Hatter's Revenge (rewriting - read at own risk)

Ch. 29: Endgame

The ax missed Mad's face by barely an inch. He stayed stock still, just staring at the edge of what should have been his death.

Then, his eyes traveled down to the broken shaft, the report of a bullet ringing through the air.

There was another crack of gunfire and Mad lurched to his feet as he watched the body of the executioner fall with a heavy thud to the ground. Someone screamed and suddenly the garden was flooded by people in black clothes throwing everything into turmoil.

Mad's head jerked up to the balcony to find Tamsus getting Mavros into the safety of the castle.

"No!" Mad roared, leaping over the body of his would be executioner. He wasn't going to let either of them get away. This would end. Today.

He skidded to a halt when a hooded figure popped up in front of him. Mad's eyes narrowed, then widened when they took off the hood and shouting over the tumult said, "There was a change of plan. It would seem the Spade King is rather fond of you Hatter."

Mad was met with the bizarre sight of Rakta Diamond dressed completely in black. He produced a key and unlocked the shackles around Mad's wrists, the metal falling away to clank discordantly against the ground at his feet.

Mad looked around though he knew he'd never find Killian in this mess, then his attention was distracted by Rakta. The Ace of Diamonds grinned, offering Mad a revolver. Mad took it.

It wasn't one of his, but just the weight of a gun in his hand again made Mad feel invincible.

He had six rounds. It wasn't much, but it would suffice.

"Come on," Rakta said, spinning the cylinder of his own revolver. With a flick of his wrist he snapped the cylinder back into place and said, "I know where they'll go. The throne room."

Mad went with the Ace, doing his best to keep up, battling his way through the melee. He watched, impressed, when Rakta somehow managed to line up three of the Queen's guards, gun them down, then take a knife from one of the dead to throw it, sinking it hilt deep into the chest of another guard running toward them.

Mad was suddenly more thrilled than ever that Rakta was on their side. He was certainly a formidable opponent, scything his way through the sea of red easily, a sudden master of any weapon that found itself in his hand.

Mad even winced when Rakta threw a spear hard enough that it carried its target backwards into another of the Queen's guards, skewering that man as well, pinning the two together.

It was something beautiful if ghastly to watch and greatly appreciated by Mad who only had to engage with maybe three or four other guards, which took a greater toll on his battered body than he'd ever admit.

They wove through the other fighters, dodging swords, arrows and the occasional bullet, the sound and movement of the rather medieval battle interspersed by the random thunder of gunfire.

But the weeks of abuse had left Mad weak and he lost Rakta when a guard swiped a sword at him. Mad caught the blade on the barrel of the gun, his left hand coming around in a hooking punch that caught his assailant right on the jaw, knocking him to the ground.

Mad grunted in disgust. A hit like that should have dropped the man out cold and would have if Mad had been in fighting form. Mad snatched the guard's sword up before the man could recover and brought the blade down, the point stabbing into his chest.

He ducked a random fist swung his way and burst from the edge of the skirmish just to watch Rakta disappear into the castle doors, running hard. Mad ran, his body arguing with him about every step and reached the doors, charging inside.