Cameron

He didn't want to hear what Gwen had said. He didn't want to know how fragile his resolve was. How doubt began to chip at his conviction with every word she spoke. Even having Melanie close by didn't keep him as firm as he knew he needed to be.

Which was why it was almost a relief when Mack came and plunged through the ceiling. At least now, he could just get this done. The idea of doing this without spilling blood had vanished four cars back, after all. The evidence still stained his hands.

Cameron thought Mack was going to try and insist Vincent defend himself. Thought the old shadow would help confirm the reason Cam was doing this in the first place.

What he didn't expect, was Mack's plea to Sergeant Redgrave. "Valen, please. Don't make him defend himself."

"Just stand aside, Valen," Hendricks said from beside him. He took a step forward, advancing with his sword at the ready. "You're heart's not in this butchery, that's a practice sword in your hand. This isn't your fight. "

Valen ignored him. Despite the padded metal rod still pointed towards them, he was looking back at the others behind him. "Burning hell, Mack. Understood."

There was an astonishing amount of pain in Valen's curse. In fact, Cam wasn't sure he had ever heard Redgrave curse before. The words felt raw, like Mack had just drawn blood. Valen turned back to them, and the practice sword lowered until the point was resting against the floor. "Hendricks, Cameron," Valen said, and the plea in his voice pulled at Cameron's heart. "Please don't do this."

No threat that Cameron had ever heard before, frightened him as much as Redgrave's plea. He didn't know if he was pleading for himself, for Vincent, or for them.

"I'll keep him engaged, get everyone else around him," Hendricks said, shifting his guard to one of those odd duelling stances he was so fond of; sword in one hand, the other resting against his back. "We'll win this fight."

The practice sword fell from Valen's hand. The sound of the handle's first strike against the floor muffled the quiet rasp of Redgrave drawing his sword. The second tap completely blotted out the scuffle of his boots as he pushed off, and rushed forward

There was room enough for four people to stand abreast, and still swing their weapons. Hendricks was as good with a sword as anyone in the City now, he had acted as the hard center of a line against more than one mob of Gloamtaken. And there were more than three dozen people with Cameron. And yet, Valen was the one rushing them.

Valen rushed at Hendricks, his sword too fast for Cam to follow. His first was a rising slash that Cam knew would have killed him if he had been the target. Hendricks caught it on his sword, but he still had to jerk his head backward to avoid Redgrave's sword tip, that still caught him in the chin, the blade stopping right in front of his face. Hendricks stumbled back to avoid the quick jab that would have taken his right eye.

Cam moved forward to try and either take Valen from the side, or draw his attention. But he caught himself when the only response Valen made was a quick nod of his head in Cam's direction, even as Valen was already sweeping his sword in the other direction. It looked like Valen was leaving himself open...

But that tilt of his head looked like a message. Or an order. Cam looked ahead, just in time to see Aranhall training him in her sights. He threw himself to the ground, just before the familiar flash of blue light and heat ignited the air above him.

Knees and hands struck the floor, Cam shoved off hard to try and seize the opening, hoping to rush past. But a body tumbled in front of him, someone flailing and screaming and leaving a wet mess where their arms passed. Cam pushed them, trying to get by, and only just managed to twist his body to avoid a viciously quick thrust of Valen's sword.

Even then, Cam still felt his left side get shoved away, with something hot and painful trying to drive his shoulder out of its socket. The blow stopped as quickly as it had come, and Cam was just in time to see Valen swing the blade forward, somehow intercepting Hendricks' vicious overhand swing, and driving it back far enough that Valen still left a long gash in his opponent's padded coat.

Hendricks stumbled back again, and twisted to recover his stance, shifting to thrust with two hands . Valen, somehow, was bringing his blade back from further to his right, where someone was screaming. But even as Hendricks thrust, Valen had switched to a single hand, and Hendricks had to twist to his right to keep his hand from being cut off.

Valen's head tilted to his right. Gwen's Salamander followed. Light and heat and screams followed her. Cam saw a gap, and rushed forward again, hoping to get around Valen. Rush Gwen, possibly, or force Valen to turn and give Hendricks an opening. Abyss below, the people who came with him, he might as well be leading them straight into the fire.

Cam expected Valen's next strike. From Cam's left side, a sweeping slash to help ward off Hendricks, combined into a hard strike meant to drive through Cam's guard. He braced his sword with both hands and pushed as hard as he could, his sword sideways, to meet the strike and stop it.

But against all his strength, Cameron felt just the gentlest of taps as Valen's sword danced past his guard and thrust into his chest, through the gash in his padded coat, between his ribs, and into his lungs. And by the time Cam felt it, by the time he realized what had happened, the sword was already in motion again, off to take someone else's life.

Cam clutched his side as his sight blurred and his world began to shrink around the pain he was in. He coughed, which nearly turned his vision black, stumbled back until he hit he window, and let himself slide down to the ground.

He was bleeding, quickly. The open padding in his damaged coat was turning red, and his cough had left mis mouth wetter than normal, almost so much liquid he had to turn and spit it out. He could barely muster the strength to look up, to see how the fight was going. But judging by the next body falling to the floor, and the next flash of blue light that followed, he could guess.

"Cam," he heard someone say. Hard to say how far away it was from. He couldn't hear the rumbling of the train anymore. That was strange. It wasn't like the train was getting any quieter. The hand clutching at his was surprisingly warm.

"Cam, stay awake, Cam. Focus, focus on me," Melanie was saying. She was close, but blurry — like looking through a fogged-over window. He tried to smile, which me managed through the pain. He wanted to say something, opened his mouth and tried to draw in air...

And couldn't.

Melanie, somehow, saw his distress and reached down. Put her hand into his coat, through the hole Valen had made, and pressed her hand against his chest. Hard. Cam grunted, making the noise as he inhaled. "Thanks," he managed to whisper. His vision began to focus again, though he found his mouth was unusually full of spit again. He turned and tried to spit, but trying to was brutally painful, and he ended up just coming out of his mouth and dribbled down his chin.

"Try not to talk. Just hang on," Melanie said, as she tried to press the linen inside his coat against his wound.

But there were things Cam wanted to say. And he was afraid if he waited, he wouldn't be able to. "I, I brought us to this," he managed to blurt out. "Lost so much."

"No, no. We'll be okay. I'm sure of it," Melanie promised, as she bunched more of the linen inside Cam's coat and pressed it onto the wound.

At the edge of his vision, he saw a sword fall to the floor. Hendricks fell on his knees, gasping in pain, staring wide-eyed at a pair of hands lying in front of him. Hands, Cam realized, that used to be his.

Cam blinked back tears, feeling for his friend, who he had lead to this. "I got them killed. Put them through this."

He wasn't sure who he was talking about now. Hendricks, lying in pain. Valen, condemned by need to be a butcher. The survivors, who would live with this like a poorly-stitched wound, one that would never fully heal. All of this, he realized, to take in someone who had the power to have put a stop to it. Who could have ended all of this instantly.

"Cam, focus on me, stay here," Melanie pleaded. But that decision was less about him, and more about the wound in his chest. And the blood was deciding for him.

He found, as he drew one more breath, that the thing he regretted most, was leaving before the fight was over.