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.
