Chapter 18 #4
Cyrus turned, blowing her a kiss. "Don’t worry, doll.
We’ll get out of here together, and I’ll give you a foot rub.
" His tone wasn’t convincing. The first midlevel Rogue to break through the fog dropped immediately with a squeal.
Cyrus shuddered as red glimmered around him, painting him neon.
"That tastes like fucking slime." He gagged, but didn’t stop as two lowlevels thundered forward. They dropped, too.
Auren was a blur as he slashed his scythe through the Rogues, cutting down one after the other.
And Vesperin was not helpless. Her awakened Stella answered her terror, surging forward in a sparkling blue light, sweeping out in an arc, as it cut down five Rogues at once.
She wavered, gasping for breath, as Rhyden held her up, one eye on Lucien—who was crafting a ladder of vines up the side of the broken house to reach Kit, who carefully pushed aside chunks of concrete as he worked his way free—and the Rogues.
Through the red misty fog, the ground shook as an upperlevel charged toward them. Its head swung back and forth, smoke curling from its nostrils as it huffed.
It was a hulking, monstrous thing. The very air trembled from the force of it—or maybe that was the growing heat, the Earth’s foundation unsettled as the core swelled and swelled in deep unrest.
She stumbled forward, sweeping out her hand. The blue light missed; her aim was weak. She did it again, feeling like her Stella was being drawn from a pit of nothing. Was this how drained Lucien felt? Yet still he gave. So could she.
With a desperate, ragged scream, Vesperin gave everything.
The light that burst from her was as brilliant as a geomagnetic storm.
Swirls of color, both blue and white. Stella and…
something else. Something she had seen before, in her village, when Atlas had raised his palm and shown her the dancing white light that tickled her skin when their fingertips met.
He was with her, even now.
The upperlevel Rogue burst into ash.
In the aftermath, Vesperin’s chest heaved. Her lashes stuck together when she blinked. Her vision grew cloudy. Her lower lip trembled as she reached up to wipe her eyes—only, her fingertips came away red. Blood.
She was on her knees, on the ground, and her palms sank into the dirt.
Auren fell by her side, lifting her chin.
"You are bleeding." He wiped his thumbs beneath her eyes, but more blood fell from them, like tears.
He reached for the edge of his cloak and ripped a strip of fabric away, using it to gently press beneath her eyes, until the blood was cleared and her tears were a soft pink.
"Lucien?" she rasped.
Cyrus and Rhyden helped her stand, and she leaned heavily into them both, bone-tired.
She found Lucien climbing up the side of his ladder of vines.
He did so with abandon—for her. Wariness pounded at her from all sides as they watched Kit like he was a ticking bomb.
Lucien only went to him, trying to help her, because she said he would not hurt them.
She could not help but wonder: what if she’d been wrong?
Vines shot from his arms, latching onto the broken structure as he climbed, desperate.
The house groaned beneath him. The air burned hotter.
A shadow shifted at her feet. A warning.
It was only her love for him that brought a sudden strength to her limbs as she stepped forward, her hand raised, fingertips stretching out, as she called, "Lucien, don’t—"
The side of the house collapsed, and time seemed to slow—just for her—as Lucien lost his footing and disappeared into the pit of her broken home.
She screamed, the sound raw and jagged.
She couldn’t see him—couldn’t see him. Couldn’t breathe.
Vesperin sobbed, already moving, stumbling forward. She dropped to her knees at the edge of the collapse, splintered wood and broken stone cut into her knees.
She didn’t believe it at first.
She felt the blood drain from her face. Her heart stuttered, tripping over itself.
Her jaw dropped open. Air whistled through her teeth. "No." She swallowed. Maybe if she said it louder, it would be true. "No. No. No, no, no."
She heard Rhyden curse.
A hand fell on her shoulder, trying to pull her to her feet. She didn’t want to move, afraid if she did, it would be real.
Too late. It already was.
There was a cough, blood spraying past his reddened lips.
Lucien was on the ground, his body twisted at an unnatural angle. There was a jagged piece of metal—from the ship, a distant part of her mind realized, latching onto that thought, as if it could not bear her house being the thing to—
To…
Skewer him.
It had pierced cleanly, brutally through his chest, emerging from his front and anchoring him to the shattered foundation beneath him.
Blood soaked everything.
She stared at the morbidly clean protrusion. Metal jutted up from his chest—like a spire.
His lips parted as another wet, bubbling cough escaped him, crimson trails spilling down his chin.
His glasses. He didn’t have his glasses. He needed them to see. He couldn’t see without his glasses.
Vesperin nodded, on a mission, as she pushed herself to a stand and stumbled closer.
"You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay," she repeated, refusing to look at him. She tripped over stone and more metal—metal like the one that—
No.
Her eyes scoured the ground, looking for the glint of lenses scattered somewhere.
She was mumbling under her breath. Her brain felt overstuffed. The blue racing light beneath her skin was so bright she couldn’t look down at it without her eyes watering.
"Vesperin… Vesperin."
Hands grabbed her shoulders, making her turn. Auren was looking down at her, lips a thin line of worry. His fingers shook as he held her steady. "Vesperin," he said again, "what are you doing?"
"Lucien needs his glasses." Her jaw trembled. "He can’t—he needs t-them—and…" Her eyes slid past Auren’s, unbidden. Blood. There was so much of it. A strangled, gasping wail broke free from her lips, punched out of her in a ghastly, near animalistic sound.
She didn’t feel real.
She gave a sob. "Auren, I think that—that he needs… help. We have to help him. Please, help him. He—needs—needs a doctor."
Lucien coughed again. She dropped to her knees by his side, her hands hovering over his chest. "Oh—" she gasped. She was afraid to touch him.
His eyes found hers. He was still him. Still Lucien. Even as more blood spilled past his lips as they parted, even as red spilled from around the edge of the metal in his chest. It was too much. He was bleeding too much. He was so pale.
"Lucien," she sobbed. "Lucien, please."
She could barely see him through her tears. Cyrus knelt on her other side. Auren crouched, expression grim. No, no—she wouldn’t believe it.
"He needs a doctor!" Vesperin met their eyes, pleading, begging. She’d rip her heart out—if it meant he would be saved.
Cyrus touched her shoulder, head bowed. "Ves…" Whatever else he had been going to say was swallowed by the red fog.
A soft, cold hand touched hers, and her head jerked down.
Lucien’s hand covered her own on her lap.
His throat worked, lips trembling as he tried to speak.
"Vesperin… my V girl," Lucien said. His voice was so, so faint. More blood splattered past his lips.
She took his hand in both her own, squeezing tightly. His fingers were so cold. The metal piece was obscene where it stuck out of his chest.
"We can fix this. We can. You will be okay, Lucien. Help me get him up," she managed shakily, not looking at Cyrus or Auren.
Lucien returned her grip, faint and weak. She looked down at their joined hands—his was so large. He always kept her safe.
"Hey," Lucien rasped. "It is okay…"
"I’m here, I’m here—I have you now." Her vision blurred.
She stared at his chest, and Lucien made a choked sound. "Vesperin, don’t look. Don’t look—please—"
"Okay, I won’t look." Her voice wavered. He was protecting her, even now.
Behind her, she heard a low, muffled shout.
Kit had arrived. His right arm was held at an odd angle, dangling limply at his side.
His left hand was tucked against his side.
Though he wore his black suit, she saw the sleek, tight material at his ribs was wet, darker.
He made no sound of pain, even as Rhyden pressed the muzzle of his gun to Kit’s forehead.
Kit wavered. Sparks fizzled around the joint of his useless right arm. He stared at Vesperin, then his brown eyes slid past her—to Lucien. He drew in a sharp, ragged breath. And when he exhaled, he shook his head in denial.
"I will not hurt her," Kit said. "I will never hurt her—again."
Rhyden studied him, then dropped his arm, but didn’t holster his gun. His voice was deep with emotion as he spat, "Fucking watch yourself. If I see one thing I don’t like—I’ll blow a hole through your goddamned head."
"I will beg you to." Kit stumbled forward. He dropped to his knees an arm’s length from her and Lucien. His right arm was utterly useless, and this close, she saw small pieces of crushed metal sticking through holes in the suit. The prosthetic sparked. "Lucien," he said slowly.
Lucien rolled his head to the side, speaking with effort. His eyes were half-lidded, the green dull. "Kit—Kiton, I see you finally… came to your senses." Lucien tried to smile, but the blood on his teeth made it look tragic.
Rhyden knelt behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his chest firm against her back, protecting her.
Through the rubble and blood, she saw hints of chipped paint and familiar, splintered furniture. They were standing amid the half-caved-in remnants of her childhood room, the same place where everything had changed.
Atlas—he had known this was going to happen. "Why?" she whispered, eyes unseeing.
"I saw this," Lucien murmured weakly, drawing their attention.
They all stared at him.
Vesperin was the only one who still foolishly hoped he could be saved. This was what faith had gotten her: agony.
Why had she believed?