Novels2Search
Asylum in Firelight: Burning Cinder Book III (#3)
9.8 Heroes Are Forged Of Gold, Blood, And Glass

9.8 Heroes Are Forged Of Gold, Blood, And Glass

One in the afternoon, Dylan waited on the third floor of the Arkansas State Capitol with the skeleton crew. Aware of the demands of his role, he maintained focus while Lil’ Trip called out updates, “Thomas coming up Capitol Avenue, and Beck’s on Battery Street. They’re meeting on the lawn.”

Ross hissed, “How many they got?”

Lil’ Trip muttered, “Shit.”

Was that a bad sign?

Unable to take it anymore, Dylan rushed over to a window. “Shit.”

Dozens of Icari chased their two best urban ninjas through the streets. Many of them fluttered above, ducking and swooping to snatch them. Lil’ Trip breathed, “They’re not gonna make it.”

The hell they weren’t.

Dylan slid down the nearest banister to the second floor. He grabbed an amp he stored for Jack’s Story Circle and hurried out to the balcony. Picking up on his idea, Ross collected an extension cord and a transmitter.

Lil’ Trip shouted to them through the marble complex, “Hurry!”

The mic screeched over the speaker, and Ross quickly switched inputs with an apologetic, “Oops.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Mic in hand, Dylan suddenly ran out of things to say. As an introvert, he hated public speaking, but this was not the time to freeze up. Only one thing came to mind. Oh, why this thing?

The opening lines of Bohemian Rhapsody poured from his mouth.

Ross’ jaw dropped to the floor. Her green eyes sparkled with… horror? Humor? Both?

The words left him easier. Especially once Lil’ Trip cried, “It’s working!”

He was right. The horde of Icari chasing their friends, frustrated with their unsuccessful attempts to catch them, turned to the Capitol. They flooded through the open entryway before Dylan needed to sing the harmonic section. Thank god.

He tossed the mic, took Ross’ hand, and ran back up the stairs. He did not want to miss this.

The Icari gathered within the first floor of the rotunda. Hissing and snarling. Starved as most of the population of Arkansas traveled across the country for Volcano Day. Why didn’t they leave the rotunda? Well…

Sixty-three people stopped them with gold. They hid behind the detached gold doors from the entryway not only as shields but also to prevent the Icari from escaping.

“Bombs away, motherfuckers!”

Dylan, Ross, and Lil-Trip dropped pipe bombs into the open space with five-second fuses. Enough time for the three of them to haul ass into a courtroom. Four. Five.

The explosion rattled the columns, and tiny ricochet clinking sounds echoed within the dome. Cheers erupted then. They broke out of shelter and peered over the banister. Thirty or more Icari laid dead, pulverized by gold shrapnel the group collected from the surrounding area.

“Hell yea!” Ross shouted and demanded a high five.

He submitted with a grin.

Lil’ Trip sighed and leaned against a pillar. “Let’s not do that again.”

Dylan turned back to the pile of bombs and smiled. Enough for ninety more.