They came up out of the cracks and craters, crawling and creeping, on two legs and four, swarming across the dead ground towards us. They were all around us, running and leaping, wave after wave of them, seething like maggots in an open wound. I didn’t know if they originated in this place, or came here from somewhere else, but the nature of this place had got to them. They looked like they were aspiring to be human, but falling short. They looked rough, unfinished, the details of their bodies blurred or corrupted or missing. They didn’t even have faces, just phosphorescent, rotting eyes and sharp-toothed circular mouths, like lampreys.

They surged forward from every side, and there seemed no end to their numbers. I subvocalised my activating Words, but nothing happened. I tried them again, but my armour didn’t respond. I looked at the Sarjeant-at-Arms, and the shock in his face told me all I needed to know. He made grasping motions with his hands, trying to summon the guns that came to him by right, and nothing happened. Molly raised her arms in the stance of summoning, and then looked at me blankly as nothing happened.

“It’s this place,” said Subway Sue. “Complicated magics can’t work here. Or complicated sciences. The disintegrating laws of reality can’t support them. That’s why so many major players never made it out of here. We’re helpless. Defenceless.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Giles Deathstalker. He swept his long sword back and forth before him. “A strong right arm, a good blade, and a forthright heart always work.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Stab, his long blade suddenly in his hand.

Molly reached down into the tops of her boots and pulled out two slender silver blades. “Arthames,” she said crisply. “Witch daggers. I mostly use them for ceremonial work, but they’re no less sharp and nasty for that.”

She handed one to me. It felt surprisingly heavy for such a delicate-looking thing. The Sarjeant-at-Arms pulled a long blade with jagged edges out of his sleeve.

“Albanian punch dagger,” he said. “Always a good idea to have a little surprise in reserve. For when you absolutely have to kill every living thing that annoys you.”

“Knives won’t work,” said Subway Sue hollowly. “Swords won’t work. There’s just too many of them. We’re all going to die here. Like everybody else.”

“I think this place is getting to you,” said Molly. “Stay behind me and you’ll be fine.”

“Numbers are never any guarantee of success,” said Giles. “Any trained soldier knows that. Stand your ground, make every blow count, remember your training, and you’ll be fine. A trained soldier with a blade is a match for any number of unarmed rabble.”