The medic immediately rushed to Sara's side, silent and methodical as he treated her arm.  Halvorson eyed her.  "That was..." he began.<br/><br/>"Overkill?" finished O'Toole, making sure the pipe was wedged solidly enough before moving.<br/><br/>"Yeah, something like that," said Halvorson, laying a hand on Sara's shoulder as the group moved to the light at the end of the tunnel.  "You sure you're okay?  We can put you as rear guard if you want."<br/><br/>The medic muttered, "She should be fine.  Looks worse than it is.  She'll be able to use her arm soon."  He glared at her.  "Just... don't do that again."<br/><br/>Halvorson grinned at Sara.  "You crazy Slayers," he chided, ruffling her singed, rigid hair.<br/><br/>Before they knew it, the masonry walls of the sewer gave way to a metal tube about fifteen feet long, the end of which angled gently down toward the shimmering surface of the lake.  Halvorson inched over to the edge and looked down - it was just a foot or two to the water's surface, so there wasn't as much danger as he expected.  He looked to his left.<br/><br/>There, jutting out from the shore, parallel to the tube they were in, was a masonry tunnel, shaped like a rectangle.  The masonry was about a foot away and ended two feet back from the edge of the metal tube.  Halvorson eyed it, working out how to get over without getting wet.  His eyes passed over the lake's surface, which was thankfully devoid of any boats or rafts.  The tube was situated far enough below the general level of the city that he couldn't see anyone, and they most likely couldn't see him.<br/><br/>Then he looked across the lake at the Sandlake Estates tower.  He couldn't see anything on the roof, which was probably a sign that Arget and Chiro were staying hidden.  He keyed his radio.<br/><br/>"Trash Truck to Foxtrot," he called.  "We're about to enter the home stretch.  See if you can spot us.  Over."  He let the radio at his collar hang free and turned to look into the tube.  "Okay, this is gonna be cake.  I'll go first to help everyone else over.  Then it'll be Baz, Sara, Feign, Doc, and O'Toole last."<br/><br/>"Oh joy of joys," remarked O'Toole.<br/><br/>"Help everyone over on this end, First Sergeant," Halvorson ordered her.  Then he immediately turned and inched to the edge of the tube, the sunlight making him squint.  Dawn was rapidly ending, and the glare off the lake's surface was becoming irritating.  He snuggled up against the wall of the tube and reached his right arm around, feeling the bricks of the Palace's sewer outlet.  Slowly, he slid himself closer to the edge of the tube, until he was dangling his right foot over the water.  His hand found a crevice in the brick wall and he dug his fingers in, then swung his foot into the tunnel.  Immediately he lifted his left foot and let his momentum carry him completely into the masonry tunnel, facing out to the lake.  He freed his fingers from the crevice.<br/><br/>"Told ya!" he called.  "Cake!  Baz, you're next, fella."  He crouched to the rat's height and readied his hands to help the rat over.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>The Sludge Freak groaned and shifted its weight as its newly-ingested meal did its best to wound it internally, but to no avail.  As the last struggles subsided within, it gurgled contentedly to itself, having avenged the loss of its eye.  Slowly, it withdrew into a secondary line and sat still to digest.<br/><br/>The walls of the stomach went into overdrive, kneading and mashing Faust's body violently.  The acid that surrounded him became more liquid and more potent.  This was the end.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>The cornfields about the station wagon rustled slightly in the breeze.  Not three hundred yards up the road, it turned into the circle drive of Lady Maeve Blotar's grand estate.  The condition it was in, however, would not come as a pleasant sight to Dreamer's eyes.  And Kitten was about to experience the greatest test of his faith in his own species.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>The First Sergeant shifted back as Jenten regained his senses.  Good, he was okay.  Ignoring what the other two were talking about, he rushed to the stairwell and screamed, "I NEED A MEDIC UP HERE!"  Immediately he returned to Emiko's side, trying to keep her arm elevated. He thrust his flask at her.<br/><br/>"Drink, you've lost a lot of blood," he said softly.  A medic rushed up the stairs and took Emiko's shorter arm from him, beginning to work on cleaning and dressing the wound properly.  Then the First Sergeant noticed the strange vials on the gravel, and looked from them to Emiko and Jenten.  "What are those?  What happened up here?"<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>The medic that was about to help Merelli was shocked as the angry dragoness - whom he'd thought was fighting for them - snatched up his Colonel and swallowed him whole!  Stunned, he began reaching for his weapon, only to hear her announce that she was protecting Merelli.  The medic was confused.<br/><br/>In fact, most Resistance troops in earshot were confused.  What was Iln doing?  They could not fathom it.<br/><br/>Merelli, however, knew exactly what was happening.  He had hoped Iln would not have done this, and would have merely let him pull back for traditional healing.  She would be vulnerable while carrying him in addition to Raice.  But he knew also how Iln thought.  A shared youth granted each companion the ability to predict the other's ideas.  As the moist, warm comfort of Iln's sac enclosed around him, he let darkness take his mind, awaiting her mysterious salvation.<br/><br/>The Resistance troops, bewildered as they were, did not raise a weapon to Iln, as they saw her carry her bulging side to the medics.  Besides, they were winning.  The cultists were beginning to give ground and were trying desperately to secure a new foothold.  The officers gave the orders: press the attack.<br/><br/><br/>Janus felt the mass of cultists in front of him give and crumble.  Suddenly he was looking into the eyes of a fellow Resistance soldier.  They had broken through right in front of him.  Normally he would have enjoyed that knowledge, but he growled in frustration instead - his source of blood and murderous gratification had been taken from him.  Angrily, he whipped around and laid into a retreating band of cultists, letting their blood fly to sate his rage.<br/><br/><br/>The cultists were beginning to pull back into the alleys, desperate for a rallying order or some reinforcements.  But this was it.  This was all they had.  There were no others.  Bachera, their god, really had to pull out a new trick, or they were going to lose this battle.  The renegade Heretic had to be put down.  This was the Blood Cult's final conflict.