With a heavy step, the man from the witches’ sect presses forward, the ice of the golem’s arm cracking as he leverages the sword towards the side. The sudden movement sends wet crystals flying off in all directions. The golem roars in an agonized fury, as its arm breaks off entirely just an instant later. The massive hunk of ice shatters as it crashes down to their sides, the blade of the bone-sword slashes through the air, as it finally swings free from its constraints.

Fresh crawls back as far as she can, pressing her back fearfully against the glass sign as she stares at the anarchy happening just in front of herself. It all glistens. It all shimmers. All at once, as the heavy sword cuts through the air. The sword. The ice. The dark, nightfall colored armor of the stranger who is coated in a midnight dew, all of it together glistens as the single, violent movement unfolds, as a strange light seems to shine from above, as if the dark, moonless sky were somehow shining with a glow brighter than the cumulative aura of all of the many looming stars.

He breathes. His breastplate seems to press itself forward as the single swing of his weapon finally comes to an end, as that single second finally comes to an end. In an instant, the giant man from the witches’ sect presses ahead, his free hand shooting up to catch the free fist of the golem which smashes down his way. His open palm, not even half of the size of the monster’s, catches the icy hand. Fresh feels a rush of air and indistinguishable droplets fly past her face, as a violent impact emerges. A shattering crack runs down the golem’s remaining arm as it roars, the giant monstrosity pressing its face against his.

All the man from the sect does is continue his frantic, heavy breathing. He is clearly unable to contain his excitement as he presses his face towards its. Both of them meet in the middle.

He twists his wrist, his fingers digging into the ice that is growing around his free hand in an attempt to swallow him, his manipulation bending the golem’s arm and shifting its elbow to the side. Before Fresh can follow what’s happening, the bone-sword swings up through the air again and another chunk of ice falls to the ground in turn.

Flailing in agony, the raging golem falls backwards as it loses its only remaining arm. The man pulls his hand free from the dead limb, sending fresh ice flying down in all directions once more. Fresh is roused from her daze as the frigid wet splashes against her face, as something loud and heavy falls, clamouring at her feet. Her eyes wander down to the broken bone-sword laying there.

Without saying anything, the cobalt-armored titan turns around and walks past her, into the rubble of the store. “I’ll pay you tomorrow,” says his booming voice, as she hears his heavy steps thudding back outside a few seconds later, a large, two-handed bone-axe dragging along the ground behind himself, as he marches back towards the golem that is trying to get back up onto its feet. The heavy thing is however unable to keep its balance without its arms that are still in the process of regenerating.

Fresh isn’t sure why she has such a dumb thought in a moment like this, but she wants to say something clever and impressive as he walks back towards the golem. Something like ‘it’s on the house’. But she can only let out a pained squeal as her shattered elbow pieces itself back together rather abruptly, the purple light of the lantern shining over her body. The girl wiggles her fingers, watching her left hand move, relieved that she is able to do so again. She stares at the lantern, unable to decipher what it is that is bugging her. Why is it so bright out here?

It isn’t the light of the lantern that’s bugging her. There is something else. Something else that makes the moonless night unusually bright, but she can’t figure out what it is.

A loud rumble comes from the side, from the main street that everyone is running down, as several carts barrel down towards them, pulled by just as many anqas. It’s odd, but she smiles as she sees some of their own magical-lanterns hanging off the front of the carts, illuminating the carriages with a pale, blue light. The large, wooden constructions, covered in metal plates, screech to a sudden stop in an in-orderly fashion all next to each other. The insides are filled with movement and then as the wooden doors of the carriages slide open, heavily armored people, all wearing the same gray and white uniforms, spring out of them. Some others jump off from the top of the carriages, their metal boots clanking loudly as they hit the ground. The swarm of soldiers and priests runs around the carts, unloading them as fast as they can.

Is this the town guard? She’s never seen any of them before. They’re all as heavily armored as the man from the sect, all of them rip off giant tower-shields, which are attached to the exteriors of the carts, off the sides and they rush forward as Fresh watches them, feeling a new excitement and relief.

They stop. None of them step past the entrance to the plaza.

Metal loudly strikes against the stones as they line up in a tight formation, their faces obscured by the night and by their raised hoods. The heavy tower-shields all strike against the rock at the same time, as they make a wall. As they block off the entire street, sealing the plaza entirely for anyone who hasn’t managed to escape already.

Fresh’s legs wobble as she tries to pull herself upright, slowly rising back to her weak feet as she watches the horror unfold all around her. The man from the sect and the golem are still fighting, the two monsters letting loose all the havoc that they have in their bodies. The vampires lash and flail around, their regenerating forms ripping and flailing as they continue to eat each other and anything else that they can catch. Screams fill the air, as people still run, as fists strike against the heavy tower-shields that now indifferently block the way, the people holding them not moving an inch as they stop anyone from going down the main road.

Disposable. Everyone here is disposable. They don’t care if they die. Nobody cares if she dies. If Jubilee dies. If the man from the sect dies. If any of them die. Anyone who lives here or was still here. They’re disposable.

A vampire, unaffected by her spell, lashes out towards the man from the sect, its long neck squeezing past the golem as its barred razor teeth press towards his body. With a surprisingly quick movement, he pulls himself to the side, his free hand wrapping around the creature’s throat and pulling its head into the way, just as the golem’s regenerated fist strikes against his. Black blood splashes out in all directions as the creature’s skull is crushed in an instant between the two of them.

White robes flutter atop the carts of the guardsmen, as a group of priests climb up and look out over the chaos. All of them wear red scarves which flutter in the cool, night-breeze, all of them wear red, large, flat-brimmed hats. Again, even if this isn’t the time, Fresh can’t help but notice how seemingly spotless their tight-fitting white robes are. Maybe they’ve been using her cleaning mixture? Are these the exorcists? Basil had described them to her once before.

Seeing the vampires, the group of priests standing atop the carts begin channeling magic into their hands, the fabric of their tight robes shifting from the forces coalescing around their fingers. Fresh smiles a relieved smile, if they kill the vampires, then the golem will be no problem at all. This might all be over in just a moment. She says a quiet thanks in her mind for the priests, thankful that what Jubilee had told her about the church still appears to be true. The higher ups were all politics, but the normal people down here in the street with them? They were the good folk here. Maybe if their ten-percent went to them and the ones like Basil, she wouldn’t mind at all.

A voice rings out, saying something that she can’t discern over the sounds of ice and bones cracking just next to her from the violent onslaught.

The glow dies down. The priests all lower their arms at once.

“Huh? Why are they…” Fresh finally stands upright, feeling her legs offer a firm hold to her body once again. She thinks that she can walk again, if she has to. But she needs a minute longer to fully heal. The magic of the lantern is incredibly strong if it can keep her alive like this, but the effect is unpleasant and long-lasting to say the least. She supposes it comes with the territory and looks at the mutilated angel with a deep regret in her eyes. It will never be the same again. Her fingers clench down, pressing firmly against the soft leather glove in her hands as she watches the man from the sect crash into the golem again and again, as the two of them have at each other, both entirely lost in their frenzy.

“You’re joking… right?” mutters Fresh to herself as she realizes with a sudden horror what’s happening. They’re not going to help them. They’re going to let everything that they view as a problem solve itself.

Perhaps smelling the blood of the mangled vampire at the giant man’s feet, the raging swarm of long-necked monstrosities shifts away from the red dungeon portal and starts heading their way.

Hundreds of long, dagger-like teeth shimmer in the blood-bathing glow of the red portal, together with the cool, lifeless shine of the magical-lanterns hanging off of the front of the carts, as the mass of undead comes to consume them, as nobody comes to help.

Not one person. They all just stand and watch.