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MILA
The hate in his eyes as he paces back and forth like a trapped predator chills my blood. I hold his withering gaze. He does not look at my companions, jeer, or make idle threats. His silence is foreboding. There’s a pensiveness, excitement even, at my arrival, as though he’s waited his entire life for this moment.
“Demitri, we’re here to help you,” I say, lightly touching the auto injector on my belt to make sure it’s still there.
The Gracile laughs, breathing deep the vaporous mist that hangs curling about his mask. “The whelp can’t hear you. He’s locked out. It’s just us now. Are you ready for me to visit upon you what you fear most, little one?”
Don’t play his game, Mila. Resist. It’s what you do. I swallow the dry lump from my throat.
Beside me, Zaldov shifts, little whirs and clunks sound as he adjusts his combative stance.
“You do not scare me.” Vedmak looks from me to Mos and finally to Zaldov. “You honestly believe it will be a problem for me to defeat all three of you at once?”
“What about four?” Ghofaun says, stepping in line with us.
Vedmak rolls his shoulders. “What is it you hope to achieve? You cannot save the girl. You cannot wrest this body from my grasp. You can’t stop the machinations of destiny. I was made to rule, and in this perfect shell, I will. You all are nothing more than a momentary inconvenience.”
“No,” I say, “your scythe is gone. You’re vulnerable without your tech.”
He raises his severed arm. Secured to the stump with a series of heavy leather straps is a cruel-looking, crudely welded iron hammer the size of two fists. It’s still wet with the blood of his victims. “Worry not. This will serve me well.” An evil grin spreads across his lips.
Yeos give me the strength to stay true to the path.
I huff out a breath. The image of my brother smiling and Bilgi’s bloodied fingers tapping my chest flicker in my mind. I touch the edge of the worn picture sticking from the edge of my pocket.
“Mos, Ghofaun, Zaldov, we hit him in waves. Time it perfectly. One of us right on top of the next. Wear him down. Give me the chance I need.” I take a step forward. “Demitri, if you can hear me, fight back. We don’t want to hurt you more than we have to.”
“We are with you, Mila Solokoff,” Zaldov says, his posture locked and ready.
“‘Til the end,” Ghofaun says.
“Quit your braying and make your play, woman,” Vedmak rasps.
Zaldov launches forward, crossing the gap between us in a blur of movement.
“Ahh, the protector. We have a score to settle.” Vedmak dodges Zaldov’s initial swing.
Knocking away a second punch, and deflecting a thrusting kick, Vedmak belts Zaldov across the face with the hammer. Shooting in low, he secures the Creed by the waist and twisting, flings him backward against the far wall in a stunning display of strength. Zaldov crashes and slides to the floor.
Master Ghofaun beats Mos and me to the punch and whips into the air with the natural grace of a carnival performer. Landing three successive kicks, the monk staggers Vedmak back. The Gracile grunts and shakes his head, then repeatedly slaps himself in the face.
Demitri is trying to come through, I know it. C’mon, Demitri.
My Kahangan ally seizes the moment and sacks the Gracile from the left, pinning his arms to his sides as they fall tumbling to the floor. In a deft movement bereft of weakness, Vedmak hip-tosses the bulky Kahangan, rolls on top of him, and stretching high, drives down swinging the iron hammer with astonishing fury. Mos is only able to provide a flinch response, his arms seizing to cover his face as the heavy head cracks down on bone. There’s a shrill scream as Mos’s arm crumples beneath the blow. A look of terrible glee fills Vedmak’s face as he swings down again, Mos defenselessly clutching his deformed arm.
“No!” Jumping into the air and planting both feet into Vedmak’s chest, my sheer momentum knocks him from my friend. I land hard on my back and roll back over my shoulder and onto my knees. Scooping a moaning Mos beneath his armpits, I drag him from the fight. “Hang in there, Mos.”
“He ... he got me, Mila.”
I draw Svetlana’s chrome from the holster on his hip and place the heavy magnum in his good hand. Squeezing his shoulder, I meet his eyes. “Fire on him only if you have no other choice, okay?”
He nods with a grimace of pain. “Go get ’em.”
Across the room, Ghofaun slams into Vedmak with another barrage of blows. Ducking a backward swing, he defeats an attempt to smash him with the great hammer, rising fast to the inside of the Gracile’s guard with a flurry of open-handed blows, chops, and elbow strikes.
“Argh, no. Silence, fool child!” wails Vedmak.
“Fight him, Demitri!” I scream. “Ghofaun, it’s working.”
With a feint, Vedmak tricks the monk, seizes him by his robes and flings him overhead against the cold hard floor in the same manner a person would bust a block of ice.
I collide once again with the huge frame of the Gracile. He grabs for me, swinging the hammer down hard where I was an instant before. With a crack, the heavy bludgeon slams against the floor.
“C’mon Demitri!” I shout, rising outside Vedmak’s guard and deliver a swift elbow strike to his ribs, followed by a strong one-two scissor kick combination to his midsection.
“Demitri is dead. I killed him!” Vedmak shouts, his eyes wide with fury.
He catches me in the stomach with a strike that sends me sliding across the floor. Rising to my knees, I watch as Zaldov and Ghofaun together collide with our foe, systematically landing blow after blow. But something is wrong—the Gracile is letting it happen, or ... can it be he’s having trouble reacting?
Demitri.
With a wild scream, Vedmak skillfully sidesteps a would-be crushing blow from Zaldov and lands a brutal stomping kick that doubles Ghofaun over. The hammer lands hard against Ghofaun’s back and sends him into a heap against the polished floor. Swiveling his focus, Vedmak jumps into the air, and slams down with the full weight of the bludgeon into the top of Zaldov’s head. The Creed hits the ground hard and tries to rise when Vedmak jams him back against the ground with his boot.
“Can you feel pain, puppet? Let us find out.”
“Get up, Zaldov!” I shout.
The Creed flails and tries to push up, but to no avail. “Mila Solokoff, help me.”
But I’m unable to reach him in time. I watch in horror as Vedmak shoves his hand under Zaldov’s chin and begins to pull. Zaldov’s neck makes a popping sound as it elongates.
Vedmak cackles with glee. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
“No. Please. I’m not ready to d-ahhhh!” The Creed’s voice screams in a wash of electronic distortion.
“Zaldov!”
Wrenching, Vedmak pulls Zaldov’s head from his shoulders. The Creed’s mouth hangs open, shock frozen on his rubbery features.
There’s an emptiness in my chest, a sudden rush of loss. “Zaldov.”
Vedmak stands and tosses the head to the side. He laughs—a terrible guttural sound. “Such profound weakness—to think you trusted this thing, even treated it as though it were human. Disgusting.”
The Creed was a loyal ally. He didn’t deserve that. I struggle to keep a swell of hate from filling my heart. Hate is not the way, Mila. Stay focused.
Vedmak looks to the headless Creed, then Mos, his ruined arm clutched against his body, the other outstretched weapon shaking, then to Ghofaun’s crumpled form, unmoving on the floor. He bares his teeth in a wicked grin as his eyes connect with mine. “All alone are we now?”
“No,” I say fixing my eyes back on the twisted form of my old friend, resolve swelling in my chest. “I’m never alone.”
