Malcom Reynolds awoke face down in the gravel. Half paralyzed with pain and grief, he slowly rose to his feet, coughing.

'That taste' he thought. 'That taste... iron... blood. I'm bleeding on the inside. I wonder how much longer it is until they come for us. God help us.'

He staggered to the edge of the barren cliff, where he beheld again the home, the hell, that his mind would never leave. The lost Serenity valley. The stench of rotting flesh filled his nostrils as he looked over the ruined vista. He staggered towards the cave that what was left of his men had holed up in, passing the dead bodies of friends, of comrades, of brothers...

A groan caught his ear, he turned about to find an alliance soldier spread eagle on the ground, barely conscious, his broken femur protruding from his leg. Mal approached the soldier, and fell to his knees next to the soldier.

"God!? When the hell was he ever with us," he screamed hoarsely. "Too busy helping you bastards slit our throats!"

'He left us,' he thought. 'No, he was never there to begin with...'

"It's war..." murmered the soldier. "People kill, people die..."

"NI TA MA DE!! TIANXIA SOUYOUDE RUN DOU GAI SI!!"

Mal ripped the golden cross from his neck, and drove the longer portion into the soldier's jugular. He let the blood flow onto his hands for a moment before twisting the cross and removing it. He rose to his feet, the adrenaline bolstering him, the cold rush of vengeance awakening him fully. He headed back to the cave, he needed to check on his men. He was clutching his cross so hard it dug into his hands, blood was seeping between his fingers. With a grunt of frustration, he cast the cross to the side, and headed into the cave without looking back.

The battered sargeant surveyed his remaining men, barely alive themselves. The rush of killing the soldier gave way to a sick feeling in his stomach. It didn't matter. Nothing would bring his fallen allies back, half the people in this cave wouldn't survive.

He turned ar