running like a bull, condensed vapor streaming from his mouth and nostrils. splashing through puddles of icy water storming through barriers of plywood and razor wire, leaping over mountains of garbage bags.
as he snaps his hand up -- a trio of japanese throwing stars appearing between his fingers like a magician's cards. he flings the stars at jigsaw's bike --
unsheathing his sword, rushing at the first intruder.
drifting through the press of flesh. feral faces flash by us, distorted by the stroboscopic lights. a she-vampire latches onto him. he shoves her aside, keeps scanning faces. it takes every ounce of his restraint not to cut loose.
gritting his teeth against the pain. he reaches inside his combat harness, pulling out the remote detonator for the explosive flechette in reinhardt's skull.
gripping the guard rail for support, dragging himself along. reinhardt fires. a shotgun blast hits blade, grazing him but otherwise missing him. as reinhardt curses and prepares to fire again --
as he leaps from the mezzanine level, sword extended, like beowulf diving to slay grendel. he plunges the sword deep into nomak's upper torso. then drives it in even further --
his face a mask of sad resignation. he lifts nyssa into his arms. she closes her eyes, resting her head on his chest.