Chapter 52
Leo
The barrier was gone.
I was going to die.
There were too many. Too fast. Too brutal. They kept coming like waves in a storm—red and blue uniforms blurring together in a frenzy of blood and steel.
Slade and I fought back to back in the broken street outside the tower. Our blades moved on instinct, arms aching, breath burning—but still, we held the line.
For Elira.
For each other.
“Ashton’s pulled back,” Slade growled, panting. “Fucking coward’s letting them die for him.”
“Yeah,” I spat, “well, he might win anyway.”
A blast tore the ground beside us. I ducked just in time as Bomber charged another, grinning like a maniac.
Another hit and I was done.
But Slade moved faster—his metal arm gleamed as he hurled a jagged projectile straight into Bomber’s temple.
Crack.
Bomber dropped.
Dead.
But it wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
More came. Screaming. Firing. Charging.
And then—
The ground shuddered beneath our boots.
Not a quake.
A warning.
Everything stopped for a heartbeat—just one. Even the enemy hesitated, stumbling as the cobblestones lurched beneath them.
A fracture split the street open, wide and sudden. I fell to my knees, catching myself just as my opponents toppled, shrieking.
And then I saw it.
A shadow rose from the chasm. Enormous. Ancient. Coiled in power and fire.
Holy fucking hell.
A dragon.
Real. Writhing. Wreathed in shadow and light. It pulled itself free from the earth like it had been sleeping there for centuries—waiting for this moment.
And it roared.
Gods, it roared.
The sound tore through the sky, through the tower, through my bones.
And everything stopped.
Slade let out a shaky breath beside me. “Well,” he muttered, blood dripping down his jaw, “that’s new.”
I stared, heart pounding, not sure whether to cry or laugh.
It soared overhead, screeching—raw power and ancient pain ripping through the sky.
The Sentinels froze, staring up in disbelief as the dragon unleashed its wrath.
Shadowfire poured from its mouth in a wave of screaming black flame.
“Fuck!” I shouted, diving for the nearest door.
Slade vaulted over me to shield my body— but he didn’t need to.
Two figures had already leapt from the dragon’s back. One raised her hand.
A dome of vines erupted around us.
The fire hit.
It didn't even graze us.
But the soldiers outside weren’t so lucky.
Screams rose, cut short by flame. Armour melted. Magic shattered. The street was a furnace of vengeance—and the dragon didn’t stop.
And then—beautifully, finally—the order rang out.
“Fall back! Sentinel soldiers! Retreat!”
“RETREAT!”
The vines retreated. And there she was.
“Mads!” I gasped.
She grinned, wild and alive, and surged into the fray—striking with vines and fists, every move a blow for freedom.
But she wasn’t alone.
A figure fought beside her. Twin blades flashing, cutting with brutal grace.
Thorne.
Alive.
Fighting.
For us.
The dragon roared overhead, its wings splitting the sky, and the tide turned. The Sentinels faltered.
This time, we weren’t falling.
We were rising.