Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Phoenix
The bayou doesn’t whisper, it warns. Branches claw at us as we weave deeper, the path disappearing behind our wheels. There’s no map for this place, just instinct and MV’s last coordinates, barely a breadcrumb trail through the swamp’s throat.
We ride single file. Poison leads. I’m second. Ghost is behind me. I feel him like a shadow stitched to my spine. His bike’s hum is different than ours, lower and heavier, but it’s steady. So is he.
The further we go, the quieter it gets. No birds. No frogs. Not even the buzz of mosquitoes. It’s the kind of quiet that makes your teeth itch. Like the land is holding its breath. Like it knows what we’re about to do.
The spiral under my skin hasn’t stopped burning since we crossed the waterline. It pulses with each mile, in sync with something I can’t see. Every beat is a countdown. Every breath tastes like ash and wet earth.
Gypsy holds up a fist. We stop. She scans the thick green, eyes darting like she’s reading invisible code. Poison doesn’t ask questions, she trusts her. We all do.
I kill my engine, listening. Nothing. Still nothing. Then there’s a soft snap. Not far away from us. The brush shifts, but not from the wind.
Ghost’s hand is on his gun. Mine’s already on my blade.
Scissors whispers, “Movement. Left flank.”
Wendigo disappears into the dark before anyone can give the order.
Then it happens. A guttural, human but wrong scream rips through the trees. We don’t wait. The MC moves like a single beast. I’m sprinting, boots slapping mud, blade in one hand, Glock in the other.
We break into a clearing. Wendigo’s wrestling something half-human. It’s all bone and speed, robed in black, face painted like a skull, and eyes shining like oil.
I shoot, and it drops. Wendigo wipes blood from her mouth and grins. “Found the perimeter.”
More figures emerge. Masked, armed, and chanting under their breath, “She carries the echo… Scarlett…she carries the echo…” like they’re not afraid of bullets, but they should be.
My steps falter, and my blood turns ice cold when I hear what they’re saying. After a few beats, I shake it off and continue on the path of destruction. The Hollow Sons think we’re scared of cults and shadows. They forgot who we are.
Non Cras doesn’t break. We burn.
Poison roars, “Push forward!”
We crash through them like fire through dry brush. Ghost is beside me, shooting clean and fast. He doesn’t flinch when the first one lunges for him. Just pulls the trigger and keeps moving.
“Phoenix, on your left!” Viper calls.
I pivot and stab low. My blade sinks into the bastard’s ribs, twisting as I pull back. Blood steams in the humid air.
Then I see it. The Sanctum.
An old chapel rotted and leaning, half-swallowed by vines. Symbols carved into the wood glow faintly, pulsing like veins. The spiral burns hot enough to make me stumble.
MV wasn’t lying.
Ghost steadies me with a hand at my waist. “Is that it?”
I nod. “That’s the root.”
We breach the doors together. Poison, Scissors, Wendigo, all of us moving as one. Inside, candles burn in circles. Symbols mark the floor. Fresh blood pools at the altar.
And Vale stands at the center. Calm. Waiting. His eyes land on me, and he smiles like he’s greeting an old lover.
“You made it,” he says.
My grip tightens on my Glock. “End of the line.”
Vale laughs. “No, Phoenix. This is the beginning.” He moves fast.
I fire and he’s gone.
Smoke fills my nose. Shadows invade my vision. Screams fill my ears behind me as the Hollow Sons pour in.
The room becomes chaotic, but I keep moving, chasing the spiral. Chasing Vale.
He reappears behind the altar. “You were born for this,” he hisses. “You and the key.”
Ghost appears at my side, breathing hard. “You’ll die before you lay a hand on her.”
Vale raises a hand, and Ghost flies back, hitting a pew so hard it splinters.
I scream his name, lunging. My blade buries in Vale’s side.
He grabs me, whispering something in a language I don’t understand.
The spiral flares so bright, like fire under my skin, like a scream I can’t let out.
Everything turns white. I’m not in the chapel anymore.
I’m underwater. No, not water. Smoke. A memory.
A girl screams. It’s me. A different me. Younger. Covered in blood that’s not mine. A man with tattoos, a patch, and eyes wide with betrayal falls. Another version of me walks over him like he’s dust.
Then Ghost appears. He’s not bleeding. Not broken. Just… gone. The spiral pulses in my chest, whispering things I don’t want to understand. “You were made for this.”
I open my mouth to scream, and the white swallows me whole.
Then silence.
I open my eyes and blink. Vale is gone. The spiral against my chest is cold. Why? What does that mean? The comfort the heat gave me, chills against my skin.
Ghost groans. I run to him, helping him sit up. “You okay?”
He nods. “You?”
I swallow hard, running my hands over his body, checking for cuts or wounds. When I don’t see any, I help Ghost to his feet.
I don’t answer, not because I’m not okay, but because I don’t know what the hell I’d say.
Poison shouts, “We’re clear!”
The Sanctum is burning. Someone lit it. Maybe Tabs. Maybe Gypsy. It doesn’t matter.
I help Ghost outside as the chapel collapses behind us. Smoke rises into the trees, black and bitter.
The Hollow Sons are dead or scattered. But the spiral? It’s still there, under my skin, waiting for another opportunity. I can feel it deep in my soul.
Tonight, we won a battle. We burned their altar. Now we bury what’s left. Then we find what comes next.