Jon tried to get to his feet, but the heavy footfalls moving towards him made him decide against it. Instead he rolled out of the way of another blow that shattered the floorboards where he’d been almost as easily as it would have shattered his skull if he hadn’t moved. Jon thought about kicking the brute in the chest but didn’t want to risk giving him a grip on his ankle. The grip of a dwarf could break the relatively fragile bones of men without much effort, and being reduced to hobbling would make it very hard for Jon to get out of here alive. 

Instead he rolled sideways back to where he’d been, forcing the dwarf to let go of the hammer embedded in the floor as he staggered back to keep his balance. Then Jon scrambled away, getting to his feet as he tried to put some distance between himself and his attacker. He was unsuccessful. No sooner was Jon rising to his feet than the little goon was on his back, his strong hands reaching for his throat. 

“You think you can kill members of my clan and just walk away, human?” he spat, squeezing tight enough that Jon could hear his heartbeat as the blood was unable to flow past that iron grip. 

Jon didn’t try to answer or even bring his hands up to try to pry the dwarf’s little fingers off his windpipe. It would have been a waste of breath and waste of time, both of which were in increasingly short supply. Instead slammed his body backwards into the nearest wall with as much force as he could muster. The first blow didn’t dislodge his attacker though. The second impact rewarded Jon with a grunt of pain at least, but his grip slackened only slightly. With a strength born of desperation as Jon’s vision began fading to gray around the edges though, the third time Jon slammed the dwarf against the wall he finally knocked him off his back, and was able to draw air into his lungs again with a huge gasp. There was no time to celebrate the achievement though, as he staggered forward looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. What he wanted to do was light the little bugger’s clothes on fire, but all the flour in the air made that impossible. With this much dust in the air even a single spark would be suicide.

So he did the only thing he could do. He retreated. Running wasn’t an option just yet, but he staggered away with all the speed he could manage while leaning on objects around him as much as possible as he tried to put some distance between him and his pursuer. As soon as he had a proper weapon he’d turn and fight, but he’d lost the grate hook when the warhammer had sent him flying and his revolver was still on Boriv’s desk. Nothing jumped out at him as he moved through the warehouse though. He’d take a broom handle or a crowbar at this point - anything was better than trying to grapple with a dwarf barehanded. That had never once ended well for him.

“Whats the matter?” the dwarf called out in Wenlish, taunting him, “Not such a big man when ye can’t shoot a man in the back? Afraid of a fair fight?” Between the dust in the air and the ringing in his ears from the near strangulation he’d suffered, Jon had a hard time figuring out just where the voice was coming from, but he was sure the dwarf had a pretty good idea of where he was unless he was stupid: he was leaving footprints in the flour on the floor like it was snow, so it didn’t exactly take an experienced hunter to track him down. He had to be toying with him, Jon thought, it was the only reason he hadn’t already started another assault. If he could just get to the maintenance office on the far side of the building he was sure he’d find something in there to turn the tables. That was easier said than done though. The dust and the fighting had him completely turned around, and he didn’t realize this until after more than a minute of sneaking between rows of crates and stacks of boxes he found his own footprints. 

Jon paused for a moment - not just to catch his breath, but to try to figure out which way was which again. “Come out come out wherever ye are,” the last dwarf taunted again. Jon stopped breathing for a moment when he heard him walk not ten feet from where he stood. The bad news was that he was now heading in the direction that Jon needed to go if he wanted to rearm, but the good news was that he knew where the wretch was. He waited for him to keep walking for a few more seconds and then made a break for it. Boriv’s office was on the east side of the station and the maintenance rooms were on the west, so if the coast was clear he could go out any of the northern exits onto the loading platform. Then he could easily loop around and get himself a something to fight with by going either way.

There were almost certainly dwarves out there with weapons loaded just waiting for him though. A quick peek through the narrow window on the door showed two of them, but there could be more. No, he decided, his hand on the door, better to double back to the records room and retrieve his short sword there. It was his best shot. So, ignoring the taunts of his pursuer, he focused on quick, quiet retreat back to Boriv’s office. When he got there he put his revolver back in his sling and looked down at the old dwarf crumpled in a heap on the floor. Even though he’d ruined his whole life it was hard not to feel something for a man that had been such an important part of it for years. Jon shook his head wondering if the dwarf that had choked him had knocked a few screws loose. Sympathy was exactly the opposite of what he needed now as he moved to pull his sword free from Gervam’s cooling body. Sympathy could wait for a more worthwhile target and a better day. 

“Don’t think ye’ll stick me with that as easily as you did Gervam, you cowardly worm,” the last dwarf said suddenly, making Jon turn. He hadn’t expected him to throw away the advantage of surprise like that, but then there was only a thin line between honor and obsession when it came to dwarves. 

Jon raised up his sword and backed away slowly into the warehouse, glancing over his shoulder and trying to find the best battlefield for this next fight. When he looked back though, his enemy had vanished. Jon wondered where he’d gotten to, but he arrived at the answer a second too late as the dwarf blindsided him with a bodyslam, sending the sword flying as he slammed him backwards towards one of the doors to the loading platform. “Death is too good for scum like ye,” he growled, “Don’t ye worry - we’ll put ye to question and find our answers no matter how long it takes.” While he spoke Jon struggled, but was no match for his iron gripped opponent, and as a result the dwarf sent them both out into the light, crashing down against the stone platform that was more used to bulk fright than combat. 

Jon was already trying to figure out what he could do next when the dwarf’s fistmade contact with his chin for the first time, erasing the plan that he’d been trying to construct as the world flashed white with pain. He could hear the other two dwarves nearby, and hear the sound of them cocking their weapons, but with this dwarf on him they didn’t dare fire. That suited Jon fine, and he smiled grimly. 

“Get off him, Gronag” one said.

“Ya, let us blow him to pieces!” the other echoed. 

But Gronag’s only answer was to punch him in the face again, making Jon’s body go limp. One or two more blows like that and he’d be unconscious. “Nah” Gronag said finally, “A bullet is too good for this manscum. We’ll put him in irons and then question him until we find out who he works for. ” 

“Ye can’t question him if his jaw is broken,” one of the dwarves on the tracks said.

“I ain’t gonna break his jaw, Narram. First I’m going to beat him, then I’m going to blind him, and then when I get tired of all that I’ll bind his broken body nice and tight for the next train to Khaghrumer.” Gronag raised his fist again, and Jon turned his head to the left, pretending to flinch from the blow. He wasn’t flinching though - he just wanted to see where the dwarves were aiming the weapons, and once he determined that neither of them was pointing at his face, he channeled the smallest amount of fire and ignited the powder in both of them. As he did he braced himself for the next punch or for a bullet if his aim was off. It didn’t matter - he’d rather die right here on this platform than be forced back underground ever again. He’d lived through that hell once and he would never let that happen again. Even though he steeled himself for the pain, neither of them ever came. Instead he looked from the stunned and confused dwarves on the track wondering why their weapons had gone off on their own back to Gronag, who was staring down at the hole through his chest where one of the brands had torn right through him.

“I didn’t pull the trigger, Gronag, I swear I didn’t,” One protested, but his denials were too late - the dwarf was dead, and Jon pushed him off of him with ease. The second dwarf didn’t waste any time for words and was already reloading. That was very practical, but not fast enough, Jon thought as he reached for his revolver. The first dwarf was loading his weapon now too, but Jon already had his out, and before either could finish, Jon aimed and pulled the trigger, ending the second dwarf without a sound of protest. The first dwarf saw his friend drop dead beside him and dropped his weapon. 

“I surrender,” he babbled, “You can have whatever you want just don’t—”

Jon pulled the trigger again, silencing the last dwarf. “The only thing I’d ever want from any dwarf is their miserable life.” he muttered, standing up. His whole body hurt, and he decided that perhaps eight dwarves was more than even he could chew. Maybe he should have been more careful and tried to catch Boriv alone at night in his quarters or just burned down the building and shot anyone that tried to escape, he considered before deciding against it. No. He needed to confront his past on even terms, and that meant walking through the front door to take care of anyone who’d ever wronged him. 

They all needed to pay for what they’d done to the Shaw’s, and he would see to it that every debt owed was washed away in blood. Perhaps that was the real lesson he learned in his time amongst the dwarves. Not how to use their weapons or how powerful his magic could be, but how necessary vengeance really was.