As the fog spreads from the grenade I had thrown at the Hero's feet, I dash forward and scoop up the now unconscious Big Tits and carry her on my shoulder. Sparing a quick glance at the Hero who is now passed out on the ground, my inspection is rudely interrupted by a web of red thread that slashes outwards from the manor itself, and begins to extend across the courtyard. There's a buzz of static from the earpiece which is quickly replaced by silence. The guards I had run over in the black cab begin picking themselves off the driveway and reach into their blazers, drawing automatic pistols. 

Its Celeste. She must have taken cover somewhere inside the manor and is trying to neuter my powers so that Gustav's bodyguards can bum rush me. The driveway guards begin blasting at me with their weapons and I brace for impact, hoping that The Voice's armor works as advertised. My heart jumps into my throat as the red threads wash over me and I shut my eyes tightly, half expecting the artificial core to shut down. 

But the next thing I feel is the thumping of the bullets gently massaging my torso, followed by a hard poke on my forehead as one of the guards manages to get a lucky head shot in. Huh. So The Voice isn't full of shit after all. I know that's a fairly uncharitable thought to have, but I'm the one risking my life here. I'm more than entitled to bitch and moan, especially if its in the privacy of my own head. As I am distractedly pulling out the bullet that has been wedged between my forehead and the gas mask, a gentle breeze stirs, coupled with a surge of spiritual energy from Brocon. 

The knockout gas begins to disperse and Brocon drops the shield that had kept her little gang safe and out of the fight. Gustav nods to the bodyguard standing by his side who gives an eager grin in response. The bodyguard blazes his spirit core and lowers his head, his visage beginning to morph into something far more bestial. The neatly groomed hair grows out and becomes wild and shaggy. A pair of short horns, more like bony nubs really, begin to extend outwards, curving and hardening all the while. The bodyguard lets loose an animalistic grunt as the transformation completes, his head replaced by the snorting face of an angry ram. 

Gustav snaps his fingers and on that signal, the ram man sprints in my direction, his horns lowered to run me through. Spiritual energy keeps flowing into the horns, causing them to burn like miniature suns, at least before my eyes. Anyone who has the misfortune of being gored by ram man is not likely to survive, given the huge amount of magic reinforcing those horns of his. 

I flick the bullet in my hands towards ram man's head. Ram man abruptly lurches backwards as the expended bullet punches into his cranium, drilling its way inside. The back of ram man's head bursts apart, spilling grayish goo all over the floor as the bullet pierces right through, continuing its trajectory towards Brocon's group. Brocon's eyes widen in alarm and she stands slack jawed, completely taken by surprise by this turn of events. 

The bodyguards surrounding Gustav don't miss a beat however. One of them calmly steps in front of the von Amsterg patriarch just in the nick of time. My thrown bullet slams squarely into the guard's gut, but the demon does not flinch, merely holding his hand to the wound to prevent it from bleeding out. Got to admit, these guys are real professionals. Gustav has an eye for talent at least. Brocon hurriedly waves her hands in arcane patterns and the shield reconstructs itself around her group, sealing them off from their surroundings. Guess Brocon values her own safety more than actually trying to rescue Big Tits. Makes sense though, its not as if I'm targeting the Hero. Anything that makes my life easier is certainly welcome. 

Just as I am about to turn my attention to the guards taking potshots at me from the driveway, the SUV thunders through the main gate, running down the guards once more. Alley swerves hard and hits the brakes, bringing the SUV to a stop close to where I am standing with a squeal of tortured rubber. I had earlier told Alley through the SUV's radio to make her appearance once the driveway guards were preoccupied trying to deal with me. I had expected from the start that running those guys over would not be enough to put them down for good. But it would make me the focal point of their attention, allowing Alley to do the pickup and subsequently flee from the scene. 

I hear the doors of the SUV unlock and I pull the rear door open, tossing the unconscious Big Tits inside. Alley is in the driver's seat wound up as tight as a spring, sweat staining her clothes. 

"Ten seconds." I instruct. Alley merely nods and grips the steering wheel even tighter, veins popping out from her hands.

Slamming the door of the SUV shut, I stalk towards the black cab where the rest of my gear has been stored. Opening the boot, I grab the first weapons on top of a large pile stashed within. A pair of assault rifles with their barrels made out of hollowed out bone. The red thread tries to close in and wrap around my body, but there's an invisible field that surrounds my body, easily repelling the servant's power. The thread crackles in fury, but there is nothing it can do to draw close. 

Dual wielding both rifles, I level the weapons at the Hero's sleeping form just as I hear the SUV peeling away down the driveway. Excellent. A quick burst from the rifles is fired at the Hero and he immediately springs to his feet, spirit sword easily deflecting my attack. The Hero's empty gaze locks on to me before being violently shifted to what I assume to be the escaping SUV. The Hero fires up his admittedly still impressive spirit core and a wave of pressure washes over the courtyard, forcing many of the guests and guards to huddle on the ground. A pair of golden wings sprout from the Hero's back and with a mighty flap, he takes off at high speed in pursuit of the retreating SUV. 

That's phase one of the plan completed. Now for the main event. 

I turn and begin spraying the assault rifles indiscriminately across the grounds, raking the manor and guests alike with gunfire. Its all very equal opportunity. The paparazzi cower behind the guards, but their cameras keep snapping, recording the carnage for posterity. Chunks of glass and masonry are gouged off the manor while guests lie bleeding and moaning. All too soon, the rifles run dry and I hear the hollow click of empty magazines. The guards rally and begin charging me, not intending to give me the chance to reload. 

Discarding both guns, I reach into the boot for the next weapon, a trident made out of brass. Not having a clue as how to actually use it, I swing it hard at the first guard who closes the distance with me. The guard is sent spinning on his feet as the trident clubs him across the face. As the guard wobbles about drunkenly with his back turned to me, I draw the trident back and stab it right into his ass, putting the Sodom right into sodomy. 

The guard shrieks like a castrated horse and as his comrades close in, I kick the haft of the trident hard, feeling something break against my foot as the guard staggers away. The damaged trident begins to hiss, as the magical energy within starts to escape and a flash of lightning runs up the haft before the entire weapon splits apart, exploding the guard's anus in the process. There's a sour whiff of methane in the air as a massive explosion blooms from the guard's ruptured ass, the shock wave throwing his comrades aside like rag dolls. 

My hand goes back into the cab's boot and this time it closes around a length of iron chain. Again, no idea what this is actually supposed to do, so I take inspiration from home, twirling the chain about like a pair of nunchucks. Another wave of guards attempts to rush my position, and the chain begins belting them across their bodies in rapid succession. A particularly vigorous swing of the chain sends a guard flying into the stands, where his bulk shatters several seats. I quickly loop the chain around the throat of another guard and perform a windmill throw, mowing down his colleagues with my hostage's flailing body before releasing the chain.

The unfortunate guard is sent sailing into one of the manor's windows with a crash and I hear a loud girlish cry of pain coming from somewhere inside. The red thread abruptly flickers and disintegrates, withdrawing back into the manor from where it came. Looks like a scored a hit on the servant there. Too hurt and tired to keep her anti Voice field up I bet. Things are certainly looking up as I reach into the cab's boot once more ...

...

Now that's a moron. Take it from me. In my professional opinion as someone who pretends to be retarded on a regular basis, Gallant is an actual retard. Who in the world uses the Chain of Obedience like that? And the Trident of Torment. He broke it by swinging that treasure about like a barbarian. 

But then again, strength is what rules this world. Gallant is proof of that. He had entered into a pact for the sake of power, and the being he merged with is delivering. Abuse of his weapons aside, Gallant's raw strength is overwhelming. There is no one here who can match him. 

No one but me. 

The sword by my side trembles with pent up anticipation. The time to strike is now. I have to put a stop to the atrocities Gallant is committing. There is literally no one else that can do it. It is time. It is my time to finally be a true hero. I draw Enma's sword, feeling its power lap eagerly against the air and I clamber to my feet, looming over the crowd as I look down from the manor's roof. Gallant is completely unaware of my presence, reaching into the boot of his car for another weapon. 

One blow. That is all Enma's sword needs. One blow and I can end this. Deep breaths. Take aim. 

And jump!

I plummet downwards, the sword raised to deliver the deathblow. Gallant suddenly looks up, alarm reflected in his eyes, visible from behind the gas mask. I swing down, a smooth clean stroke as Gallant jerks his head backwards. But my blow strikes true, cleaving past the gas mask. 

Drawing blood. 

"Auuggh!" Gallant screams, swinging his arms about in a frenzy, "My eye! How! Nothing can hurt me! So how?"

"So now you know how it feels." I smirk as Gallant backs up into the car, completely disoriented, "Payback's a bitch, huh?"

I surge my core and lash out with my foot, kicking Gallant in the chest. The force of my blow sends both him and the car flying backwards, right into the maze of rose bushes nearby. Gallant flops about like a fish out of water before dropping to his knees, hands to his face, blood dripping out from between his fingers.

"Its over." I announce, "Make your peace, Enemy Of The World." Gallant moans in response as he thrashes about in the dirt. He probably is going into shock right now. 

I channel the Fire of Perdition through Enma's sword, and feel the spell's power being magnified, the natural affinity between my ancestor's weapon and technique strengthening both several times over. A hurricane of fire springs up from my feet and with a vigorous swing of the blade, I direct it towards Gallant. The flame unfurls like a piece of parchment and like a tidal wave rushes towards my enemy. Gallant looks up once more, the gas mask completely bloody. 

But there is no time for him to do anything. The Fire of Perdition devours him and the car, a massive explosion erupting as the car's fuel detonates. The flash is blinding and the only thing I can see is the car being catapulted into the air, spewing out the contents of it's boot all over the place before the wreck crash lands. 

I did it. 

I defeated the Enemy Of The World. 

"Not bad." a cold, hard voice shakes me from my reverie. 

Standing in the blaze is Gallant, the gas mask peeled off from his ruined face. But his remaining eye is alert and glares at me with frightening intensity. It is the look of a fanatic. My heart sinks for I recognize this look. I saw it at the hospital when I last fought Gallant. Gallant is a man no longer. The being he merged with has taken over the body. 

Gallant raises his hand up and catches a fluttering piece of black cloth that had fallen out of the cab before wearing it over his head. I recognize this. Is this destiny? Is it my fate to settle accounts that had been left unpaid by my ancestor? Gallant then picks up a double handed sword that lies on the ground and swings it, the rush of pressure killing the flames that had sprouted all around us from my attack. 

"Sacred Executioner." I whisper, bile rising in my throat. The identity of the being Gallant had merged with is finally known. He is not just an Enemy Of The World, but also my enemy. The enemy I had been literally born to defeat. 

"It is time to finish things, Prince Enma." the Sacred Executioner says. 

"Yes." I nod. There is nothing more that needs to be said. The score between us, lasting untold generations, will be settled today. 

One way or the other.