by Mary Fan
He aimed the rifle at her.
The paralysis gripping Flynn disappeared. Enraged, he launched himself at Calhoun, grabbed the rifle, and yanked it out of the old man’s hands. “Go to hell!”
BANG. Flynn jumped—he hadn’t meant to pull the trigger.
Calhoun’s face went blank, and he fell backward, blood pouring out of his chest. Flynn widened his eyes at the sight of the dead body, too stunned by his own actions to move. The rifle dropped from his grip. I killed him…
A great crashing sound startled him out of his stillness. The gate had dropped to the ground, and it now sat beside the gaping hole in the ground. The forces that had held the gate up continued pouring out of the Portal and flew sideways toward Calhoun’s corpse. The black and red smoke wrapped around his thin body, their hazy coils disappearing into it.
“Flynn?” Aurelia sat up, holding her head in one hand.
“Aurelia!” Flynn ran to her. “Are—”
“Don’t just stand there, dummy!”
“What?”
“The Portal!”
I’ve gotta close it! No demonic Lord had crawled out yet. Flynn still had time to undo his mistake. He raced around the edge of the Portal toward the gate.
A deep laugh resonated through the room.
What was that? Whatever it was, Flynn had to shove that slab of stone over the hole in the ground while the Lord was still down there. He reached down and started pushing the gate toward the Portal. The round piece of stone, about four inches thick, was heavy as hell.
A giant scorpion materialized on top of it. Flynn jumped back. The creature looked like it was made of red metal, and it snapped its enormous, grasping claws. He’d never seen a creature like that before, not even in the lore. The scorpion shot its flaming stinger at him, and he dodged.
The sound of metal hitting metal punctured the air. Flynn turned. On the other side of the room, Aurelia swung her swords, and she fought off several small creatures with metal horns and bat-like wings. He had never seen anything like them before either. They must have emerged from the Portal.
He pulled out his pistol and fired at the scorpion on the gate, but the bullets bounced off its body. It shot its stinger at him, and he dove to avoid getting hit. Seeing the creature’s giant pincers above him, he fired again, but only a clicking sound emitted from the weapon. Realizing he was out of ammunition, he dropped the useless pistol and rolled out of the way before the creature could snap his head off. He scrambled to his feet and reached for his grenade.
“Don’t blow it up!” Aurelia cried, still slicing through the seemingly endless horde of winged creatures swarming her. “You’ll make the roof cave in!”
Realizing she had a point, Flynn abandoned the grenade idea. The scorpion shot a pincer at him, and he jumped back in time to avoid getting snapped in half. A silver glint caught his eye, and he spotted the sword he’d thrown earlier lying across the room. He ran at it, wondering how he was supposed to behead something without a neck.
Looks like I’ll have to improvise. He started reaching for the sword then froze in shock.
Calhoun stood by the Portal, facing it with his arms outstretched, as though welcoming the smoke into the world.
Didn’t I kill him?
Calhoun turned to Flynn, his eyes glowing red. A grotesque grin spread across his face. “One more thing, kid. Here’s what everyone missed. I am the Lord. Thank you for releasing me from the fleshy prison the Sentinels trapped me in.”
“Wh-What?” Flynn’s chest clenched. He couldn’t believe it—it was too bizarre.
The cloud of smoke beside Calhoun—or the Lord—took the form of a fangbeast, and he flicked his hand in Flynn’s direction. The black creature snarled and let out a low growl, its glowing red gaze fixed on Flynn. Its protruding fangs and twisting horns seemed even sharper this close up, and it swished its fire-ringed tail. It advanced, cloning itself into three beasts.
Flynn picked up the sword, his pulse hammering. Stay calm. But he didn’t stand a chance. He was about to get ripped to shreds.
One of the fangbeast clones snapped its jaw at him and pounced. Flynn held up his sword, but before he could take a swing, something shoved him. He landed on the ground—and the fangbeast’s head landed beside him. It dissolved into smoke. Surprised, he looked up. Aurelia stood between him and the remaining two clones, fierce energy radiating from her expression. The fangbeasts growled and multiplied, becoming four.
“Metal fire!” Aurelia clanged her swords, which lit up like flames. The creatures’ eyes locked onto her, and she returned their stare with equal viciousness. The fiery glow from her swords reflected in her black eyes, making them appear gold. One of the clones leaped at her, cloning itself midair. She dodged then swiftly beheaded one of them. “I’ll deal with these!” she yelled between slashes. “You! Portal! Close it!”
Struck by a sense of urgency, Flynn picked himself up, still gripping his sword. He was about to run back to the stone gate when he glimpsed Calhoun—the Lord—raising a hand in Aurelia’s direction. Lightning crackled at his fingertips. He was about to throw a deadly spell at her. Flynn threw himself in the magic’s path, and the red streaks spewing from the Lord’s fingers dissolved against his stomach. Flynn stabbed his sword at him, but he vanished before the blade could meet its target. The demonic man rematerialized on the other side of the room beside the stone gate and the scorpion that guarded it.
A stench filled the air, and Flynn immediately recognized the draugr’s foul scent. One had to be near, but it had to be casting a spell to magically mask its smell, since neither the Lord nor Aurelia seemed to notice.
The room lit up with gold as several Defiants, including Tydeus Storm, materialized.
What are they doing here? Automatic hatred swelled in Flynn’s chest, but he recalled what Calhoun—no, the Lord—had said. Storm had been trying to stop him. Flynn wondered if the Defiants’ presence meant the Risers were in trouble. No one should have been able to goldlight in or out of the Palace. It hit him that none of them knew of Calhoun’s deception, and they were still out there fighting the Triumvirate.
A draugr seeped through the wall behind the Lord and reached toward him, but the Lord must have spotted it, since he vanished again. This time, he didn’t reappear.
The smoke in the room took the forms of supernatural creatures of all kinds—wraiths, hellhorns, and everything in between.
Storm aimed his wand at the scorpion and blasted it repeatedly. The scorpion shrieked and ducked behind its claws.
“Nightsider!” he shouted. “The gate!”
Flynn yearned to attack Storm instead, but between a dark-magic wielder and the actual Underworld, the latter was more important. Whatever else was going on, Flynn had to close the gate to keep even more monsters from emerging.
He raced toward the gate as the Defiants engaged the monsters. At the moment, it didn’t matter who was on whose side, and if a lesser evil would help him defeat the ultimate evil, so be it.
A sharp pain shot through his leg, and he fell. Razorbird feathers clattered to the ground beside him; one of the creatures had sliced him in several spots. He looked up. The black-feathered bird swooped down at him, and he scrambled to get out of the way.
A red blast hit the razorbird, and it fell to the ground. Flynn looked around for the source of the spell, and his gaze landed on Connor Salvator, standing nearby with his golden-brown wand aimed at the room’s cavernous ceiling. Another razorbird spread its wings, as though about to shoot its feathers at Flynn, but Connor hit it before it could strike.
Flynn’s mind buzzed with confusion. The very people he’d just been against were defending him. He’d been dead wrong about them. There was still much he didn’t understand about who they were, but one thing was sure. They’d been fighting to keep the Lord from rising again, and at the moment, that meant they were on his side.<
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Meanwhile, Storm continued throwing blasts at the scorpion, but the giant bug was still there, shielding itself with its massive claws. Flynn ran up to it. With no idea as to what else he could do, he raised his sword over his head and stabbed down into its body. The creature shrieked again, and he flinched from the bone-rattling volume.
The spikelike stinger shot at him. He jumped back but wasn’t fast enough. The stinger tore his arm, and a cry escaped him as burning pain flared through his skin. But the monster wasn’t finished. It shot one of its claws at him, and he ducked. Before it could try again, the claw exploded in a burst of red light. One of Storm’s blasts had hit it. The creature screeched. Flynn sprang up, seized the sword he’d left embedded in its body, and raised it high. The stinger came at him again, and he swung the blade down in panic, certain that he was about to lose an eye. He felt the tip of the stinger slide down his cheek as it fell—he’d managed to slice it off.
The stump where the claw had been grew larger. The creature probably had regenerative powers, and he had to destroy it before it became whole again. Still not sure where its head was, Flynn repeatedly stabbed its body behind its black eyes, his ears buzzing from the sound of its shrieks. It tried to scuttle away, but Storm’s blasts destroyed its legs. Flynn chopped at it until he’d managed to cut through its thick body. The creature fell still. A series of red blasts impacted against the shell, and then what was left of the scorpion exploded. Flynn held up his arms to shield his face from the flying shards.
With the gate’s guardian gone, Flynn dropped the sword, put both hands on the round stone slab, and pushed as hard as he could. He suddenly realized how light-headed he was. Black spots splattered across his vision. Between the exhaustion and the bleeding, he felt as if his head was weighing him down, and his limbs felt ready to drop off.
Keep moving. All that mattered was getting that damn piece of rock over that damn hole in the ground. His clothes felt wet, but he wasn’t sure how much of it was from the blood of slain monsters and how much was his own. His vision blurred, and a fog filled his head. So much chaos surrounded him that he could hardly tell what was going on.
“Spiritus evanescat!” Connor’s voice sounded through the noise.
A screech pierced the air, and a wraith exploded into black wisps. Moments later, another glowing-eyed spirit rose from the Portal, its black wings spreading behind it. Flynn wondered if it was the same one Connor had just banished. Monsters supposedly went to the Underworld when they died. But with the Portal open, did that mean they could come right back?
I have to close it. He focused on that one thought and kept shoving the gate toward the hole, from which yellow and red light blazed.
Another razorbird soared over Flynn, and he dodged. A knifelike feather flew past him. Then a giant, rotten hand plucked the razorbird from the air. At the draugr’s touch, the creature disintegrated into ash. The draugr reached down and grabbed another monster—a boar-like creature with flaming tusks and a serpent’s tail Flynn didn’t recognize. The monster tried to flee, but the draugr clamped its body between two giant hands, and it disintegrated into a pale-gray powder.
The image of his mother’s twisted body flashed through Flynn’s mind. If draugar killed by turning victims to ash… had he been wrong about one killing Mom? If so, add it to the list of things I’m wrong about.
Calhoun had been vague about Vivian Nightsider’s participation in the Rising, and no one else at the Citadel had known who she was. What if she’d never been a Riser? What if that had been another lie, a fabrication to get Flynn to join? She’d been friends with Storm. Maybe she’d been one of the Defiants. What if Storm hadn’t sent a draugr to kill her, but to protect her the way a draugr protected him at present?
If I live, I’ll ask Storm about it and actually listen to what he says.
Everything faded into an indistinct cluster of noise and confusion. Despite the havoc, Flynn kept pushing the gate. Cold enveloped him, which seemed strange since he was sweating. His breath quickened, but his lungs didn’t seem capable of drawing enough air.
Step by step, throwing the weight of his entire body into the side of the gate, he shoved the heavy thing toward the Portal. He was vaguely aware of something latching onto his ankle but paid it no attention. He’d created this mess, and the least he could do was stop what he could.
The gate sank into the Portal with a dull thunk.
Flynn collapsed on top of it. He wasn’t even sure what was bleeding anymore, only that everything hurt.
“Flynn!” Aurelia’s voice rang in his ears.
He looked up. The glowing white fangs of a fangbeast descended toward him, but he was too drained to get out of the way. The last thing he saw before blackness was the creature’s head flying off and the elegant sweep of Aurelia’s glowing blade.
Darkness descended, and the world went silent.
Chapter 32
Ember
The Lord soared over the Palace of Concord, his deep laugh echoing against the charred skyscrapers of the Capital. Specters and wraiths swooped over the streets, which were littered with bloody bodies: Aurelia, impaled on her own black blades. Kylie, her delicate face lying next to her decapitated body. Brax, burned beyond recognition except from the shoulders up. Connor, his head twisted all the way around. Tamerlane, shredded by claw marks.
And Mom, staring at him with lifeless blue eyes.
“No…” Flynn sank to the ground, his eyes stinging. The horror was too much. The bodies of everyone he knew glowed with the last remnants of the fire that had swept the land, bright sparks of yellow against the scorched ground.
The Lord materialized before him in a swirl of red smoke, cackling with glee. Yet he still looked like Calhoun, the leader Flynn had trusted.
Whoever he was, he grinned. “I couldn’t have done it without you, kid. Look around. This is all because of you.”
“I didn’t do this!”
“Why so angry, Flynn? Flynn, I’m trying to thank you. Flynn…”
“Flynn? Flynn, wake up! It’s me, Kylie!”
Flynn opened his eyes. The white light on the ceiling formed a halo around Kylie’s worried face. He lay on a bed in a small, plain room, and Kylie sat in a chair beside him. Behind her, a window revealed the night sky outside. He tried to move, but everything ached. How was it possible for so many parts of his body to be sore at the same time?
Kylie sighed with relief. “You’ve been unconscious for a while—lost a lot of blood. They say you kept pushing that gate even though a bloodwolf had you by the leg.” She gave him a slight smile. “You’re insane.”
For a moment, Flynn wondered if everything he’d just been through had been a bad dream. He wished it had been. Calhoun had been the Lord of the Underworld, and the entire Rising—a movement that had touched every person in the nation in one way or another—had been a grand deception. He felt cheated. He’d spent so much time listening to the leader, drinking in his lies, following his commands. I thought I knew him. How could everything have been so wrong?
Flynn wished someone would show up and tell him those last several minutes in the Palace had been a sick joke or a crazy hallucination, that Calhoun really was a freedom fighter and Flynn’s mission had been to aid the rebellion, or that whichever forces of fate had landed him on the wrong side of the battle would go back in time and rewrite his story. He still wanted to believe in the cause. That was the worst part—the Lord had taken a real rebellion and twisted it for his evil purposes. His words and actions had been so inspiring, and Flynn didn’t want to accept that none of it had been real.
He was too weary of questions and too weary of lies to even ask where he was. He watched Kylie, waiting for her to continue.
“We’re in Ember.” She seemed to read what he wanted to know in his expression. “Storm brought you here after the mayhem at the Palace. He used the draugar to hold off the Lor
d while he got you out. The Lord took over the Palace of Concord and imprisoned the Triumvirs. Everyone still thinks he’s Frank Calhoun, leader of the Rising, champion of the people.” Her voice rose with a sarcastic lilt.
Flynn nodded. There were so many questions on his mind—how Kylie had ended up at Ember with him, what was happening with the Triumvirate, who Tydeus Storm really was.
But the first question to escape his lips was “Where’s Aurelia?”
“She’s here too. She’s the one who told me about what you did—spent ages declaring that you’re the world’s biggest dummy.”
Flynn managed a smile as he pictured Aurelia marching through Ember, fuming about his idiocy. “She’s right about that.” His smile fell. “If I weren’t so damn stupid—”
“How could you have known?” Kylie interrupted, her expression suddenly distraught. “How could you possibly have known that a revolution that started before you were born was an elaborate ruse? The Lord fooled the entire nation, used them. He used me too. He wanted to make sure you had something personal at stake for his fake cause. That’s why he had Williams bring me to the Citadel, to remind you of Brax.”
“Of course it makes sense now, when it’s too late.” Flynn blinked at the ceiling. “I can never seem to figure anything out.”
Kylie tilted her eyebrows into a sympathetic expression. “Maybe I can help. Storm told me to fill you in when you woke up. He was a friend of your parents—a close friend. He and John Valerius grew up together and were practically brothers, like you and Brax. Your dad was one of the first people to join the Defiants after Storm realized Calhoun was after the Portal. He thought Calhoun wanted power and dark magic. No one could have imagined that he was the Lord of the Underworld in human form.”
“Doesn’t Storm use dark magic too?”
“According to him, magic itself is never inherently good or evil. It’s what you do with it that matters. He says that the Underworld is like a source of electricity, and even though most use it for evil, if you keep control over your magic, you can use it for good too.”
