could sorta hear Fingers barking orders, so that was a good, as it meant they was just pinned, not dead, so soon as Mikey got the direction to go in, he ran full sprint towards the butler’s pantry.

  Where he finally caught sight of the Firstborn, stood there in a tattered jacket, a flat cap, his goggles, and a kerchief over his face. For a second, Mikey was thrown off, because this kid had two hands, the right one which he was using to fire some janky ass assault rifle without looking, while his left had a big shiny, steel revolver pointed right at him. Ron’s revolver, the Ranger Fucking Naga, the hand cannon to end all hand cannons.

  The muzzle flashed, the artillery sounded, and Mikey saw stars again, this time on the ceiling inside Franky’s mansion.

  “This is fucking bullshit,” he groaned as soon as he could draw breath, though it came out as more of a wheeze. One that was lost in the gunfire erupting all around him, but that didn’t stop him from continuing. “How’s that hit so goddamned hard?” The Bolt had to go through his Shield, his Elemental Barrier, his Aid Spell, and Mage Armour before it got to him, and it still felt like a semi driving over his fucking chest. Unable to get up, he lifted his head ever so slightly to see what was going on, only to spot a tattered wall full of Bolt holes from shots going wide of the doorway. The boys were still shooting too, emptying their mags into open space and shouting all the while, with no target to be seen from Mikey’s perspective and an obvious outcome about to take place once their guns all went empty.

  Was like a lull in the storm as the room fell silent save for the clicking of triggers on empty. Louie P was still pulling away at his gun, jerking his hand like he was giving it a good time because he was too out of it to even notice there wasn’t no recoil no more. Before Mikey could say anything though, the Firstborn reappeared in the doorway, with two revolvers in hand and two more oversized sidearms carried by 2 glowing Mage Hands floating alongside him. Dark as night those weapons were, darker even than the Firstborn’s soul as he gazed out at them from behind his goggles with his expression all covered by a kerchief. Wasn’t a hint of emotion to be seen there, no smile or grimace to be spotted, just gaunt, tanned cheeks that looked like he’d been out in the sun for so long that he’d shrivelled up like a raise as he opened up on the room without mercy. The revolvers in his hands boomed like thunder, one massive the other mini, while the darker guns opened up with a metallic snap, one that didn’t seem as loud as the guns in his hands, but were deafening all the same.

  And far more deadly as they each spat out a hail of kinetic shards that shredded everyone in front of them, turning four people into a mist of blood while the revolvers accounted for at least two more. Was almost comical watching the guns and Mage Hands fly up and back, like a kid yelling bang while pretending to shoot with his toy gun. Wasn’t nothing funny about the results though, as boom went the thunder as the Firstborn continued firing, but more surprising was the fact that the glowing Mage Hands were still there, somehow able to withstand the recoil and fire off another shot. Double-action weapons, those pistol Blastguns were, and they fired faster than the Firstborn himself who had to thumb back the hammer on one of his revolvers after every shot. Was weaving in and out of the doorway, leaving the Blastguns to fire blind while he ducked behind cover, only to come back out guns blazing before disappearing to the other side. Didn’t matter that no one in the room had a loaded gun; the Firstborn wasn’t taking no chances as he put on a clinic of how it was done. Didn’t just shoot out from one doorway either. Crossed over into the kitchen and started shooting from the side, then moved out of sight and fired again through the wall, somehow killing two people blind. The Mage Hands floated about too, and everyone scurried away to get out of their sights, but even without aiming, they racked up kills thanks to their massive spread which even hit Mikey on the ground a few times.

  Felt like someone throwing rocks at him real hard, hard enough to bruise or even break skin, but not pierce on through and kill him. Least it meant Mikey’s Spells were holding firm, and that there wasn’t nothing wrong with his casting. Still reeling from the initial hit, he found the breath to recast Elemental Barrier again, but he couldn’t follow up with Aid because that’d put him over his limit for the day. 4 Barriers, 3 here and 1 back at the quay, 2 Shields, and 2 Aids. That was 16 + 8 + 18 because Aid was a Second Order Spell, which all together was 42, while his limit was 48. Just shy of another Aid Spell, which was a real downer, but truth be told, Mikey was pretty sure even if he was Spelled to the gills, his body couldn’t take another big hit.

  Was so difficult to breathe. His ribs had to be broken or at the very least cracked. So instead of getting up to get shot again, Mikey laid very still and listened to the screams and gunfire while counting down the seconds until Franky made his appearance, or the Firstborn killed them all.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Even odds, all things considered, and Mikey regretted the day he walked into Carter’s and met the fucking Yellow Devil who ruined his life.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Both hands over her mouth and eyes wide with shock, Mia watched the Firstborn massacre the reinforcements.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Daddy was supposed to ride in with his men and kill or scare the Firstborn off. Then they’d pick up the pieces and set things right, focusing on recovery and rebuilding after this darkest of nights. Instead, the Firstborn was surrounded on three sides, but still fighting back with near impunity as he danced from room to room and emptied his Blastguns and revolvers into the crowd before picking up his assault rifle on his way out to the kitchen again. Tossed another Entangle grenade behind him to slow pursuit, one that would only last a minute, but the fight had only just begun and most of Daddy’s men were already dead or down. Including Uncle Mikey who took not one, but two hard hits from the Firstborn’s overside revolvers which could punch through solid stone and kill a man on the other side.

  Which spoke volumes for Uncle Mikey’s abilities, but even the best magical defenses could only do so much against a fully Metamagicked Aetherarm. Possibly even an overcharged Aetherarm, now that Mia thought about it, using 15 instead of 10 extra Aether at base values and even more after accounting for what Order the Spell Core was.

  It wasn’t just his gear and his marksmanship that made the Firstborn shine, but his positioning, movement, and ability to multitask that blew her away. It was one thing to force a 1 on 1 or 1 on 3 confrontation with her guards, and another altogether to watch as he danced about the butler’s pantry and surrounding areas to avoid return fire or take new angles to shoot from. Never still for a moment, and always kept you guessing where he’d go next, passing in front of this door, then that one, then circling around to a third. Now, he was in the kitchen and shooting through the wall, before heading out to the backyard with a stride, a skip, and a hop through a broken window because there was an Innate spraying Acid at the only two doorways into the dining room he had access to, meaning he needed to find a different angle to shoot from.

  And he’d find it soon enough, since he could shoot through walls with his revolvers, so Mia had to warn them about it. Just as she was about to hit the button though, she watched the Firstborn twist aside and stagger as Daddy appeared out of thin air behind him and unloaded his pistol. Credit to the Firstborn, he didn’t fall or stumble, just leaned into his initial stagger and jumped into some nearby cover, behind a hedgerow to separate him from Daddy. Really went to show his spatial awareness, but Daddy wasn’t about to let the Firstborn slip through his fingers. No, he cut to the left and came around the hedge as he shot at where he thought the Firstborn would be, but he wasn’t there anymore. Mia blinked, then checked the other cameras, only to find no sign of the Firstborn, no shadow lurking in wait or figure dashing across the lawn. How was that possible? He wasn’t an Illusionist, able to turn Invisible at the drop of a hat, and while it was common knowledge he knew Misty Step, that Spell would only drag him 30 feet in one direction. Not exactly a short distance, but not far enough to get out of the backyard, nor could it bring him over the wall even if it was.

  So where did he go? Mia’s eyes flicked from screen to screen in search of their assailant, but no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find him. Daddy was confused too, taking his time to clear every possible hiding space, even shooting the hedges a few times more before reloading his weapon. Was long minutes before he came back inside, all while Mia watched everyone find their bearings and check on their injured. Mama had both arms wrapped around Mia’s waist and her face buried in her shoulder, so Mia soothed her as best she could. “It’s alright Mama,” she said. “Daddy’s back, and the Firstborn’s gone.”

  For now. He wasn’t unscathed, as she saw him stagger once or twice inside the house, and his boot got hit with some Acid from the first pass. Add in getting shot in the back two or three times before disappearing into thin air, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t coming back tonight. Maybe not any night, since there was always a chance that he’d bleed out, though the fact that he got shot several times then disappeared without a trace was unsettling to be sure. That’s why Mia was reassuring Mama, because in doing so, she could reassure herself too, because just as she’d suspected, the Firstborn had the skills to take out the whole Family, without having to even ask for help from the Rangers at that.

  It almost felt surreal, sitting there watching the men pick themselves back up and go through the pockets of their dead companions. Louie P was still alive, and he went right for Uncle Mikey’s badge, but to Mia’s surprise, the gruff, scarred man wasn’t dead, just down and out. Couldn’t even sit up it seemed, which meant broken ribs most likely, so Mia told them over the intercom to send someone for Doctor Adams.

  All in all, there were only 11 men left standing in the aftermath, including Daddy, Louie P, and Uncle Mikey. Not only had they lost some twenty plus men who came riding up to save them, Bernie, Vito, and the other nine guards watching over Mia had died too. The death toll from last night wasn’t done yet either, but it wouldn’t be light, as the Firstborn had cut a bloody swathe through the Family businesses and took no prisoners over the course of the night. Had to be at least a 100 dead by his hands alone, maybe even 150. To say nothing of Underboss Gio, but that was almost a blessing in disguise since it meant an opening in the books for a new Underboss, one who might be more willing to work with Daddy now that everyone saw what Uncle Iggy’s greed had wrought.

  Or at least that’s what Mia was thinking, right up until Daddy finally figured it was safe for them to come out some two hours later. “We’ll bunker down at Iggy’s place,” Daddy said, after sending Mama upstairs with Louie P to pack some of their things. “Safer and cleaner over there. His saferoom is bigger and more spacious too, so you and you mother should be comfortable down there.”

  “What about Uncle Iggy then?” Mia asked. “Won’t he need it?”

  “He’s dead.” Daddy heaved a sigh and shook his head, because despite their differences, they were cousins, and he loved Uncle Iggy like a brother. Wouldn’t have stuck by him for so long if he didn’t, and only ever turned on him because Daddy loved Mia more, but now none of that mattered anymore. “The Firstborn,” Daddy continued, “He’s the one who killed Antonio, not the Zampanos. He set this all up and teamed up with the cultists down by Mueller’s Quay to take Iggy out.”

  Mia stood and listened while Daddy told her everything that happened, and she could hardly believe her ears. When all was said and done, she couldn’t help but break down and cry, clinging to her daddy’s arm and sobbing something fierce. “Oh god,” she gasped, trembling from head to toe at what she had unleashed. “This is all my fault. It was my plan get the Firstborn involved and turn him against Uncle Iggy, and now look what he’s done.”

  “Mia.” Taking her by the shoulders and shaking her hard, Daddy leaned over to look her in the eyes with an expression she’d never seen on his face. It was so intense, not angry, but emphatic and wild eyed as he gazed deep into her soul and growled, “Never say that. Never again. You understand? This was Iggy’s fault. Not yours. Iggy’s.”

  Because if the men knew she was responsible, that it was her idea that’d brought disaster down on them, then they’d all turn on her in an instant. Nodding as fast as she could, Mia sniffled and wiped her tears as Daddy heaved a sigh and handed her a handkerchief. Blowing her nose, she took a long, slow breath to compose herself, then asked, “So what next?”

  “Next we open up the safe and empty it,” Daddy said, grabbing a rucksack and heading back into the saferoom Mia had only just exited. The safe was at the back, and he set to spinning the 3 dials to unlock it. “We split everything here with the men still with us, then bunker down at Iggy’s, where we might as well move in considering the state of our place.” And the fact that there wouldn’t be much money to throw around for the next little bit, since they’d have to rebuild almost everything from the ground up. Not to mention the war that would soon come to Rimepeak once the other Families and criminal organizations heard about what went down. That’s assuming the Rangers didn’t use this as an excuse to retake Rimepeak and put their own people in place again, meaning new bribes to hand out without an income to draw from. It was rough seas ahead, and doubly so considering the fate of the Firstborn was still yet unknown.

  Hopefully he was bleeding out in a hole somewhere, and his body would be found soon enough so they could all rest easy, but even that would have consequences the Family might not be able to handle in their current state of affairs. The Marshal would be furious to lose his apprentice, and even though the Firstborn didn’t ask for help from his military friends, he had many who’d be more than happy to take revenge on his behalf. In contrast, the fact that Daddy had to pay off the men still with them spoke volumes to how scared everyone was, all ready to write off the Family and head for the hills in search of safer pastures. The only light at the end of the tunnel was the fact that Uncle Iggy’s safe held even more money than Daddy’s, and the Family vault was still untouched, despite Gio’s body having been found mutilated in front of it.

  Which Daddy made sure to mention to everyone present once they were gathered in the living room. They were a sorry sight to be sure, all scattered about the room in ones or twos and looking tired and jittery at the same time. There was Louie P, who always seemed larger than life to Mia, but was now a sorry, slumped-shouldered figure of a man leaning next to the window like he was trying his best not be seen. Uncle Mikey needed help from the Innate to stand up, a man with a long nose and taloned hands who was aptly named Fingers. He was the one who sprayed Acid at the Firstborn, stopped him from gunning down every last person on that side, so he was someone worth winning over. As for the other 8, Mia didn’t recognize any of them, meaning they weren’t even made men, just nameless muscle brought along for the ill-fated raid that fell apart before anyone set foot on Zampano territory.

  “This isn’t the end of the Puglianos,” Daddy said, once all the cash, jewels, and precious resources from his personal safe had been divvyed up in equal shares. Mia and Mama were there too, standing behind him as family should, and Mia paid extra attention to every man in the room in an effort to read them as best she could. Louie P was, scowling something fierce and in obvious disagreement with what Daddy was saying about how they’d rise up to the challenge and fight off all comers to hold onto Rimepeak. Uncle Mikey’s expression was unreadable, which was worrisome since he was usually an open book. The Innate was the same, but she got the impression he’d follow Uncle Mikey, while the rest were either swayed by Daddy’s speech or still too shocked to really understand what was happening here.

  “This is a new beginning for us all,” Daddy continued, “A fresh start, and while there are only twelve of us here today, we will – ”

  The world came to a standstill as Mia’s skin dried out in the blink of an eye, like all the moisture had been sucked right out and left her itching something fierce. In that moment, she watched as Uncle Mikey’s eyes went wide with alarm while the other men all stood without any change in expression, except maybe a little confusion as to why Daddy stopped midsentence. To turn and hug Mia and Mama for some strange reason, only he put too much force into it and tackled her instead, driving all the air out of her lungs as she fell back with a cry.

  The room grew thick with a haze of heat, then the furniture ignited in a blaze of fire. The people fared worse, their mouths opening in soundless screams as their bodies turned to blackened ash in the blink of an eye, all save Uncle Mikey who glowed with a blue light that sputtered out and shattered in that same instant. Fingers was already ash by then, and Uncle Mikey fell through the smouldering corpse and landed the couch that’d been reduced to cinders and came apart beneath his weight. As for Louie P, he was stood ramrod straight with eyes wide in shock, having been spared by sheer coincidence because he was too far from the centre of the Spell, him and one other lucky, wide-eyed fellow standing in the other corner of the room.

  This was the work of a powerful Spell, one Mia had only seen in Illusions, but there wasn’t any burst of flame or big explosion to be had. That’s not how Fireball was though, as it simply superheated the air in an area, and the results were horrifying to behold. Even more so when she looked at Daddy and found his face twisted with pain, because even though he sensed it coming, he could only get Mia and Mama out of the area of effect, and left half of his lower body behind.

  “Mia,” Daddy said, sounding calmer than he had any right to be as the Firstborn’s boots sounded out in the foyer, drawing closer and closer step by careful step. “Take your mother and run.” She didn’t move, just held his arm and tried to help him to his feet, feet that were no longer there because they’d been turned to ash by the Spell. Pushing her away, Daddy screamed, “Run!” and pushed Mama along with her towards the back of the house, before grabbing his rucksack which held his share of the money. Throwing it at Louie P, Daddy said, “Protect them. Mia knows how to get into the vault, the Family’s and Iggy’s.”

  Insurance to keep them alive, because Daddy knew well there was no way anyone would support Mia as head of the Family without him, not that there was much of Family left to lead. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Mia gave her daddy one last look before grabbing Mama and bolting for the backyard, dragging her along as the gunfire erupted behind them and not waiting for Louie P because she figured they’d be better off without him. Out into the night she ran, and Mama ran with her, two birds in flight fleeing from the Firstborn who’d brought destruction down upon the Pugliano Family in a single night.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The horrifically appetizing scent of burnt human remains cuts through the heavy, medicinal stink of the Red Sun balm slathered over my lip, and it’s all I can do to keep my food down.

  Helps that there ain’t much food in there to lose, though the kerchief over my nose and mouth don’t block nothing out. I pay it no mind though as I limp my way into the charred remains of Franky’s living room, with one foot scalded by Acid and my daddy’s Rattlesnake at the ready. “Hands,” I say, annoyed that both women and the tall fella all got away. 2 out of 3 survivors still in the room immediately comply, so I shoot the idiot backed into a corner with the thousand-yard stare. “Credit where it’s due,” I begin, gingerly lowering the kerchief covering my face and glancing at one survivor, then the other before starting with the one I know as my Mage Hands take their weapons away. “You one tough son of a gun Michael, one deserving of that Abjuration badge.”

  “Mikey,” he replies, his tone defeated yet still willing to fight me on this. “Hate it when people call me Michael.”

  “Alright then Mikey,” I say, giving in this one time. “You smoke?”

  “I do,” Mikey says, only to subtly gesture around him at the burnt corpses on either side of him. “Don’t much feel like lighting up though. Can’t imagine why.”

  Ain’t in no mood to chuckle, but I can respect a man who can die with dignity. “Fair nuff,” I say, giving him a little salute to acknowledge his efforts. “So I’m told you the one who steered Cold Cut’s kid my way? Shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You tellin’ me,” Mikey replies, heaving a long and heavy sigh. “Bad way to go, getting scalped in the fucking streets. I liked the kid you know? Always figured him for a heavy in my crew soon as he turned 16.” Shaking his head with a chortle, Mikey gives me a look that somewhere between awe and regret. “Knew you were bad news the day I saw you,” he says, slowly lowering his hands to sink back with a wince, because his skin all red and starting to puff up from all the third and second degree burns on his skin. His Frost Barrier blocked most of the initial heat, but air don’t cool down all that fast and its starting to show its effect. “Never figured you could do this much damage though, not in a million fucking years.”

  “Told you, didn’t I?” Moving closer so I can look him in the eyes, I repeat the advice I gave him the day we first crossed paths. “You best be sure you got no regrets before taking a run at the man who done Ronald Jackson in.”

  Rather than let him see it coming, I stand up straight and shoot Mikey right between the eyes to kill him quick, a small mercy if there ever was one. Deserves it after all, because I can respect a man who tanked not one, but two shots from the Naga. He even mitigated a good bit of the Fireball to keep himself alive a few minutes longer, which is huge. Man was wasted here in the Mafia, as the Marshal could’ve trained him up real good. Thing is, while Mikey might’ve been the catalyst who set this all off, he don’t strike me as the shot-calling type, which is why I’m more interested in the other guy. When it comes to bearing responsibility, the buck stops at Francis the Phantom here, and not his cousin the Don. “Sorry to keep you waiting Francis,” I say. “You know how it is, what with long goodbyes and all that.”

  “I prefer Franky.”

  I shoot him in the right hand, because this fucker done shot me three times in the back after coming out of invisibility or something. “I hate the name Franky,” I say, scowling something fierce as I speak over his grunts and screams. “Was a Franky who done chopped my hand off, and now you telling me a Franky done ruined my life a second time when I was just getting back on track? No, you a Francis.” Thumbing back the hammer manually on my Rattlesnake just because I can, I take a deep, shuddering breath and ask, “That was you right? The one who gave the green light on the hit in New Hope?”

  “It was Iggy,” Francis replies, lying as easily as he breathes, but he won’t be doing much of either as I slowly line up my gun to shoot his left hand. “No, don’t – ”

  The sharp ‘tsst’ of the Rattlesnake turns his denials in to screams and I get to reloading. Take my time going about it, to give Francis time to recover. Needs more than I care to give him, as the once powerful consiglieri is missing both feet and most of his calves, all burnt to ashes by my Fireball Spell. The heat cauterized the wounds so there’s no chance of bleeding out, but between the missing limbs, the holes in his hands, and the burns creeping up his legs, he’s a dead man even if I turned around and walked away here and now.

  I won’t. Not anytime soon, and not before he’s dead. I intend to kill him, but not before I hurt him a whole lot more.

  Both physically and mentally, because I’ll take whatever I can get. “Ain’t much for guns, are you?” I ask, once his screams come to an end and I’m done reloading. Gently flicking the cylinder back into the frame, I keep the Rattlesnake trained on Francis as I gesture at the semi-automatic pistol I took from his hip and is now lying on the other side of the room, the gun he shot me three times with out back and thankfully don’t got Armour Penetrating Metamagic. “A confident shooter would’ve gone for the head, and then I’d be dead and you’d still have both feet.”

  The loss don’t shake him, or at the very least, he ain’t accepted it just yet, as he gamely grunts and says, “Two in the chest, then one in the head when they down. That’s how we do it, but you didn’t go down after the first two.”

  I give him a little shrug, like ‘what can you do?’. Man had me dead to rights if not for my Portent, that and the faint scrape of his riding boots on the patio paving stones. Gave me enough warning to get moving, and even then, he still got me good, as armour plates, Mage Armour, and a Barkskin Potion can only do so much. Least it kept the Bolts from piercing in too deep, and leaping into the hedges bought me enough time to quaff my one and only Potion of Gaseous Form. Turned me into air pretty much, which let me ride the breeze out of the mansion compound over to a nearby saferoom not 100m away where I tended my wounds. Far as I can tell, I got three nasty craters at the impact sites, and a whole spiderweb of lacerated flesh across my back because that’s what happens when you get shot with Barkskin going. Like cracking open a tree, but only the surface bark breaks, which in this case kept my organs intact. Ain’t bleeding no more either, not after I went through a half-dozen Staunching Potions, but I’ll need a lot of stitches and a couple weeks of bedrest before I’m back at 100%. My fault for wanting to save juice for a big Fireball instead of casting Warding Wind as soon as the reinforcements rode in. Worked out in the end though, so I say the juice is well worth the squeeze.

  “So how’s it feel?” I ask. When Francis quirks his eyebrow in question, I explain, “Losing it all. Or as much as you have so far. Your wife and daughter? I’ll get them soon enough, but you’ll already be dead.”

  Maybe it’s the threat, or maybe the shock is wearing off, but Francis finally breaks when I mention his family. “No, please,” he says, looking less like a mob boss and more like a scared father and husband, but that’s the thing about monsters. All too often, they go around walking in human flesh, just like me and him. “Not my wife and daughter,” Francis begs. “I’ll give you anything, tell you everything, just… let them go.”

  “Anything and everything eh?” I say, playing along just to drag this out. “I don’t believe that’s possible.”

  “Whatever you want,” Francis says, seizing the opportunity like a drowning man reaching for support. “I can get you money, more than you could spend in three lifetimes. The Family has stashes all over Rimepeak to keep a Federal raid from cleaning us out, and I can tell you everything you need to open them up safe. I got records too. Coded books with names, dates, and payments to everyone the Family’s ever bought off. Businessmen, politicians, military officials, they all in there, along with all the proof you’ll need to keep them under your thumb. Money is one thing, but those books? That’ll get you power unlike anything you can imagine.”

  “Money and power.” Nodding along like I’m interested, I crouch down in front of Francis whose laid out and propped up on his elbow, seemingly unaware of the pain he must be feeling. “You know, at the start of this year,” I begin, speaking in a slow drawl to really string him along, “That would’ve sounded damn appealing. Money is always welcome, and a list of crooked scum to hand over to the Marshal? Even better.” Grimacing with a sideways bob of my head, I wave my gun to show him my right hand, gloved and magical though it might be. “Then I lost the hand, which really set me back, but also gave me a new perspective on life. Got to go home and fall in love, and it sounds like you know what that’s like. Don’t nothing compare to love, do it?” I ask, not actually because I want to hear his answer, but because I want him to think of his wife and daughter and imagine all the horrible things I’m gonna do to them.

  Unfortunately, it gets me thinking of Josie too, and I can’t help but reminisce. “My Josie,” I say, looking Francis in the eyes so he knows what he cost me, “She was really something. Could go on for hours about how great she was, but you wanna know what I love about her the most? It’s how she made me feel every time she was in the room. Like I was… worthy and wanted. Me. She didn’t care much about the Firstborn, or the expectations everyone got for who I’m supposed to be. She just wanted me, the beat up, one-handed failure behind the curtain. The guy who sings his bull to sleep and brushes his sister’s hair, a fella with a sweet tooth and anti-social tendencies that she understood and accepted.”

  I let the memories take me away for a moment, get lost in her eyes, her touch, her smell, and her smile. Then I come crashing back to bloody, ashy reality as I grab Francis by the chin and drag him close for a face-to-face conversation. “Then you green-lit a hit on me so you could pull me into your mess, to be some foil against your cousin in some stupid power-play bullshit. That got Josie killed, her and the baby she was carrying.” The tears spill out as I choke on the words, my rage bubbling over for the first time since she died. “My baby! My wife! My future and my happiness, that’s what you done took from me Francis, and I want them back. You say you can give me anything and everything? Well? That what I want. Can you give that to me?!”

  Driving the butt of my pistol into his nose, I’m rewarded with a crack of bone as I let go of his face and let him drop to the charred floor with a groan. Unsatisfied with such minor levels of pain, I grab his hand and bend two fingers back until I hear them crack. “You can’t, can you Francis?” The hatchet comes out, and I flip it around to use the flat end as a hammer which I bring down on his stump, splattering the charred flesh and blistering skin in a spray of blood and pus. “I tried to be civil, to turn the other cheek, even after Mikey sent his dog Joey after me.” The other stump gets hit too, and Francis’ howls are hardly recognizable as human anymore, but I ain’t finished yet as I scream over him. “Even wanted to give Sandro a pass in the Sheriff’s Office before his people drew on me, but that don’t matter do it?” I hit his legs some more, but he thrashing around and I can’t get a clean strike, so I bring my knee down on his ribs to pin him in place.

  And because I can, I just start wailing on him since I got no other way to release all my rage, all the anger and sadness I done pushed down inside and can’t keep contained any longer. “I didn’t want none of this. You think I want to be here? That I like this sort of shit? Being shot, hurt, tired, and so furious I can’t think even think straight? I was ready to bomb this whole fucking mountain Francis! Burn everything to the ground and let God sort it out, because I wanted to be sure I got the bastard who took everything from me. Everything!”

  Francis don’t answer, because I beat on his skull one too many times, and he all loopy and out of it. Not unconscious, but battered enough so he won’t feel anything else I do. Chest heaving from all the exertion and screaming, I step back for a moment to wipe my tears, clear my head, and remind myself that a quick death is more than he deserves. Take a hot minute to get collect myself, to push all the rage and hurt back down inside, and once I’m calm and ready to move on, I break out the smelling salts to give Francis a jolt.

  Take a hit myself too, as I’m feeling a little light-headed, but I’m still okay. Probably. “That’s why you gonna die slow Francis,” I say, picking up where I left off, though he looks a little lost and out of it. Comes back soon enough as I gesture towards the back door and say, “Ideally, I would’ve liked to have your wife and daughter here too, which was why I placed the Fireball to only maim the three of ye, though you went and ruined that. Now I gotta chase them down and make Mia pay.” He tries to plead for his family again, but his words don’t make no sense, not with his jaw broken and teeth missing. I get the gist though, and shake my head. “Don’t you lie to me Francis,” I say with a shake of my head. “I heard what she said. ‘It’s my fault, my plan to get the Firstborn involved’, heard it right from her lying, deceitful bitch lips, and I believe her.”

  Taking a moment to connect to my Arcane Bug, I head on over to pick it up from the corner of the room, which is where it ended up after I threw it in before I made my big escape. My Clairvoyance is still in the foyer, but that ain’t needed no more, as the Spell has long since faded, but Arcane Bug is one of those rare Spells that persists until dismissed. It’s almost like a Ward in that sense, because it’s built into an Etch, one that only comes alive when the Spell is cast. Aside from being real useful, I can’t be leaving it here, as a good Diviner can use the Arcane Bug to track back to the caster.

  Showing it to Francis, I nod and say, “Yeah, that’s right. I bugged the room and heard her teary confession. I worked fat Gio over good too, and was ready to put this all on you, but once I heard her confession, I had to change plans. Was gonna kill your wife slow while you and Mia watched, then you was gonna go next. I’m a little upset Mia is missing out on this, but I’ll make sure she gets the picture loud and clear, and put in a little extra time with her to make up for it. That talk about cultists? Got me thinking. You know people can live up to ten years while serving as Abby incubators? Wouldn’t that be something? Drag her kicking and screaming all the way up to the Coral Desert so gobbos can carry her away so she can spawn smarter gobbos. Think about it Francis. Your pretty little Mia all covered in spores as little green Abby tear themselves out of her supple young flesh, only for the Proggie to keep her alive for a full decade so she can incubate batch after batch of Abby in the cold dark tunnels of the earth.”

  Francis mewls and whimpers, tries to reach for me and beg or fight, but I slap his bloodied hands away and send him crashing to the floor. Seeing him lying there in the ashes of his men, his hands broken, face tuned up, ribs cracked, and feet burned off while crying and sobbing like a broken man, it ain’t satisfying in the least. It disgusts me in fact, makes my stomach turn and my soul blacken to see, doubly so since I was the one who done it, yet it still don’t feel like enough. This man needs to pay, so that the world understands not to mess with me again, and I need that message to come in loud and clear. So I grab my last vial of Alchemical Acid and break the seal before pouring it out over the once powerful consiglieri, starting with his crotch and working my way up to the chest. The screams are inhuman as can be, and will haunt me forevermore, but this is the price for taking everything from me, a bill that has yet to be paid in full.

  It takes Francis several minutes to die, and I watch him writhe in agony for each and every one. When it’s all said and done, I don’t feel any better, don’t got no sense of relief or satisfaction. The Puglianos are done for, with only three people left on my list, Mia, her mama, and the tall fuck who ran off with them. Won’t make things better even when that’s over and done with, when I’ve finished avenging Josie’s death and the death of our child too, but I knew this going in. This is all an empty gesture, something I’m doing because I can’t stand the thought of these people still living and breathing while my Josie lies dead, but it don’t change the facts.

  She’s gone. Our baby too, and ain’t nothing I can do to bring them back, them or the future I promised them.

  Might not have much of a future myself either, not if I pass out now. Best case scenario, I wake to find a Ranger standing over me, and worst case, Mia comes back to finish me off. I can’t finish the job as I am, not if I want to remain free, clear, and most importantly alive. Only got one working boot after all, with the other in tatters and exposing my Acid burned foot which needs a proper poultice stat. All my wounds need cleaning before they get infected, and there’s a good chance I got some internal bleeding from those gunshots to the back. That’s without even touching on all my other injuries, to saying nothing of how bone tired and weary I am. The sad truth is, there ain’t no way I can chase Mia down in this condition, meaning this fight ends here, as I gotta clean things up and see myself out of town before the Rangers come calling, so any unfinished business will have to wait.

  My fault for getting greedy. Shouldn’t have tried to spare Mia and her mama from the Fireball. Wanted her to hurt, to suffer, to scream and kick and know regret, the way I regret not spending more time with my Josie. Ain’t no cure for regret though, so let Mia wallow in it for now, know that she brung disaster down on everything she holds dear, because I got bigger fish to fry.

  Like finding out what in tarnation is going on down in Mueller’s Quay. Cultists with a Deviant? Can’t be. It just can’t, but I gotta go see it for myself, just to be extra sure.