76. Seth
Seth
“YOU’VE AWAKENED THE DAMNED KINGS OF HELL.”
The blade of my axe splits the bastard guard’s skull with a wet, meaty crunch. He doesn’t even get a scream out—just drops like a sack of meat, twitching as bone shards punch through his brain.
Next to me, Vincent cracks his fist into the second guard’s face. The man staggers, stunned. Vincent grabs his collar, yanks him forward, and snaps his neck with a clean, brutal twist.
We both crouch, grab their radios, and slide them into our belts. Static hisses in my ear.
“North sector, fire breach confirmed. All units reroute.”
Perfect. We’ll be gone by the time they get here. And Jude’s fire will take care of the rest.
The hallway is dim, concrete, and rusted metal. We descend an old cement staircase into something worse than a dungeon—a basement with maze-like tunnels that wind like veins under this goddamn hellhole.
Raphael is in front, silent but coiled tight like a bowstring. His knife is sheathed. His handgun stays at his side. But I know the second things get real, he’ll default to his bow. That’s when he’s himself. The predator. The killer. The angel of death, if we’re getting poetic about it.
I’m not.
I’m just pissed.
Can’t stop thinking about Briella. And Rory. My vision is bleeding redder by the second.
My grip tightens on my axe. The Prophet’s face is already clear in my head—sweaty, smug, holy-wicked. I don’t just want him dead. I want to take him apart, piece by piece, see how many bones it takes before he starts begging for mercy.
And then give him none.
I want to unleash the hell of my blades on his rotting carcass and leave it for the buzzards.
We take a sharp turn and freeze.
There—at the end of the hall—double metal doors. Heavy. Secure. Posted with two guards in full gear.
They raise their rifles.
Raphael and I move at the same time.
They fire.
The muzzle flashes light the hallway. Bullets scream past my shoulder. One ricochets off the wall, close enough that I feel the heat skim my ribs.
My axe sails forward and buries in one guard’s forehead. Blood splatters the wall like paint. An instant later, an arrow punches clean through the other’s throat. He drops to his knees, gurgling.
I sprint forward, yank my axe free, but the doors slam shut before I can jam a boot in.
Locked. Bolted shut.
Raphael’s already at the panel, yanking wires out like they personally offended him. He growls low, sharp. “They sealed it. Blast-grade. Jude—we need the grenade.”
“No.” Jude moves in with that terrifying calm. He drops to his knees beside the wall, pulls out a bottle from his pack, a cracked jar, bits of cord.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Improvising,” he mutters. “We need the last grenade. It’s our biggest leverage.”
He mixes something that smells like chemicals and death, then shoves a piece of soaked cloth into the bottle. A spark from the lighter, and the fuse begins to hiss.
“Down!” he shouts, and we duck as the door explodes inward with a small boom. Smoke floods the hall.
Okay, I won’t question the good doctor again. It’s easy to forget how he was in the military. War zones. Hot zones. Jude’s a regular ol’ MacGyver.
We charge through.
And then my blood ignites.
The Prophet stands at the center of the amphitheater—half altar, half stage—stun gun in hand. Briella screams as it hits her again. Her back is marked with red welts, her arms spread and bound, too weak to even lift her head.
“NO!” I roar.
Guards surround the Prophet. Others are wrestling Rory to the ground, his face bloodied, limbs thrashing. He gets one loose arm and elbows someone in the throat before they zap him, too.
And then we explode.
The crowd gasps. Some scream. Others run. But not all. Some stand. Armed.
They were waiting.
Raphael’s bow is up and drawn. His arrow points straight at Alden. “Let her go,” he says. His voice isn’t loud. It’s cold. “I will not command again.”
I’ve heard death sentences that sounded gentler.
But Alden? He just smiles. Slow. Creepy.
“No mercy will be shown,” Raphael says. “You’ve awakened the damned kings of hell.”
“And we are here,” I growl, lifting both axes, “to take back our Queen.”
Alden laughs. Slow. Long. Claps his hands like it’s all theater and we’re the main act.
“Excellent performance.” He smirks, tilting his head just slightly, like he’s studying a painting.
“I have to admit, I am not only impressed that you survived the drone, but I am pleased. It was a shame not to meet the rest of the men who brainwashed my bride.”
I stiffen, spine locked tight at the word.
“And now, here you are, charging in like heroes in a fable…or rats sniffing out poisoned cheese. How quaint.” He raises his chin, and—snap—he clicks his fingers.
Doors burst open on either side of the altar.
More guards pour in. Dozens.
The crowd parts, and men—dressed like civilians but armed—join the fray. Hidden acolytes.
My blood boils. I draw my second axe.
“Cover me,” I bark to Vincent. “I’m getting Rory.”
Chaos erupts. Gunfire. Screams. Raphael drops three guards before they even draw. Jude lights another Molotov and hurls it into the enemy line. Vincent lays into the acolytes with fists and his handgun.
And me? I cut down the center aisle like a creature unleashed. Blood sprays. Flesh pieces splatter.
I reach Rory first. One guard grabs his shirt—my axe hits him dead in the neck. Another swings at me—Rory lunges up and stabs him in the gut with a stolen combat knife.
We’re bloodied. Breathless. Alive.
And then I see him. The Prophet.
He’s unbinding Briella from the cross. She’s limp. Barely conscious. Her feet drag.
She tries to resist—her hand weakly claws at his coat—but she’s too far gone. And she can’t. Not with the limp.
“No—no!” I scream.
He carries her through a back door. Disappears into shadow.
I start to chase—but more guards drop close in on all sides. Vincent’s yelling something. Raphael is firing like a machine. He hasn’t even pulled the twin blades from their sheaths yet. Just as deadly. Jude throws himself over one of the acolytes, trying to go for the chemical bag.
I glance at Rory and gesture to the door where the Prophet took her.
He nods, his eyes like hot, blue blazes. “Let’s finish this.”
We fight side by side. Back to back. Covered in blood. Until the last of them is dead.
Then we run.
Into the night.
After her.