Page 57 of Wrong Squad, Right Mess

It was worse than it had been with that newly corrupted I’d drained. That time I’d done it quickly, and he hadn’t had nearly as much. More so, that corruption had still been fresh.

In Corsa it felt stagnant, like a half-drunk cup of coffee left out, forgotten, with spots of mold growing on the top. The years alone had left Corsa with all that corruption rotting inside him, and it made my entire body rebel.

I wondered if I could even filter it this time, if it might overwhelm me—maybe even kill me.

I let out a gasping cry, my legs giving out. He didn’t help, but kept his hand around my arm so my knees hit the ground. I dry heaved again, then swallowed, trying to keep down the soup Carter had made as though that were all I had left.

Even if I wanted to drain Corsa as I had the other corrupted, I couldn’t. Maybe it was the time apart, maybe it was the bond he claimed we had, or maybe it was his power, but I couldn’t drag it into me, as though there were so much it was like trying to drink down a swimming pool.

Movement in my peripheral vision caught my focus for a moment until I saw a blur so fast, I couldn’t make out who or what it was.

Another monster? My mind hurt too much to figure out anything, to even really care.

At least, that was what I thought, until Corsa yanked backward, breaking the connection between us. I could breathe again, though my mind still lumbered without grace, not able to work out what occurred around me.

“Stay down.” Shear’s voice in my head made it through the haze, but no matter what he asked, I lacked the strength to even make the choice to obey or refuse him.

Was this just a dream? Some fantasy my brain made up because the reality was so terrible? Like people who craft entire worlds because they can’t handle what they actually have to experience? The idea was almost pathetic, but I wondered…

If I got to spend the time with them, did I care if it was real or not? If they were safe and I got to be with them here, then who cared what reality was?

“You’re all fools,” Corsa said, his voice dragging me back, forcing my eyes open even if I still lacked the strength to do much else. “You could have been gone already, back to the world you love so damn much. You couldn’t fight me then, so why is it you think you can do anything now?”

I twisted to find Carter moving fast, faster than I’d ever seen him move before. He rushed forward again, the glint of a sword in his hand, his gaze focused, none of that amusement he often used to hide his true feelings present.

Except Corsa shifted again, avoiding the strike. Worse, it almost felt as though Corsa were playing with Carter…

The next attack had Carter swinging but missing—by far more than seemed possible.

Was Corsa invading their minds? Was he making Carter see something else? Casting the image of him in a place other than where he stood to ensure Carter couldn’t land a blow?

Corsa was powerful, but he had limits when it came to how many he could control, and how much effort it took. The more elaborate and forced a vision or attack was for a mentalist, the more effort it took.

Making Carter think he stood somewhere other than he did was far easier than controlling Carter’s actions or forcing him to do something else.

Carter let out a frustrated noise, suggesting he’d figured out Corsa’s plan. Of course, knowing Corsa was using his powers didn’t mean Carter could counter them.

He still came forward in quick rushes, but his swings never hit.

I could see where Corsa actually stood. Was that because he had to focus the illusion on Carter or…?

Corsa telling me that we were bound together played in my head again, but I shrugged it away, not wanting to think about that or consider it.

I wanted to help, to step in, but I couldn’t even get up, my body drained from the guiding. I dug my fingers into the soil and tried to stand, but my feet slid in the dirt and I toppled yet again.

Corsa moved, avoiding Carter, but a whispering in my mind made me look behind him.

A blur of darkness, just a misty shadow, moved through the open space. It felt like a nightmare coming at Corsa, movement quick enough that it would have been easy to think it was an optical illusion, a strange falling of light that tricked me into believing something else was there when it wasn’t, that I was turning a pile of clothing into a monster in the middle of the night.

Except energy I recognized flowed through the darkness. Sure enough, the shadowed formed into a figure I knew well—Ingram.

He sailed through the air behind Corsa in a leap, a blade clutched in each hand, fury in his eyes.

Was this it? For it all to end so quickly?

No.

I knew it because of the look in Corsa’s eyes, an expression of confidence, just before he turned and lifted his hand. He didn’t catch Ingram as I’d seen Carter do in the past, but instead Ingram stopped as though he’d struck an invisible wall, hanging there mid-air.