14 Walks with Fire (VI)

Alwen had long grown accustomed to viewing many things pessimistically, but at this moment, he had to admit one thing—even in his worst projections, he had never imagined a situation like this.

If anyone could have foreseen such a scene with insufficient intelligence, then there was probably something wrong with them too.

The Raven Guard used his innate agility to evade the attacks of several black arms, then fired several shots in return, blasting their owners' heads into scattered blobs of gelatinous matter. He immediately retreated, drifting up from Hesiod's quiet streets like a sheet of paper in a gale and landing atop a detached house.

He swiftly surveyed the area. His visor marked hundreds of targets in the span of two seconds, as if it had gone mad.

He sent the number through the comms channel. The Salamanders understood his meaning and soon replied.

[It matches the number of residents registered in this housing district.]

There was nothing else. They were calm to the point of seeming unlike themselves, but Alwen could practically see the Sons of the Dragon's fury rising.

He worked his jaw, making his fangs click together. The sharp sound vanished behind his helmet in an instant, but the anger in his eyes was utterly unmistakable and unmasked. Watching the lanky shadows staggering toward him, he rose from his crouch and tore two grenades from the weapons belt at his waist.

"Requesting authorization to use weapons of mass destruction," he said over the comms.

[Granted. You need not ask similar questions in the future.] The response came at once. [Additionally, a squad is moving toward your position.]

"Understood."

As the Raven Guard spoke, he pulled the pins from the grenades. Beneath their ancient triggering mechanisms lay Salamander ingenuity. Alwen hurled them into the mass of slender