Rossi was terrified.

This should not be happening.

These things were not coming at him.

They did not exist.

Dresden was not a wizard.

Except, it was. They were. They did. He was.

All of these thoughts were rushing through his head as he fought to stay balanced. To stay calm and strong in the face of these monsters.

Wait. Monsters? Really? These things were terrifying and strange and almost certainly lethal. But they were not monsters.

Monsters were what he fought to catch everyday. Monsters hid under the guise of men, and scarred all who they came across. They weilded their twisted psyche's like sharp, serated knives. Cutting down all who opposed them.

Monsters killed children for the fun of it.

Monsters took his friends so that he could pay.

Monsters broke families apart and tore down anything and everything that someone had loved.

These things were not monsters.

And if Rossi could handle true monsters, then these guys shouldn't be all that hard to deal with.

Eyes hard and stance tight, Rossi raised his gun and shot the two golems making their way towards Hotch, watching with a grim satisfaction as they hardened, shuddered, and crumbled to dust.

Hotch nodded a curt thanks and slammed his gun on the head of one of them. His eyes widened a fraction and Rossi instinctively shot his elbow out. Feeling it connect with something, he spun around only to find a pile of dust at his feet.

"Lucky shot." he muttered.

Thomas came to stand between the two men, and with a sharp nod, the group made it's way through the field, looking for all the world like they'd been fighting together for ages.

They formed a tight triangle constantly watching each others backs. Hotch fought like a man who could NOT die, and despite every scratch, every bruise, every cracked rib, he didn't stop. And anyone could tell by looking at him that he wasn't planning on doing that anytime soon.

Rossi was erratic and still very unsettled, but he wasn't thinking about it. The only thing he was thinking about was the bodies around him, the enemies and the friendlies. The gun in his hands, and the fact that EVERY blow needed to be the fatal one, because he probably wouldn't get another shot.

Thomas fought as he always did; with an air of confidence and a feral grin that Rossi and Hotch were trying hard not to notice. They would ask him about the impossible speed and strength when he didn't look so... so much like the people that they put away.

Morgan's foot cracked down hard on one's foot. He smashed his elbow into what would've been anothers nose. The hilt of the machete that that Thomas guy had given him slammed into another one's chest. He reached over his shoulder, grabbed the arm of one and flipped it over him, then dug his heel into where it's throat would've been.

Aggression was no stranger to Morgan. Neither was violence. Growing up where he had, and how he had, meant that Morgan's rage bubbled easily to the surface, and honestly, he was kinda freaking Molly out.

He'd gotten into the fighting a little too quickly for her liking, but that was okay, she could work with that.

Figuring that a veil wasn't going to do her all that much good just then, Molly took out the small dagger that her father had given her and slipped next to Morgan.

"Kid, you should get outta here."

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much." she shot back.

"I'd rather not have your death on my hands."

"OMG! I feel the same way!"

"Look, this isn't a gam-"

"How many magic fights have you been in? Granted, I haven't been in that many either. But I've been in more than you, and maybe if you had an oppurtunity to pay attention, you would see that I've got as much dust blowing in my face as you. "

They didn't talk after that. They just fought, hard.

When Prentiss took out the sword, everything else kind of faded away. The blade felt like an extension of her arm. The only thing that she really registered was that Murphy was fighting with a sword too.

There was a cirlce of ground that the golems were hesitant to step into. It was a near perfect ring of gray dust, swirling through the air aided by two shining, swinging swords bright with light. The women weilding them practically glowed with power, fighting for what they loved, fighting for something they cared about, fighting for something beyond themselves.

They were not angles.

They were not warriors.

But they were strong, and they would fight until the ones they loved were safe.

And that was all there was to it.

Reid felt terrible leaving his friends like that.

Leaving them to bear the brunt of the conflict felt shallow and terrible, but at the same time, there was a part of her that understood why this was necessary.

Didn't mean he had to like it.

Not that he, Dresden, and the dog weren't seeing any action. A few straggling golems had been left to gaurd the warehouse that Richard was holed up in.

Fireballs, teeth, and a few well aimed gunshot had taken care of them without much difficulty, and now, according to Dresden, came the hard part.

"I need you to talk to him. To distract him while I dismantle the spell. It's not anything difficult, so it shouldn't take to long to break apart."

"And when you're done with that, will the golems disappear?"

"Yeah, they will."

Reid was silent for a minute, and Harry knew that there was something on his mind.

"Do you think they'll be ok?" he asked.

"Yeah. I do actually." and Reid was pretty sure that he wasn't lying. Only pretty sure, because the good doctor had never gotten a chance to profile a 'wizard' before.

The warehouse stood gaunt and derelect against and ever darkening sky. The wind had grown cold, and when they reached the tall, rotting wooden doors of the building, the first, fat, heavy drops of rain were beginning to fall.

They slipped through the halfway open doors as quietly as possible. A part a Dresden knew that stealth wasn't going to do them much good at this point, but any advantage that they could get would be worth it.

They could see the man who must've been Richard, his back to them, sitting in a straightbacked chair and chanting slowly over a faintly glowing pit.

Reid raised his gun, and, at a nod from Harry, slowly began to move forward.

"Richard Roebin, my name is Spencer Reid, and you are under arrest."

"Ahhhh." came the soft reply. "The worm that tricked me. How nice to see you again, and in the flesh too! What an occasion." He let out a deep, unsettling chuckle that sent Reid's neves on edge.

"Mr. Roebin, I need you to step away from the pit and come towards me-" Without any warning, without flair, without any comment at all, The King plunged a dagger into his heart, and ended his life.