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She reached forward to haul the concrete slab off her. It didn’t budge.
She panted through her teeth, trying again. They’d unleashed brimstone upon the city. The Asterian Guard had blindly fired it over the walls to either destroy the Gates or kill the demons. But they’d fired on their own people, not caring who they hit—
Bryce took deep, steadying breaths. It did nothing to settle her.
She tried again, fingernails cracking on the concrete. But short of cutting off her foot, she wasn’t getting free.
The Asterian Guard was reloading their missile launchers atop the tanks. Hyperconcentrated magic flared around them, as if the brimstone was straining to be free of its firstlight constraints. Eager to unleash angelic ruin upon the helpless city.
“They’re going to fire again,” Ruhn whispered.
“The brimstone landed mostly in Moonwood,” Declan told them. “Bryce is alive but in trouble. She’s trapped under a piece of concrete. Struggling like Hel to free herself, though.”
Fury screamed into the microphone, “ABORT MISSION.”
No one answered. The launchers cocked skyward again, pivoting to new targets.
As if they knew Bryce still lived. They’d keep bombarding the city until she was dead, killing anything in their path. Perhaps hoping that if they took out the Gates, too, the voids would vanish.
An icy, brutal calm settled over Hunt.
He said to Fury, “Go high. High as the helicopter can handle.”
She saw what he intended. He couldn’t fly, not on weak wings. But he didn’t need to.
“Grab something,” Fury said, and angled the helicopter sharply. It went up, up, up, all of them gritting their teeth against the weight trying to shove them earthward.
Hunt braced himself, settling into that place that had seen him through battles and years in dungeons and Sandriel’s arena.
“Get ready, Athalar,” Fury called. The war machines halted, launchers primed.
The helicopter flew over Lunathion’s walls. Hunt unstrapped himself from the gunner. The Bone Quarter was a misty swirl below as they crossed the Istros.
Gratitude shone in Danaan’s eyes. Understanding what only Hunt could do.
The Old Square and glowing Gate at its heart became visible. The only signal he needed. There was no hesitation in Hunt. No fear.
Hunt leapt out of the helicopter, his wings tucked in tight. A one-way ticket. His last flight.
Far below, his sharp eyes could just make out Bryce as she curled herself into a ball, as if it’d save her from the death soon to blast her apart.
The brimstone missiles launched one after another after another, the closest arcing toward the Old Square, shimmering with lethal golden power. Even as Hunt plunged to the earth, he knew its angle was off—it’d strike probably ten blocks away. But it was still too close. Still left her in the blast zone, where all that compressed angelic power would splatter her apart.
The brimstone hit, the entire city bouncing beneath its unholy impact. Block after block ruptured in a tidal wave of death.
Wings splaying, lightning erupting, Hunt threw himself over Bryce as the world shattered.
91
She should be dead.
But those were her fingers, curling on the rubble. That was her breath, sawing in and out.
The brimstone had decimated the square, the city was now in smoldering ruins, yet the Gate still stood. Her light had gone out, though, the quartz again an icy white. Fires sputtered around her, lighting the damage in flickering relief.
Clumps of ashes rained down, mixing with the embers.
Bryce’s ears buzzed faintly, yet not as badly as they had after the first blast.
