44

Tiv

Wednesday 30th September, Year 828

We drew straws and I managed to get stuck with being the diversion, entering through the front door. Jonas rushed past me, his boots kicking up the heavy dust that shrouded the air. His strained grunts echoed through the halls as he dashed towards an assailant's shadow. Tala, her dark braid flying behind her like a whip, chased Kale like a shadow. I knew she took no pleasure from what we had to do.

The intelligence gathered from this base was minimal because the security was so high. All we knew for sure was that there were at least thirteen main members rarely all there at once; Marco said Father had a spy who had assured him they'd all be there that evening. We had them trapped.

Trying futilely to follow Kale, I was immediately thrown against a wall by a woman who didn't hesitate to snap my wrist back. She effortlessly wrestled my rifle from my grip. I had trained with that weapon for months. To have it wrenched away so effortlessly diminished me in ways I hadn't anticipated. She hurled the gun to another rebel who dashed off before snapping her hand towards my throat.

They’re trained fighters. Bloody perfect.

Reacting on instinct, I caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting it viciously before driving my fist into her stomach with enough force to make her double over. A second punch landed on her cheekbone, sending her crumpling to the floor.

Binding her arms behind her back, I brought my boot down on her head without pausing—knocking her out cold would perhaps keep Marco from killing her. He had been ruthless in his pursuit to destroy every group we came up against. He knew the stakes; his reputation within our group hinged on his success in Vakoso. He needed to prove himself capable of leading without Father's guidance.

The thick cloud of dust from our explosion obscured everything, making each step forward feel like navigating through fog. That was the plan—disorientate them. However, the place was a labyrinth; the building was so old there were no blueprints for it. Father's spy had mapped out what they could and we had created makeshift blueprints, yet to be in the middle of the concrete maze was something entirely different. I had tried to tell Marco we were not prepared—we did not even know who their leader was—yet he would not take no for an answer.

Emerging into what appeared to be an old library turned war room, maps and screens were strewn across tables amidst abandoned chairs. It offered little respite from the chaos unfolding just beyond the door. With her lithe frame and piercing azure gaze, Regan scanned the documents and monitors hastily for any advantage as Jonas barrelled into another combatant with bone-jarring force behind us.

"We can collect intelligence later!" I barked, seizing her arm.

"Alright," she muttered, sarcasm tinging her voice. "Just... don't let me die."

Rounding the corridor's bend, a man came into view, his face contorted with rage, hands lifted towards Jakori. The air around them shimmered with droplets of moisture that evaporated before they could settle on Jakori's parched and withered skin.

A familiar.

Before Regan and I could react further, lightning crackled down the corridor forcing us into a rough dive aside. Regan landed heavily on top of me as the acrid smell of burning flesh filled our nostrils.

What the fuck.

Two familiars, apparently.

"We aren't going to win this," I hissed at Regan, pulling us up. "Get out now."

Her head flashed between the entrance and the cloud of debris ahead of us and, completely ignoring me, sprinted into the chaos. I grunted, running forward after her as another lightning bolt flashed through the air. It barely struck my skin, catching my little finger yet still searing the skin and causing me to fall back to the ground, the feeling of being tasered flashed through my body. I was down for seconds before being forced to pull myself together. A man slammed a gun towards my face and, though it bounced off the balaclava, it felt like I'd been punched anyway. Despite his features stirring a flicker of memory within me, instinct overrode contemplation as my body reacted. My hand shot up, twisting his wrist back. The resulting crack of his bones broke through the uproar and his pained outcry filled the space as he dropped the firearm.

Yet the man was resilient; he pulled a knife from his belt, slashing the air in front of me wildly. I twisted away from most of his attacks however with the last slash of the knife, he sliced across my arm and shoulder, missing my armour and hitting the skin. Pain arced down to my arm as blood began dripping to my fingertips. In that fleeting moment when he extended too far; I circled behind him, securing my hold around his neck. A quick, harsh twist and another ominous snap. His body flopped to the ground. Another life ended. I clenched my jaw and did not even look down; there was no time for distractions. My gaze darted around. Regan was gone.

I crouched low to the ground, my eyes frantically scanning the dust-choked corridor. Jakori lay motionless just metres away; his body shrivelled, his eyes deeply sunken and bloodshot, his skin bone dry like withered cardboard. The familiar had drained him of all water. He was dead. I sucked in breath and held it, unable to exhale. All of my group that I could see had been disarmed and were fighting without weapons. Several had no masks on—Marco included.

From behind upturned furniture emerged another rebel barking commands—likely their leader. Yet my breathing stopped with the recognition that washed over me. He was the man that Ben had spoken to on the day I saw him at Thruck's Harbour.

What is going on?

I had blindly followed Marco's instructions; he told us we were in Droyed.

I picked up the handgun from the floor next to the man I'd murdered and closed in on their leader rapidly. My finger tensed against the trigger, yet a glimpse in my peripheral vision halted my action. Amelia, her face unmasked, was being dragged down one of the narrower corridors by another woman. Amelia's features were contorted with pain; she was horrendous in her bloodied state. I vaulted forward, yet before I could reach her, a broad-shouldered figure tackled me to the ground, unsuccessfully grabbing for my mask. Within seconds, Eddie pulled him off me as they clashed violently. Training made fighting seem graceful. This was not. This was a disorganised shamble of limbs, screaming and blood.

Doubt began to claw at my mind; we wouldn't win. It appeared that Marco had made the same observation as his voice thundering over the radio, "Retreat!"

It had taken us less than ten minutes to be routed.

Panic laced through my veins as I darted after Amelia and her captor. Passing the room Marco and the others had entered through another black cloud filled the air. This one was not of debris but of pure fear. Three familiars. They had three fucking familiars. This one was stopping us from retreating the way Marco's group came in.

I dashed quickly past the cloud of gloom to find the rebel woman had Amelia pressed into a dormitory corner, her gun poised. Knowing I could not shoot without risking Amelia, swiftly and silently, I crept up behind the woman, grabbing her arm and slamming her hard into the wall face first. Pinning her by the neck with one hand and hammering at her wrist with the other, I forced the weapon from her grasp. Amelia slid down the concrete and clawed herself away from us, barely conscious. With her free arm, the rebel woman flung her elbow relentlessly into my stomach, knocking the wind from me. I released her head to restrain her arm to which she immediately threw it backwards, trying to hit me in the face, yet missed.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

She was feral.

As my arm wrapped tightly around her throat every single nerve ending seemed to seize up, screaming in protest for me to stop. Ignoring the ludicrous impulse, I reached for my gun yet my hand met only empty air at my holster. A flare of alarm went off as I glanced down, but it was already too late—the sound of the gunshot rang out—searing pain exploded above my knee in the same leg I was shot in last time. The world pitched as I staggered back; blood already pooling beneath me.

The radical spun on the spot and aimed my gun directly at me. I recoiled as recognition detonated within my chest. Eyes impossibly wide, a reflexive gasp escaped my throat as I stumbled backwards into the wall—staring at Alayna Jameson.

It was her. Yet it looked nothing like her any longer. Starved. Her collarbone protruded under her taut skin, as did her cheekbones. Her dark auburn hair was cropped short and stuck out in different directions like brittle straw. That mischievous sparkle that once lit her eyes had vanished, replaced by deep, black loathing. Purple swallowed those sunken eyes and her nose bled from our violent collision with the wall. Every inch of her filthy arms were mottled by bite marks and other scars. My stomach lurched as I noted the tattoo of snowdrops and vines that wound itself up the bottom half of her left arm to cover the marks. A bloodied bandage was wrapped tightly around her tiny waist, highlighting her malnourishment. Nausea churned in me as I caught sight of my brown beads still circling her neck.

"Aly?" I croaked.

Her dead eyes narrowed as her finger squeezed the trigger.

A searing pain burst through my temple, knocking me off my feet. The balaclava's magic had done its job; I was still alive. Yet the force of the bullet against my skull was disorientating and my vision swam violently. I struggled to regain my bearings as the room spun violently.

Alayna Jameson has just shot me in the head.

Dazed, it took a moment for recollection to seep back—she couldn't see my face. I held up an unsteady palm in surrender as I clawed myself back to my feet using the wall for purchase.

"Ah that's clever," Alayna muttered with a raspy voice that scraped against my ears, eyeing the mask I wore covetously. "How do you know my name?"

Her features were hard. Cold. Coated in hatred. There was no beauty in her visage any longer.

"Who got out?" Marco's voice called from my radio in Lambentian.

"I'm out," Xander's voice crackled. "You're a stupid bastard, you know that?"

Marco didn't reply.

"We're out," Kale echoed. I almost sagged in relief. That meant Tal was safe too.

"I'll have that," Alayna snapped, nodding to the radio.

Rooted to the spot by shock and confusion, I could barely muster the will to breathe let alone act. Her response was to move the gun towards Amelia's crumpled form.

"If I have to ask again I'll paint the walls with her brains."

Numb fingers unclasped the radio and I held it out but as I did, it sounded again. Ice pooled and solidified in my stomach as Ben Jameson's voice seethed over the line.

"Demetrius says hello," his cadence was lethal as Demetrius’s screams echoed both through the concrete maze and over the radio.

Amelia began gasping on the floor beside us. More chilling than Ben's torture of our comrade, was the sneer that spread across Alayna's face at her brother's words. It chilled me so thoroughly, I feared I would never feel warmth again.

"Come back and let's play, little Hawes," Ben cooed malevolently as Demetrius screamed again.

A flicker of bewilderment widened Alayna's eyes as she heard the name and her face fell; then a surge of incredulity swept over her gaze as it darted from the radio to me.

"No." She shook her head like it may expel the word Hawes from her head.

"Little brother, where are you?" Marco barked in Lambentian, careful not to use my name.

I didn't dare reply. In fact, I did the only thing I figured might keep Amelia and I alive. Breathing deep, I removed the mask.

Alayna's face blanked for a single moment which felt like an eternity before her features slackened. Posture slumping, she dropped her arm to her side, the gun hanging limply by her leg.

"What have I done to your face?" she breathed, horror-stricken.

The pain in her cadence was visceral. I couldn't bear it. My feet pulled me towards her unbidden, however apparently so did hers. Alayna fell into me, burying her face into my chest and let out one long, muffled scream. I had no control over my reaction: I held her so tightly to me that I thought I might break her; she was skin and bones. With one arm wrapped around her tiny waist, I ran my hand through her cropped hair, pinning her head to me. She simply gasped in despair and with every gasp a part of me woke up. Or broke. Or died. Or all of it.

"You're alive," I choked. "I knew you were alive."

She gasped again, this time bringing words with it, "You're here."

"I'm here," I whispered softly.

Nothing more was said. It was like time had stopped. It was like time had never happened; I had never left. The hum of her under my skin was the same as it was years ago. I had forgotten where we were or what we were doing, so much so I did not anticipate or notice Amelia as she dived for us. Alayna did as she threw herself away from me however not before Amelia planted a knife deep into her calf.

"No!" I boomed.

Immediately, Alayna raised the gun again and pointed it at Amelia. Her jaw clenched, waning muscles in her forearm flexed like trembling steel cables.

"Alayna, stop," I commanded.

She shuddered as though the sound of my voice was a physical blow, her breath hitching in her chest. Yet her resolve solidified again as she shifted her aim to me, moved it an inch to the left and fired. Concrete sprayed over us as the bullet embedded itself in the wall behind me, leaving my right ear ringing with a high-pitched silence.

"If either of you move, I won't miss next time," she barked. "Now shut up and let me think!"

My eyes widened in disbelief as I stood paralysed. The realisation that Alayna would indeed pull the trigger with intent to kill me clawed at my mind. Me. Not a faceless man under a mask. Seconds flew by in silence as that notion bounced around in my skull, only interrupted by screaming in the distance.

Alayna was a statue of fierce concentration, lips quivering minutely as they shaped quiet words in rapid succession, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Maybe it'll be okay. Ben might let him go. I could talk to him—to Az—no that's stupid. Fuck. Right. Fuck. What do I do?"

It was hard not to postulate she had lost her mind as she muttered to herself.

Marco sliced through my concern as he tried the radio again and, with a sudden outburst, Alayna seized it from my limp grasp, dashing it against the floor where it shattered into silence. She spun on her heel towards the door and slammed it shut with such force that dust motes danced in the strained air. Methodically, she emptied my gun, pocketing the magazine with a swift movement before doing the same with Amelia's discarded weapon. Finally, she pulled one of the beds in the corner of the room revealing a grate in the floor.

"Go," she hissed. "The old sewer leads to the river."

I hesitated for just a breath—there was no time for delay—yet I wanted to delay. Nevertheless, I grasped Amelia by the arm despite her pained protestations, guiding her towards the grate. She resisted briefly, gripping onto my wrist with surprising strength given her state.

"Tiv, what's going on?" Amelia croaked desperately.

"I'll tell you later," I lied, shoving her unceremoniously through the grate.

Her string of colourful curses echoed up from below even as she vanished into darkness.

"I'm going to get the others," I shouted over her noise.

Alayna and Amelia voiced their protests simultaneously—Amelia's shrill shrieks clashed against Alayna's low hiss.

"They've escaped or they're already dead," Alayna barked plainly. "Go now or stay and die."

My jaw tightened. Already dead.

Knowing I should heed her warning, my feet refused to move. Refused to take me from in front of her. As if she could sense it, her arm twitched at her side as if to extend it. She didn't. Rather, she opened her mouth, words pouring as if restraining her arm was her last ounce of self-control.

"I'm sorry I shot. I-I panicked. I-" She caught herself and hardened again. "You need to go."

However as I stared into her too-wide blue eyes, my mind went blank once more. I forgot where I was, what she had done to me, what I was expected to do to her.

This woman wasn't my enemy.

"I've missed you," I said simply.

A ghost of a smile appeared on her mouth as I resisted the urge to bring my lips to hers.