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‘Interlopers,’ the General growls. Before Malcolm can fire another shot, the General takes off at a sprint, using the trash truck for cover. He’s surprisingly fast considering his bulk and that full suit of armor.
Well, I’d wanted him to run.
I chase after him, thoughts of how he hunted and killed Garde fueling me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a Mog warrior draw a bead on me with his blaster. As he fires, a Chimæra in the shape of a black panther leaps on to his back. The blast sails wide and ends up shearing in half the chair Dr Anu used in his experiments. I know our goal was to keep this Mog technology in tact, but that doesn’t matter to me now. I’m seeing red. The General – so proud of killing Garde. Killing children.
I’m going to write the last chapter in his precious history. Right now.
As I come around the trash truck, I see the General has made it to the basketball courts and stopped. He beckons me onward, waiting for me at center court. I charge in, ignoring the part of me that knows he’s setting me up for some kind of trap. Whatever it is, it won’t stop me.
The General growls something in Mogadorian. It sounds like a command. Under my feet, beneath the asphalt, a generator of some kind vibrates to life.
I feel a static charge as a dome-shaped force field rises up over the basketball court, trapping me with the General. Everything is suddenly very quiet, the noise of the Chimærae mauling the Mogadorians blocked out by the force field.
I take a step away from the nearest wall, sensing the same type of electric jolt that we encountered at the base in West Virginia. I remember how sick I was after that – it took me days to recover – and know that I can’t get too close.
Even as I’m thinking this, an over-eager Chimæra in the shape of a tiger flings herself at the General. The blue energy repulses the pouncing Chimæra, shocks her and leaves her in a convulsing heap on the ground, still very much outside the force field.
‘We used to fight Piken against each other in this place,’ the General muses, waving his hand at the enclosed space. ‘It was a reward for the vatborn. Pity more of them aren’t here to witness today’s contest.’
‘You want some alone time with me, is that it?’ I taunt the General, making sure to put some distance between me and the force field.
‘I want to kill you in peace,’ he replies. ‘With your many friends watching helplessly.’
‘Good luck with that.’
Without hesitation, I charge towards the General, pitching fireballs at him as I go. He absorbs each of them. Huge chunks of his uniform burn away, but I don’t seem to be doing any damage to the armor underneath. Not letting any pain register on his face, the General rushes right for me, like he’s going to barrel into me.
He probably weighs a solid two hundred pounds more than me with that armor. But screw it.
We crash together and the wind goes out of me, but I manage to stay upright. I press my hand, still engulfed by the flames of my Lumen, against the side of the General’s face. He lets out a grunt of pain, but that’s his only reaction to me burning his face, his pale skin searing black and popping. Both of his hands wrap around my throat, big enough that his fingers overlap at the back of my neck.
He squeezes my neck and immediately dark spots form in my vision. I can’t breathe. With the hand not burning the side of the General’s face, I pry at his fingers. It feels like my throat will completely collapse if I let his grip get any tighter.
It’s hard to concentrate with him choking me, but I manage to keep up the intensity of my Lumen while simultaneously using my telekinesis. I maneuver my dagger out from beneath my trouser leg. Without a free hand, I gather as much telekinetic force as I can muster and send the blade lancing towards the General’s heart.
My dagger deflects off his armor. Before I can stab at him again, he tightens his grip on my throat and I lose control of my telekinesis. Feeling faint, it’s all I can do to keep my Lumen burning against the side of his face.
‘Who do you think will die first, boy?’ the General sneers, smoke from his own burned face spilling out of his mouth when he speaks. I try to backpedal, to break away from him, but he puts all his weight down, forcing me to my knees.
Suddenly, a Mogadorian sword is thrust towards my face. Unable to move my head, I can only flinch backwards. The tip of the glowing blade stops just short of my eye. The General’s grip slackens and then drops away entirely. I fall on to my side, gasping for breath, trying to figure out what just happened.
‘Through the back. Isn’t that how you do it, Father?’
Adam holds the General’s broadsword in two hands – it’s almost too heavy for him – and yanks it out of his father’s back. He drove it straight through the General’s chest, the glowing blade piercing that Mogadorian armor as if it were made of tinfoil. I was too busy fighting for my life to notice the force field come down. Luckily, the General was, too. He stares at Adam, stunned. The General must realize his mistake – all the Mogs know the voice command to bring down the force field, but one of them wasn’t fighting on his side.
The General gropes at the wound on his chest and for a moment I think he’s going to keep coming. But then he staggers, reaching out to grasp at Adam, almost as if he wants to hug him. Or maybe strangle him. It’s hard to tell.
Adam steps aside, a detached look on his face, and allows the General to fall face-first on to the pavement. Beyond the court, the fighting is over, the Mogadorians all dead. Back in Adam’s front yard, Sam kneels over a wounded Chimæra. Malcolm stands a few feet off from us, on the sideline, watching the scene with the General, a look of concern on his face. I pick myself up and stand next to Adam.
‘Adam, are you …?’ My voice is hoarse, throat raw and sore. Adam holds up a hand, cutting me off.
‘Look,’ he says flatly.
At our feet, the General begins to disintegrate. It doesn’t happen quickly like I’ve seen with the many vatborn scouts and warriors I’ve killed. The General decomposes slowly, parts of him flattening out faster than others. In some spots, his flesh melts away but not the bone beneath, leaving a skeletal elbow jutting up from the ground next to a rib cage, all attached to a half-disintegrated skull.
‘You can see where Setrákus Ra augmented him,’ Adam says, his voice almost clinical as he explains. ‘Healed wounds, cured diseases, improved his strength and speed. He promised immortality. But the unnatural parts disintegrate, like the vatborn. The rest, what’s left, that is trueborn, real flesh.’
‘We don’t have to get into this now,’ I manage to say, still trying to catch my breath. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the information. It’s just that Adam’s dad is lying dead at our feet and he’s giving a lesson in Mogadorian genetics like n
othing happened.
‘They’re too far gone to realize it, but this is the fate Setrákus Ra offers my people. Ashes and spare parts,’ Adam says, staring at his father’s remains. ‘I wonder how much more would be left if the Great Leader had never poisoned his body and mind.’
Adam lets go of the sword and it thunks heavily to the ground. I put my hand on his shoulder, the revulsion I felt for him over the last couple of days forgotten. He just saved my life and killed his own father to do it.
‘Adam, it’s okay,’ I start, not really sure what to say in this crazy situation.
‘I hated him,’ he replies, not looking at me. He stares at the burned uniform, piles of ash and random bones that used to be the General. ‘But he was my father. I wish things could have ended differently. For all of us.’
I crouch down over the General’s remains and carefully remove the simple black leather sheath that he wore across his back. It’s a little singed but still holding together. I pick up the sword from where Adam dropped it, sheath it and hold it out to him.
‘I don’t want that,’ Adam says, staring at the sword with a look of disgust.
‘Things can end differently,’ I tell him. ‘Use this in a way that your father never did. Help us win this war and change the fate of both our people.’
Adam hesitates for a moment before accepting the sword from me. He holds the blade in both hands and stares down at it. After a long moment of contemplation, Adam slings the sheath over his shoulder. He grunts at the weight but manages to stand up straight.
‘Thank you, John,’ he says quietly. ‘I swear to you, this blade will never again be used against a Loric.’
Sam walks over to us. ‘You guys all right?’
Adam nods. I touch the skin of my throat, which already feels swollen and puffy from where the General strangled me.
‘Yeah, I’m good,’ I reply, then look to Adam. ‘Are we done, though? Or are there more coming?’
He shakes his head. ‘I shut down communications right before my – right before the General caught up with me. There won’t be any reinforcements.’
