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imagined just that. If the mysterious invader wanted to hold onto his would-be kingdom, he’d have to fight for it. Better still, he’d have to come to me.
    The streets barren near the strip club and adjoining businesses, thanks to the gunfire and brawl, I went off in search of more of the mercenaries. It wasn’t long before I came across another batch of them. This time, however, the blood and gooey mess of their companions smeared across my face and clothes, they weren’t so oblivious to my intentions.
    Not that it mattered on teensy, eensy bit.
    I charged into the thick of them without a word. Limbs snapped and orifices ruptured, but for all my anger, a steely purpose held firm. While I had every intention of killing as many of the militant grunts as I could, there was more to my rampage than accumulating a body count. Well, maybe only a little more. Rather than snap the neck of everyone I came across, I figured it was best to shut them down yet let a bunch live.
    If everyone is dead, who was gonna pass my message on?
    A manic smile stretched my cheeks as I slammed a guy onto his back, the sharp snap of his spine giving way. He might well be paralyzed from the ass down, but he didn’t need his rectum to get on the radio and call for backup.
    “Send more cops!” I shouted as I tore into the mercenaries. They stared at me grim-faced while trying to blow my head off, ignoring my awesome movie reference. The bastards.
    The ones with the AKs were a little less restrained than their pistol-wielding compatriots. The rat-a-tat-tat of automatic machine gun reports filled the air, roiling clouds of gunpowder following right after. The smell tickled my nose, but it was just an hors d' oeuvre in the butchery buffet, the coppery stink of blood winning out by a mile.
    Not wanting to test my newfound resilience against the marvels of modern technology, I flung up a shield to reflect the majority of the bullets from hitting me. Reddish energy glistened all around me, my will shaping the defenses into sleek curves and sharp points, like I was wearing a spiky shell. I was a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle on steroids.
    “Cowabunga, motherfuckers.”
    I put all the pokey little bits to work. Blood sluiced off my shields as the pitter-patter of gunfire sounded like hail on a hot tin roof. Quick slashes left men screaming in the streets, clutching to severed limbs and crying out for help. I smiled at their cooperation.
    The first batch of mercenaries dropped without much fuss. Unable to hurt me, I pushed through them and left the pieces scattered on the roadway behind me. But still, they kept coming. Wave after wave funneled through the Old Town streets toward the chaos, adding their own to the mix. The few pedestrians out on the streets when I started had long since disappeared, the metal security shutters slamming down on most every business I could see, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I wasn’t out for collateral damage, but I wasn’t about to let a few gawkers or inconvenient shop placement slow me down.
    There was only room in town for one asshole: and that was me. If I had to raze the place to get the bad guy to creep out of hiding, that was what I would do. Baalth would have stores of cash I could use to rebuild, not even counting what Lucifer had stashed in Hell. The people would move on and get over it. Baalth had nuked the place and that didn’t do much more than give the people indigestion for a few months before everything reverted. What I was doing was far less widespread in its impact. Shit, they should thank me for it. I was Old Town’s exterminator, ridding it of the roaches and vermin that had settled in while I was gone.
    “And they shall call me Benevolent!”
    My boots squished as I stomped through the pools of viscera that colored the road like a Dali painting on meth and laxatives. Bodies creaked under my weight. The first several waves of mercenaries had come and died, a swath of broken bodies spewed