The leader ignored the implication in Mallory’s words — denial or acceptance, Mallory wasn’t sure which. ‘He was the one who saved us, not the other four. When he comes back to us, he’ll lead us out of this mess we’re in.’

‘He’s dead,’ Mallory said. ‘He’s not coming back — or so the stories say.’

‘The stories are wrong! No one’s seen a body! He showed us how to act, how to survive — you do what you have to. And that’s what we’re doing.’

‘Just get his sword and have done with it,’ another gang member prompted.

Mallory gripped the hilt of his weapon more tightly, though he had no idea what he could do against a shotgun and fifteen brutes armed with knives, razors and clubs. ‘You know, this isn’t just any sword,’ he said. Mallory turned the blade so that they could see the faint blue glow emanating from the steel itself and the dragons carved into the handle. ‘It comes from the Otherworld-’

The leader hesitated; the others grew uneasy. Sensing that he had them, Mallory continued quickly, remembering the words of the god who had given it to him. ‘It’s one of the three great swords. The first is the sword of Nuada Airgetlamh — you know that one, right?’ Mallory didn’t even know it himself, but his confidence convinced the leader to nod. ‘The second is lost, believed corrupted. We won’t be seeing that one again. But this one… this is Llyrwyn. And, well, basically, mate, you don’t stand a chance.’

Mallory wished he was telling the truth, but while the sword endowed him with a degree of prowess, it certainly wasn’t powerful enough to take out the whole group. The gang had grown edgy — like most people since the Fall, they had quickly learned to assimilate the supernatural and the terrible dangers that surrounded it — but Mallory knew it would only be a matter of time before they tested his bragging. He braced himself, ready at least to take off the leader’s smirking head; a small spot of joy before he died.