by David Robbins



Somehow, Blade and the Warriors had to make their way through the city's treacherous steets and obliterate the Chosen for good. They were outnumbered, but Blade wasn't worried-madness made his opponents strong, but years of physical training and the Bowies strapped to his side gave Blade all the strength he needed. The Chosen would die like helpless insects, crushed in Blade's impenetrable death grip.


Blade burst from the alley to find a battle being waged.

Geronimo, Lieutenant Garber, Private Griffonetti, and Private McGonical were under assault from dozens of assailants. Grungy figures lined the roofs, were framed in windows, or had taken cover behind every available shelter.

Blade saw a tall man on the roof across the street let fly with an arrow from a compound bow. The shaft sped true, slicing into Griffonetti's throat and protruding out the back of his neck. Without a moment's hestitation, Blade angled the M-60 upward and squeezed the trigger. The heavy slug tore into the assailant and catapulted him from sight.

A man and a woman were charging from the right, each with a chain looped around their waist, each armed with a sword.

Blade pivoted, lowering the machine gun's barrel, and sent several rounds into each foe. They were flung to the road on their backs, kicking and shaking in their death throes.

A chunk of brick struck Blade on the right temple filling his head with excruciating pain, and he twisted and glanced up to discover a man with a beard in a second floor window, about to hurl a bigger piece of brick. Blade gritted his teeth and fired, and the man screeched as he staggered backwards and vanished....