I HAD THOUGHT that the horrific level of destruction at the Wasteland was the worst thing that I would ever have to face. I thought that walking into camps that had been turned into a field of blood and death would be the most chilling and horrifying thing I would see. That facing Silas Davies, enraged psychosis in his eyes as he stared at me like I was nothing more than an outlet for his rage and insane purpose, would be the bravest thing I could ever do.
As my feet touch the ground, Gryphon’s hand slips away from my neck as the sickness eases, and I open my eyes to find myself in the worst type of hell.
Entire families are lying on the ground dead, mothers’ arms around small children, fathers covering as much of their family’s bodies as they can, all of them in piles, all of them gone.
I think this street had once been a normal suburb, a cookie-cutter neighborhood that would be such a beautiful place for kids to grow up and thrive in. We’re somewhere out in the middle of the country where no one thinks to go, somewhere the General would have assumed was so far out of reach to the Resistance and their cause. I suppose he’d put some thought into it, made a plan assuming that he was right, and come out here hoping for a better life for all of these people.
I assume all of this because to assume anything else would add even more pain and grief to this situation, and it’s already overflowing with that.
What I guess was once grass all around us is now nothing but scorched earth from the Elementals they must have faced, and blood is covering every surface my eyes touch. My stomach doesn’t just drop, it bottoms out with rage and grief at all of this destruction, and for what? Nothing.
Nothing but to draw us into a trap, to get our attention, to cause us to stumble.
All of these people were cannon fodder to the Resistance and the gods that live within them. These lives all meant nothing to them.
I try not to look at any of the faces as we begin to move through the rubble of the area. I’m aware that we’ve been living amongst these people for months now; there’s a very real chance I will know some of them. I guess the best way to not fall into any sort of grief right now is to avoid it altogether.
Unfortunately, Gabe and Atlas don’t do the same, cursing under their breaths as they recognize the faces around us.
I almost look when I hear the sharp intake of breath at my side, but then Gabe says, “Don’t, Bonded. It’s bad enough that it’s in my head now, I don’t need it in yours as well. Let me carry this for us both.”
I swallow and nod, trying to forget the smell that lingers in the air, trying not to let any of this imprint on me the way that I already know it’s going to. There’s no avoiding it, no avoiding the way that every single time the Resistance hits our community, it chips away at us and our strength, our resolve and our sanity, eroding us until we’re nothing but shells of ourselves.
I only hope that in the time between these attacks, we’ll be able to build ourselves back up enough so that doesn’t happen. It feels as though I’ve spent the last six months doing nothing but fighting. I feel drained at the prospect of any more time doing this, losing people senselessly and watching as those who are innocent of wrongdoing pay the ultimate price for those who just want power.
All of it is gut-wrenching and heartbreaking.
This is the worst sort of hell to be stuck in, and yet here we are again. I swallow back the bile that just won’t leave my throat, and I keep my eyes on North’s back as we move together. One of Gryphon’s TacTeams fans around us as they move through the street in their search for survivors. I feel terrible that they have to roll the bodies over and press their fingers against necks to check for signs that maybe a Healer will be able to repair the damage.
I cast out my net of power; it’s a much more reliable way to find survivors and my own way of helping out.
I want to vomit at the vast, gaping chasm of emptiness in the field.
“They’re all dead,” I murmur, my voice breaking, and North nods his head without turning around to look at me, his eyes carefully watching the area around us.
“I already guessed they would be, Bonded. I’m sorry I didn’t prepare you well enough for that.”
I shake my head. “I guessed it too. It’s just… I already knew that’s what was going to happen, but it’s different being here, seeing it. There’s no Resistance here either. There’s no one left for me to hold accountable for this.”
North nods his head again, reaching his hand out as the shadows play around us, sniffing the bodies. “Can your bond tell us anything? Who was here or if it can guess at which god may have done this?”
I scowl a little as I think about it, reaching out to my bond and finding it just as pissed off as I am. “It doesn’t know. It can guess, but there are a lot of options, especially if they have help from other Gifted.”
He sighs and turns back to me, carefully taking off one of his gloves before he cups my face, rubbing a thumb over my cheekbone and murmuring to me quietly, “None of this is our fault. I know that doesn’t help, but hold on to it until we get home. I’m sorry you had to come here.”
I shake my head a little and look out over the line of trees just outside of the suburb. The cold hasn’t reached here yet. The leaves are still changing color, and there is an eerie quiet to the world around us. As I stare out over it all, I see a playground there, and my heart breaks in my chest.
I can imagine the children moving here and being so excited to find one. The Sanctuary only had one small play area at the school, something that we had discussed making a priority. North and Gabe had already started planning a large park for the children to play in, something we wanted to move up the list, but it’s so difficult when we know how many people are waiting to be let in once housing becomes available.
Everything is a constant battle, a give and take. Do one thing and neglect another; it’s an impossible weight for my Bonded to carry.
North steps away from me and with his ungloved hand, he presses his palm to the neck of one of the men on the ground, his eyes flashing to black. I scowl for a moment before I remember that this is one of his gifts, a variation of the death touch. Yes, he can take life away, but he can also see the cause of someone’s death, a trait I haven’t seen come in handy until now.
“There was the Pain god. That’s what came here and did this. At least we know what we’re facing,” he says.
Gryphon and Nox come stalking back over to us from where they had ventured a little further out, making their way through the lines of bodies.
“Kieran’s caught the trail, he knows where they’ve Transported to. It could be a stop-off point to get to where we’re going.”
“It could also be a trap,” Nox says, but Gryphon just shrugs.
“I’m confident that we can get out of any trap that they set for us, aren’t you?”
Nox scowls, and his eyes dart down to mine for a moment. “I don’t want to make any dumb decisions here just because we’re pissed off at what they’ve done. There’s no use in getting ourselves killed.”
I let my eyes slip shut as I reach out to my bond, but the answer is already waiting for me there. “Let’s go hunting, my Bonded.”
Adrenaline fills my body as Kieran strides towards us, a look of disgust on his face as he avoids the victims on the ground. “You’re going to kill them, right? This isn’t going to be a recon thing? You’re going there, and you’re going to gut every last one of the motherfuckers who did this? Promise me, Fallows.”
North bristles at him speaking to me like this, but I nod my head. “Every last one of them.”
“Good. I’ll stick around and make sure you’re okay. We’re not going to get split up by any Shields this time.”
Kieran shoves the gaiter from his neck up over his face, and Gryphon sidles up next to me, wedging me between himself and North as we grasp his second-in-command. “It doesn’t matter who they stick between us, Oli’s got it covered. Just try to stay out of the way if her bond comes out. I doubt it’s going to be in a very forgiving mood.”
“None of them are,” Kieran snaps as his eyes flash to white, and then we pop out of the area without another snarky word.
THE MOMENT WE APPEAR, a body slams into mine and takes me to the ground. My stomach roils and my bond presses against my skin, but the smell of Atlas’ soap and clean sweat, so familiar, stops me from spiraling completely out of control.
Gunfire sounds around us, explosions and hell breaking loose. I hear a grunt and then a roar. The crunching sounds of Gabe’s bones breaking as he shifts, the god-bond taking over and the Draconis coming to our rescue. As the shadow of his huge body blocks the sun, more shadows fall over us all as North and Nox both jump into protection mode. The Draconis’ jaws open and a roar comes out as it shoots flames up into the sky, the sound so loud my head begins to pound.
I feel so disoriented, so unprepared for what we’ve just stepped into, that it takes me a minute to figure out some vital details.
We’re in a Wasteland.
One that used to be a Resistance camp, if the charred remains of the tents around us are any indication, and we’re not the first TacTeam to arrive.
I don’t remember any conversations about operatives being moved anywhere except for our attempt at a rescue mission, so my guess is that these are the remnants of the General’s teams, that they too had caught the trail of the god-bond’s Transporter and followed it here to get vengeance for the civilians that were taken out.
I don’t know how good of a job they’re doing so far, considering the heavy gunfire and Gifts being slung around everywhere. When a car is suddenly hurled through the air towards us, Atlas scrambles to his feet to catch it, to stop it from crushing the rest of our Bonded Group.
He grunts as he takes the full brunt of it, his legs moving underneath him even as his hands slip against the black, steel casing. For a moment, I think he’s going to tip over—the weight knocking him off-center—and it’s going to be goodbye for us all, but then his heels dig in and he regains his balance. He sets it down in front of us as a barrier, his hand slapping the hind leg of the Draconis as he steps back over to me and reaches out a hand to help me back to my feet.
“That was a fucking good catch,” Gryphon mutters under his breath as he brushes himself off, reaching down to grab his gun from where he’d dropped it.
Nox and North have both already had their god-bonds take over, their eyes shifting as their shadows move out and begin to work. Though my own bond is here with me, it hasn’t fully taken over yet. I think the prospect of watching me rip the souls out of people myself, of not letting it take over and using every ounce of our power, is too tempting for it. It’s used to having to protect me from such things, my mind struggling with the morality and consequences of our Gift, but I can’t deny how ready I am to be done with all of this.
I’m tired of all of the senseless death around me.
I take stock of the Wasteland area, trying to gather clues before I let myself get swept up. The tents are all destroyed, mostly charred, but some of them are also frozen solid, as though the Elementals have been battling it out here, fighting over which is more deadly. The layout doesn’t look familiar to me, though. With how badly destroyed the area is, I’m not sure I would recognize it anyway. Since there aren’t any tents left standing, there aren’t going to be any prisoners to be able to take home.
The air around us is still suffocatingly hot, so we’re probably hundreds of miles away from home, and the sun still hangs heavy in the sky above us. We’re surrounded by woodland, which the Resistance loves, lots of coverage so only aerial searchers can find them.
Bodies flash around us on the battlefield, movement everywhere that makes it difficult to tell who’s the enemy and who are the operatives on our side.
Gryphon’s eyes flash to black as he lets his Gift kick in, taking over with his mind ability and making things easier to distinguish. I feel as though my head is spinning on my shoulders, too much is happening at once. The chaos of bodies around us and the crush of the heat against us as the Elementals wage war makes me panic. I feel as though I’m standing in the Wasteland again, waiting for Silas Davies to show up. I had thought I was coping a little bit better than that situation, but my throat closes and a cold sweat breaks out over my entire body.
Azrael lands silently at my feet, pressing against my legs as he tries to distract me from where my mind has gone. I glance down to find August trotting towards us with blood and other unnameable liquids oozing from his jaws. As he approaches me, he grows even bigger until he can press his head against my belly above his brother as they calm the storm brewing in my head.
Perfect, precious puppies.
The fighting around us isn’t just loud, it’s vicious. At one point, I hear the sound of laughter, sickening as it mixes with the screaming. No one ever talks about the things you hear in a battle zone, no one ever talks about that or the smells of burning flesh, of gunpowder, of hot, sticky blood around us, of things that are so much worse than that… things I don’t have words for.
There’s no real glory in any of this.
I have to remind myself that this isn’t forever, this is a job we have to do to clear everything out. We need to leave this place, to mark it down as history that we will do our best never to repeat. I feel as though we’re waging a losing battle, because there’s always going to be evil in this world. It just shows up with a different name, a different banner to march under, and a different person it serves, but it’s always the same. Always happy to take innocent lives while furthering a pointless fight.
It all just pisses me off.
The god within me is filled with just as much rage.
“What’s the plan?” Kieran asks.
Gryphon glances at the Dravens for a moment before he replies, “Don’t die, stay close, and try not to get in anyone’s way.”
I shake my head at them both. “We’re getting this over with. No more games.”
I let my power out, casting a wide net as I feel where the Shields are in place to keep people trapped in the Wasteland. I feel them all—the Flames, the Transporters, the other Elementals, the Shifters, and the Neuros. Dozens of Gifted who have been convinced by the gods that the Resistance is the right way to go. All of them are helping to kill innocent people who just want to live peacefully. All of them think that they are better than everyone else, forgetting that in the end, people like Silas Davies really only care about themselves.
To think that all of this might have started with the god-bonds setting elaborate, decades-old traps for us. Just because they’re jealous that we have each other.
It only makes it more satisfying when I pull my power all at once, yanking out hundreds of souls at one time, taking them into myself and consuming them. My skin glows with the power that it gives me, burning brighter as I funnel it through to my Bonded.
Gryphon gasps and clutches his chest as he feels the full extent of what I’m giving him. Kieran grabs his arm to steady him, and I cast the net out wider until I can feel all of the Shields as well, yanking their souls out to do the same. The edges of the Wasteland come down and reveal the thick woods around us.
I cast the net out wider again and again, yanking souls out until there is no one and nothing left here but the TacTeam members we followed out. It’s not until my Gift hits the closest town, thirty miles away, that I accept that the god-bond has disappeared again, finding another Transporter to take it away from here. It’s playing the never-ending game of ‘cat and mouse’ that makes my teeth clench.
North and Nox both let their bonds settle back into their minds, and the look they give me at the sparkle of my eyes and power they feel sliding down their limbs has my chest pounding. North looks worried about me, but Nox has nothing but pride shining there, pride in me and what I can do. Pride in the hard work that sometimes feels like too much, but I did it anyway.
Pride that he found me; that I’m his and he is mine.
