The trigger curled with the slightest twitch of his finger, jarring his shoulder before releasing a snap of human-made lightning. A sharp whistle bounced off the walls as a man cried and grasped his cauterized stump at the knee. He squeezed the trigger again launching more projectiles from his augmented revolver. Damien peered over his cover watching as men and women emptied cartridges at him, chipping away at his stoney cover. Whirling machine drums vollied arcing shots hitting in the open behind him.

"You can't shoot worth a damn," he laughed, his veins dialating and his eyes wide. He snapped the cartridge out of the revolver letting it crack against the ground. A silence came over as the shots became more sparse, unsynchronized from the others. Damien lunged forward to another covering spot, sprinting as hard as his legs could take.

Screams followed as more bullets kissed the stone behind him. He sank his back into the wall inching the barrel over the lip and rippled three shots at the angry mob. A cry of pain followed harsh sobs as parts of the mob dragged the injured away from the fighting.

"Scum," shouted the same deep voice he had heard before. "You won't stop us, even if we all die here."

"I'll see to it that it does," said Damien, matter of factly. More shots clipped over his head. The ground shook along with his cover as more bits disintegrated like puffs of dust falling on his coat. He hesitated, turning his riddled arm over and staring at it as if it was slowly eating his thoughts.

He vanished in a blink, reemerging behind a batch of fighters. Damien was close enough, the growing fires bright enough, to see the blood hued words smeared onto their militia garments. He caught their faces when they turned to face him and utter fear warped their expressions. They dropped their guns to the ground. Voices shouted at one another, barking commands to find the ingrate close to where he had been. Damien looked to the person in command tucked away behind a larger altar. The petty revolver shook violently in his hands as he pressed the barrel to his forehead.

Damien jumped, smacking the revolver from the man's hands. The commander yelped like a squealing pup, the deepness of his voice lost.

"You are no commander," belittled Damien. "You have no right to lead in any capacity. How could you enlist these people to do your work?"

The rest of the man's small army fled like flocking birds sailing to the sky. Their guns clanked against the ground leaving Damien and the commander a lone.

"Please," cried the man. "I was only doing what I was told."

"And you had no qualms of enlisting children for your cause?" shouted Damien.

"I was ordered to do it," begged the man, clasping his hands together and resting them against his forehead.

"Empower the youth," said Damien, picking up the shirt with the same statement written in bold, bloodied letters across the back. "You prey on those who don't know what this world is like. Feed them hopes of a better one of they only do what they're told."

"No, please," sobbed the commander. Damien ripped the man off the ground by his shoulders, staring at the shallowness of his soul. The commander cringed and recoiled trying to cover his face as if a bright light blinded his sight.

"We are going for a little ride," seared Damien. They both vanished, dissolved into a most that left the growing flames of burning banners cackling in their wake.