Nightside 06 - Sharper Than a Serpents Tooth

started the War without me. I peered around me, trying to make out landmarks or details through the thick drifting smoke, while various combatants ran back and forth, screaming garbled war cries. After a while, I realised I was back in Uptown, in the heart of Clubland. Or at least, what was left of it. Half of it was already demolished, and there was a firestorm raging at the end of the street. Several of the buildings were burning hotter and brighter than any earthly flames should. Dark figures came and went in the smoke, and only some of them were human. Winged shapes soared by overhead, flapping huge membraneous wings, and none of them were angels.
    Some people were trying to help. Staff from the various clubs sprayed the roaring flames with fire extinguishers that probably hadn't been tested in years. Magics sparked and flared on the grimy air, and a water elemental burst up out of several manholes to drench those buildings closest to it. A group of Christian Commandos chanted a blessing over a fire hose, and used the high-pressure holy water as a weapon against the more sorcerous blazes. Stone golems strode unflinchingly into burning buildings past saving, and pulled them down, using the weight of the rubble to smother the flames. Sometimes the golems came out again, and sometimes they didn't. All around me, famous clubs with old and honoured names were already gone, reduced to cinders and blackened frames.
    A large group of naked men and women, armed with axes and knives and machetes, their ungainly bodies daubed with blood and woad and ashes, came stalking down the ruined street like they owned it. They struck out at everyone they passed, and carried severed heads on poles, all the while howling praises to their god Lugh, and the glories of destruction. They all had mad, happy eyes and broad smiles. Yet many of them were still wearing wristwatches, which was a bit of a give-away that they weren't quite as primitive as they were affecting. Well, I thought, I've got to start somewhere.
    I rose from behind the dead ambulance and strode forward to confront the mob. They stumbled to a ragged halt, almost falling over each other. I got the impression it had been some time since anyone had done anything but take one look at them and run away screaming. Their leader fixed me with his best mad stare, and started screaming something nasty about blasphemers, and I walked right up to him and kicked him square in the balls. I put a lot of strength and all my displeasure at what had happened into that kick, and it actually lifted him a few inches into the air before dropping him to his knees. His eyes got very big, and though his mouth was working, not a sound came out of it. He looked like he'd be pretty busy for some time, trying to get some or indeed any air back into his lungs, so I turned my attention to the crowd before me. They looked at their fallen leader, then back at me, and some actually started to shuffle their feet guiltily.
    "I am John Taylor," I announced loudly, giving them my best disturbing smile. The people at the front of the mob immediately tried to press backwards, away from me, but the ones behind them were having none of it. There was a certain amount of undignified scuffling. I raised my voice again. "Whatever you've been doing, it stops, right here and now. I have work for you."
    "And what if we don't feel like working for you?" said a voice from somewhere at the back of the crowd. "You can't kick us all in the balls."
    "Right," said someone else. "We can take him! He's only one man!"
    I had to smile. I love it when they say things like that. "You may have heard about this little trick I do," I said. "Where I take the bullets out of guns."
    Some of the mob began to stand a little straighter. Axes and machetes and knives were brandished.
    "Guns?" said a woman, who would definitely have looked a lot better with her clothes on. "We don't need no stinking guns!"
    I could feel my smile broadening. "I've been working on a new variation," I said.
    I snapped my fingers, and all the fillings disappeared from their teeth. Along with all crowns, caps, bridges, and veneers. There were a great many howls of muted pain, an awful lot of clapping of hands to mouths, and suddenly everyone in the mob looked a whole lot less crazy and entirely willing to listen to whatever I had to say.
    "Any more words of dissent," I said, "and I will show you another variation, that involves your lungs and a whole bunch of