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[i]My anger is my armour! My hate is my weapon![/i]

Zell allowed the Orc Heavy to overextend.  Block.  Combined with slight sidestep.  The orc stumbled past as Zell brought his sword around to deliver a violent hamstring.  The orc fell, Zell stepped down on his back and finished him.  He could feel the rage building - the pain going away.  Good.

[i]No.[/i]

Before he re-engaged, he realised that half of the thoughts in his head were not his own and growled with frustration as he pulled himself back.

[i]Attack!

No.  Defend.

Kill!

No.  Protect.[/i]

He had to shake the haze of dissonance from his head.  He could not continue with this kind of confusion.  A tribesman rushed him.  Two parries and a counterstrike.  Simple work.  What was harder was keeping the fury at bay.

Zell looked over to where Fenna was.  The older woman might just be the only person in this world whose mere presence could make him behave himself.  And now, he saw MacKensie was with her too.  Like the cool breeze that came with Undaya's blessing, Zell was awash with a calm that cancelled out his anger.  His priorities immediately came back to him.  He was a frontliner.  His job was to protect.  This was better.  But such sobriety also came with the physical pain of his injuries.  And fear that all of his friends may not survive this ordeal.  Maybe not a single one of them.

A look over his shoulder made him aware that the enemy were in the city streets.  A glance at where the Right Wing had formerly been, showed why.  Teeming - packed with the enemy.  They were pushing against the Centre.  Charging down the stairs and into the streets with no resistance.  Zell could do nothing more than jump back into the thick of things, on the wall, and hope for the best.  Had he been in control of the garrison, he would urgently pull back the remainder of the forces - to hell with a steady, tactical retreat.  If they did not move soon, there might be no way back to the second line of defense.  But he was not in control.  He just had to do his job.  And hope for the best.

Hope.  Fear.  Analysis.  It would be so much easier to let the hate flow and just... be.

[i]Fuck you, Baphomet.[/i] In his mind, the Englishman and the Oblivion Prince stared eachother down stubbornly.  [i]Fuck you.[/i]

Fortunately the order for retreat came.  A couple minutes early, thank fuck.  But strange that the order did not come in the form of Commander Thorn's booming voice.  It came from a flare on the front.  Someone had made an executive decision.  Vice Commander Jeremiah, probably.  Whoever it was, Zell blessed them.

And speaking of blessings...

The Black Sword lit up with holy fire.  Baphomet was pissed.  James had done Second Chance a solid.

"Lions!  Protect the stairs!"

The Lions switched to defensive fighting and covered the nearby steps, with open ranks to allow other blocks to pass through and get down from the wall as smoothly as possible.  Another Lion was killed.  And then another.  With each block that disengaged, the fighting became more and more difficult.   On top of that, the fear that replaced his anger added to the weight of mental pressure - The struggle to keep Baphomet at bay.  Zell had to keep his head here.  He could ill afford to give in to his rage when a precise retreat would be required.  When consideration of what was best for those around him, was needed.

He spared a glance over at the Falcons and Rabbits, to see their progress.  He would not leave without seeing that Fenna and MacKensie had safely disengaged.  And once they were on their way into the street:

"Lion! Retreat!"

...

He arrived at the next crossroads and looked all ways before making a quick decision.  "This way!"

The narrow backstreets were a maze, but the main roads were fraught with danger and there was no time to get caught up in a skirmish.  The Bazaar was a fair distance away.  Perhaps half the length of the city away.  But it felt even longer, there in the backstreets.  After the first ambush by a roaming group of orcs and goblins, paranoia added to the fatigue.  They had dealt with the group pretty quickly, it was only a small squad, but now every corner felt like a danger-point for them to be ambushed.  The heat of a city on fire radiated.  The noise of the shouting and fighting rushed through the streets and alleys like the wind.

Several blocks of soldiers converged on a wider street that appeared clear.  The Lions followed with the crowd, Zell barking orders to keep together.  Then came another ambush.  And this one was deadly.

The explosion ahead hair-dryer’d Zell's face.  Windows smashed with the force.  Fireballs had come down from the rooftops and laid waste to everyone unfortunate enough to be under the pyromancers on the rooftops.  Chaos erupted.

"Left turn!"  Zell thundered, pointing his sword at the alleyway that ran south .  "Quickly!"

Another fireball came down, the explosion even closer.  Soldiers bumped into eachother as they pushed and shoved to get away.  Zell stood firm and urgently gestured to the alleyway, screaming at the top of his lungs.  "Lions!  Gooooo!"

And then he saw a pyromancer appear above them - on the roof of a small building - and the red mage was looking right at them.  [i]GO![/i] Zell thoughts raced.  [i]SAVE YOURSELF![/i] But his thoughts were not his.  [i]WHAT ARE YOU DOING![/i]  The Pyromancer began doing the hand motions to cast a fireball.  [i]TURN AROUND![/i]  Zell's feet moved automatically.  [i]YOU FOOL![/i]  The fireball manifested and began to grow in size.  [i]YOU FOOOOOOL![/i]

Mere moments before launch - fireball hovering above the pyromancers raised right hand - Zell appeared on the roof, right beside the mage.

[b][[Teleportation.]][/b]  His last one left.

"Arrrgh!" the Pyromancer cried out as the Black Sword cut straight through his forearm.

Zell managed to snatch, out of the air,  the severed hand at the wrist, fireball still hovering above the palm.  Then he pointed hand'n'fireball like a gun, point blank at the Pyromancer.  The force of the explosion smashed more windows and did damage to the nearby brickwork, but the soldiers below were saved.

Both the pyromancer and the swordsman were blown off the roof.  Zell went flying across the street and hit a house before gravity took his ragdolled body and he hit the ground.

He looked dead.  The second in command of the Lions took charge and got their block out of there.  There was no time for gratitude or sentiment.  They could be thankful once they were safe at the Bazaar.