Rage was tempered with purpose, subdued. The eidolon stood over the hound's carcass - a position he had been in too many times before. Steam rose from his arm, clutching the sword, hot with blood and quicksilver cooling in the dim biolight. The monster twitched and quaked, accelerated healing, attempting to stave off the fatal damage. But, unfortunately, it would not be enough this time.

The eidolon had been many things, but it was this that he claimed most resolutely as his identity - his current role and the sacrifice that was to come. His future? Well, he had none.

Taneberr groaned, using his weapon to pry apart the wicked claws that kept him bound. The eidolon offered a hand and pulled him to standing before they rushed around the fleshy mass of the beast's augmented tongue. Hurried, the eidolon used a sword, and a cloak swaddled hand to pull at the meat. Taneberr seized it in his armoured grip, drawing upon his strength and weight to heave it back. They uncovered the gasping, fallen forms of Marchemm and Menmarch.

More hands soon joined them, and they pulled the pinned warriors free. Marchemm, deathly quiet, and Menmarch quaking, with a severely damaged leg and broken ribs. Both recuperated slowly from the ferocious attack and the toxins in the beast's saliva.

"We have to get out of this place…." Menmarch muttered in pain, looking around with fear in his eyes.

"Easy, my kin," said the eidolon, his voice calm and confident.

The eidolon knew they had made a mistake in following Tanebarr into the open. It was the only mistake they had made this night. Nevertheless, he was thankful for their survival and proud of all of their bravery today. The hand that he placed upon Menmarch's shoulder was hard but warm.

The brutal Taneberr held the eidolon in quiet regard, not for the first time. But Sir Enhash scowled beneath his helmet, his attention on Marchemm, who was still heaving for air, kneeling amidst the bones of the square. Llewtoll stalked at a distance. They were survivors and would not join in the camaraderie.

"We must get out of here," Menmarch repeated, the sweat on his forehead and the blood on his armour glimmering in the biolight. He looked around again, bemoaning, "Everywhere is saturated with that… That sucking, corrosive, air…."

Sir Enhash clicked his throat, summoning the eidolon's attention. Their yellow eyes met in the dark, and the subordinate knight gestured to Marchemm, still collapsed in the filth, silent and shivering. A wet crunch filled the air as his arm fractured and reset itself. A gash grew under his helmet, weeping blood. Tasting the infrared, the eidolon saw that Marchemm was burning hot.

"Phage," Marchemm hissed, finally breaking his silence; the group seized with an anxious note upon hearing him.

The eidolon looked to Taneberr, who shook his head. Then the eidolon looked to Menmarch. He watched as the injured warrior crawled to his kin and put hands upon his slouched and feverish shoulders.

"Brother," Menmarch wept.

Swallowing down his illness, Marchemm managed to put an arm over his twin's shoulder, groaning wordlessly as the nanoweapons tore his body apart and remade it. Taneberr moved first, seizing Menmarch by his sides, lifting and dragging the injured warrior back.

"No! No! Don't you dare!" Menmarch cursed and wheezed, kicking the leg that he could.

But the eidolon stood over Marchemm, who met him with eyes that filled with blood. Ignorant to the pleas of his twin, their commander held firm the blade in his grip. He knew, beyond doubt, that existence would be agony for him. To try to live with a corrupt mutagen - phage - was worse than a death sentence. It would drive a freak mad and infect those around them.

Taking a knee before the fallen warrior, the eidolon uttered, "You know what I must do."

Even in his weakened state, Marchemm managed to nod. His spine seized, and his fists clenched, wracked with agony. The eidolon took Marchemm's head under his hand and embraced it to his naked belly. The infected vat-born groaned as his superior raised the blade.

They all watched as the eidolon carved off Marchemm's head, sparing him his wicked fate. Blood fluted from his throat in terrible arcs, the quicksilver in it spiking and shuddering with a life of its own. All the while, the eidolon held him close during his final moments, interrupted only by the desperate screams of his brother.