As the projectile had executed its damage upon his arm, Eldon pitched to the side, absenting himself from the precarious balance that once kept him planted on the supporting steel girder. With that tenuous stability gone, he had begun to fall.

To him, how he managed to keep from plunging into the ice-choked Mississippi river was nothing short of a miracle. As he howled in agony, his torso had slipped quickly through the open space between the girders, moving heavily downward beside the warlock. At almost the same instant, his knees slipped from the latticed girder in the exact opposite direction, landing his waist along its edge with a sound thud. Then, he had continued his rotation forward much like an out-of-control gymnast on the uneven parallel bars. Out of a purely reflexive survival instinct, he had sent his uninjured hand pawing frantically for anything he could grasp to break the fall. Through what, in his mind, could only have been divine intervention by God Himself, Eldon managed to entwine his fingers in the lattice on the underside of the steel beam. With the forward motion impeded, he came to a stop, folded dangerously over the support.

He hung there for a long moment, a mere foot away from the suspended warlock. He fully expected another shot to ring out and bring an end to him. But surely, Eldon thought, God would not save him from the icy plunge that would certainly have spelled death only to allow the warlock to execute his demise?

He had remained as still as he could, gritting his teeth against the pain while waiting for any movement from the condemned Witch.

None came.

It was a sign…it told him that he would not die at the hand of Satan. There was a much grander plan at work, and his time had not yet come. There was still far too much for him to do on this earth.

Even as the ringing in his ears began to subside, he heard the sirens in the distance, punching sharp holes in the still clamoring music from above-and they were growing closer with every heartbeat.