For a moment, everything was perfect.  Who had saved the day?  None other than the Margrave himself.  As much as he might crave it, he knew that his name would never be cast in golden and bathed in shining lights, but the idea of a few people's gratitude toward the unknown hero who saved them...would be enough.  Plus, maybe one of the other Wards would throw him a bone.  Saving the day wasn't something your average goof could achieve, after all.  At least Sonar could stoop low enough to slap him on the back in thanks.

Alas, as they always did whenever the possibility of a happy ending arose, along came a shower of misfortune to snatch the tragic-hero back into reality.   Margrave wheeled to watch the owner of an ominous voice as it resounded through the assembly of Wards and hostages.  He stood stock-still, frozen in a dramatically smug pose, while the man stood to his full height and man, if his head wasn't in a bag, it would be in the clouds.  Whether or not Elliot's thought about weather was sheer coincidence, a thunderclap then cannoned into him, its pressure wave rattling his bones whilst its sound wave rattled his ears.  When Elliot's senses returned to him a moment later, he discovered to his tremendous surprise -that is to say of course, tremendously well masked beneath a veneer of collected disinterest- an aztec death god standing in the heighty dude's place.  

Without even a word of encouragement from Elliot, the figure whom to people other than Elliot would have been intimidating seized Sonar by the scalp and mercilessly walloped the pavement with his face.  The boy's helmet fractured instantly, and Elliot soberly suspected that it wasn't the only thing.  On second thought, this fellow was no joking matter.  Grinding his teeth, the toymaker reached into his jacket and requisitioned the toy gun he'd whipped out earlier.  In his hand it grew into a full-size MAC-10 uzi, but as the barrel veered the death god's way, another thunderclap shook the area.  By the time the storm in Elliot's head cleared, the dirtbag had predictably vanished.  Helpless, Elliot lowered his weapon, and took his finger off the trigger.  His earpiece crackled to life, and he heard Alessa demanding a report.  This time, Elliot chose to waste no time with a heavy sigh.  [color=8F9779]”Sonar is down.  Death god did him in.  I'm calling 9-1-1.”[/color]  Since he didn't have a phone, however, he scanned the area for the nearest bystander and bellowed, [color=8F9779]”Somebody call 9-1-1!  Kid's hurt over here!”[/color]  He also attempted to get through to Decoy.  Perhaps the Protectorate could do more for Sonar than the city's paramedics.