All these orders being shouted in Parry's face. "We need to find a car!" "Out the back!" "Move!" 

By all the stars in the sky, had he joined the army by giving Augustus that Isis charm? If that was the case, he'd never loan anyone any jewelry ever again. Rockets and bullets peppering his front door was way too fucking big a price to pay for lending a third rate wizard a beaded strip of leather smeared in ancient alligator's blood. To be completely fair, he had been meaning to get rid of the fugly thing, but the arrival of the ancient Egyptian death god had kind of put a damper on that plan.

Even as he slid the phones back into his diaper bag, peaking his head back through the kitchen doorway, he had to wonder just what in the hell Nemsemet's game was. It was absurdly strange- the guy/gal/thing simultaneously respected the rule of "Thou shalt not involve the humans" (if anyone had violated that rule, it was definitely the motly band in his home). But at the same time, this kind of attack was an escalation beyond the norm. Vampires and werewolves might pop each other with pistols now and then, but missile launchers and AK-47 rifles was a step above something that could be written off as a drive-by shooting. And no manner of enchantment could hide the fact that this place was being lit up like a post-Soviet war zone. The holes in the building's front couldn't be explained away as a gas leak like most sorcerous fireballs were these days.

Nemsemet either didn't know about the human 5-0, or he didn't care that a SWAT team was inbound in the next 600 seconds to waste what was left of his minions.

[i]My money is on the whole 'Why should I care about the puny mortals' side of it. If I were an ancient Egyptian asshole who believed I was a god incarnate, I'd definitely not give two fucks.[/i]

Parry gave his front room one last longing glance- the rocking horses in pieces, the hand-made doll house on fire, the diaper pail burning like a hobo's trash can. That settled it- if they weren't all shot, then they'd die from smoke and toxic gas inhalation. He briefly considered running out through the living area, up the stairs and into the bedroom to retrieve his iron sword from the floorboards in his bedroom.

That plan was nipped in the bud as another rocket was launched from across the street into the bedroom up above the kitchen. The ceiling actually split open, raining plaster and floorboards down on everyone in the kitchen, and Parry was forced down to the ground by the concussion.

[i]Again with the ringing ears. If I need to get a hearing aid after all this, I will fucking murder someone.[/i]

Parry felt rather than heard the clatter of iron against the tile floor in front of him. When he opened his eyes, the dinged up iron short sword was lying inches from his grasp, his sooty fingers reached out and grasped the hilt, and he quickly stuffed it inside the diaper bag.

"This isn't an official favor," he said to the ruined ceiling. "Just incredibly good luck."

In response to which, whatever karmic force had planted his weapon within his grasp, decided that canopy fuckbed Parry so loved should start leaning over the ruined floorboards and prepare to take a swan dive into the kitchen. 

"Leaving. Leaving now!" Parry shrieked, rolling to his knees and running through the slick gore covered back door. A thunderous [i][b]CRASH[/b][/i] announced the arrival of his ornate bed into the kitchen.

Parry didn't have time to catch where Tony, the Demon and everyone else went. He was too busy running as fast as he could toward Flint's car and did a Home-plate slide right into the back seat. Beth and Flint filed in and the car roared to life as he sat upright behind the driver's seat, shrieking "Time to leave, guys!"