Darkening Chaos: Book Three of The Destroyer Trilogy

by DelSheree Gladden

  “Are you okay?” he asks as he spins me around to face the oncoming horde of Dorotabos.

  After finally getting to kiss the man I love in the flesh for the first time in almost nine months? I am fabulous. I want more than anything in this moment to forget the entire screwed up world and drag him back to my bedroom. If wishes were horses, and all that. I force myself to focus, and say simply, “I’m fine. How’s your neck?”

  Braden snorts at the stupidity of this conversation, saying, “Perfect. I fixed the rest of it. Not even a scar.”

  I almost miss the importance of what he just said when I spot Milo hurrying toward me. I laugh at the purple splotch on his right cheek. Celia must have opted for hitting rather than hugging. But where is she? I expected to see her right behind him. Probably off somewhere healing wounds and applying bandages if I know her.

  Lance, Hope, Dean, and the others crowd around me. I start to ask if they’ve seen Celia, but Lance breaks in, asking if the Spiritualists in our group are ready to try breaking the link to the Dorotabos. I start to answer when Braden catches sight of Milo. He moves so fast, I hear the crack of his fist on Milo’s jaw a full second after it connects. I freeze in shock as they go tumbling to the ground in a mess of whirling fists.

  A very small part of my mind reminds me that I should stop Braden. He could accidentally kill Milo with his new power. Or he could kill him fully aware of what he is doing. I don’t move to stop him, though. I don’t know what thoughts are rolling through anyone else’s mind, but mine is jammed packed with the screaming, taunting, and the pain of months’ worth of brutal beatings. His stepping between me and Howe can’t scratch past tortures. I watch, numb to Milo’s pain, for a few seconds longer until thoughts of Celia resurface. I am suddenly glad she hasn’t arrived yet. She knows what Milo has done to me. She wouldn’t deny me my vengeance, but I can almost hear the plea to spare her brother’s life through the battle.

  “Braden,” I whisper. There is noise everywhere. Battle sounds rage around us, but I don’t need to speak for him to hear me. His arm stops, cocked back and ready to be let loose. Blood drips down from his shaking knuckles. Slowly his hand lowers, and I start to sigh in relief until I see his fingers close around the grip of his Guardian blade. It flicks from its sheath right to Milo’s neck. I gasp and hold my breath.

  “I promised him,” Braden says. “I told him it would be my blade that took his life.”

  “I know.” My eyes slip from the knife to Milo’s face. What parts of his expression aren’t pounded into mottled bruises and blood sag in guilt. My next words aren’t to Braden, but to Milo. “You said Spiritualism won’t work. Why?”

  It’s a test, and he clearly recognizes that. For his sake, I hope he chooses the right answer.

  “It’s just like the link they used to trap the Ciphers. It can only be broken by death,” Milo responds. “And trying will most likely kill your people for the effort.”

  Fear sinks deep into my chest. I can’t kill them all unless I break the link first, and I may kill myself trying. I have more power than anyone else on Earth will ever have, but there are thousands of Dorotabos about to converge on me.

  “He’s lying,” Braden snarls. “He’s only trying to mislead you so his buddies can rip us all to pieces.”

  I meet Braden’s eyes and say, “If he is, I’ll know in a minute.” I don’t add that if he is lying, I’ll stand aside and let Braden do whatever the hell he wants to Milo. By the looks on everyone’s faces, they all understand that is a given.

  Closing my eyes, I remember what my dad said about my Vision, how I took all the Ciphers Vision so I could protect them. If there was ever a time I needed to protect them, it would be now. I tap my Vision and wait for it to respond. It doesn’t come right away, but I force myself to be patient. I have so much power backing this talent now that I know it will come and do exactly as I tell it for once. The Dorotabos are stomping through stragglers in their effort to reach me, but I turn my head just enough to catch Braden when I remember his earlier words and let them sink in. “What did you say about your neck? How did you fix it? You don’t have Naturalism.”

  “No, but you do.”

  “What?”

  He just grins, still pinning Milo to the ground, and gestures in front of me. “Twenty yards and closing. What are you doing?”

  Rather than answer, I stagger under the shock of my Vision suddenly lurching to life.

  I see myself clap my hands together, sending a sonic blast powerful enough to stagger the Dorotabos out in front of me. It’s not enough to stop them, but it is enough to disorient them in order to make breaking their links to the Spiritualists much easier. My teams’ Spiritualism follows close on the heels of my blast. I hold my own power back, knowing I will need it in a few seconds. Even without joining my army, I can feel their power rushing past me and into our enemies. It halts for a brief second as they search out the link, then, rushes off behind them in pursuit of the Spiritualists.

  I can barely hold my excitement in as I wait for the burst of energy that will signal that the link has been broken. The tidal wave of Spiritualism clashes with the Spiritualists … and rebounds back to the ones who cast it. I am spared, but the faces of my friends distort in horror as the massive amount of power rips through them, tearing out their spirits and leaving their bodies lifeless on the ground. My own body slumps to the ground, the vision dissipating at the same moment.

  “It won’t work!” I say through trembling lips.

  Panic ripples through the expressions of everyone around us. A Dorotabos coming in from the side leaps into the air, the very earth erupting around him as he lands. Chunks of rock and dirt slam into the right flank. Others are right on his heels with the main contingent about to steamroll right over me.

  “Milo was right!” I say through gritted teeth, my focus on the horde.

  “There’s no way to break it?” Braden asks, fear thick in his voice.

  No, no, no. My thoughts race in panic. There’s always a way.

  Before I can even begin to form an idea, Celia’s panicked voice calling out from the fray scatters everything. My eyes dart through the masses of people and Dorotabos until they land on her trying to drag a half conscious, bleeding Kayla through the battle. My first thought is to run for her. Before my body can react to the idea, Braden is holding me back.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he commands.

  “But …”

  He’s sprinting away from me before I can say anything else. Milo screams and struggles in Lance’s grip, desperate to follow, but I have no thought to spare for him. I can’t even describe the deluge of fear and pride I feel at watching Braden race into the chaos of death around us. I want so badly to help him, to keep my eyes glued to his body until he is safely back at my side, but the Dorotabos frontrunners are piercing my group with fatality.

  Forcing Braden out of my thoughts is torture, but if I have any hoping of winning I have to come up with something, right now. I think, and pray, and beg my brain to spit something out no matter how impossible it might seem.

  My plea sparks a thought.

  The Serqet, breaking a Guardian promise, reuniting Companions and giving back talents. Everyone said those were impossible, but I did it anyway. This can’t be any different. I have to break the link. I have to, or we’re all dead.

  Logic always tries to take a leave of absence in situations like this, but somehow I manage to cinch mine to my mind and force it to work. I killed Saia’s Sihir with brute force, suffocating her with Spiritualism until she burst. That won’t work here. The backlash would kill us all. It would be suicide. I refocus, and find my answer as remembered words of a friend and betrayer filter back into my thoughts.

  Thank you, Mr. Walters.

  I let my eyes flick back to Braden, more frantic than ever to get him back. The last Guardian falls at his feet and he shoves Celia forward. Limping, she runs back to her screaming brother who is finally released to embrace her. Brad
en is close behind, lugging the injured Kayla along with him. His only focus is on reaching me. So focused, he doesn’t see the Dorotabos slicing through bystanders to get to him.

  My eyes widen as I scream at him. His own head whips around, his steps tangling as he sees the monstrosity barreling toward him. Nothing Lance can do will stop me from reaching him … or so I think. Just as I am about to sprint to Braden’s rescue, Lance yanks my attention to the left flank. Panic spirals from my army where a mass of Dorotabos have broken through. My eyes swing back to Braden in panic. The Dorotabos leaps at his back. Braden barely outdistances him. His Speed is flagging. He has already fought so much. Unless he abandons Kayla, he won’t escape a second attempt.

  “Libby, they can’t hold the Dorotabos back! You have to stop them,” Lance’s panicked voice screams at me as he runs toward the crumbling left flank. Lance and dozens of others fight a losing battle as I stand frozen. Tears spring to my eyes as I know I have to send my talents along with Lance and not to Braden. My power gathers as I begin to turn away, hating myself for my decision, hating that I have to make such a choice.

  A strangely quiet voice is suddenly right next to my ear. “Libby,” it whispers, “I’m so sorry for everything.”

  Turning toward the sound, I’m shocked to find Milo. His remorseful expression stares back at me for a spilt second before turning away and tapping his Speed. I hear Celia cry out as we both realize what he is about to do. Gratitude for his attempt at redemption, doubt that it will work, and hope that he’ll make it in time, all fill my heart and mind as I turn away and blast my energy toward the Dorotabos infecting my ranks. Bolt after bolt, I call down pinpoints of atmospheric lightening to blast back the terrible creations. I can’t kill them yet, but I throw them far enough back that my followers have time to regroup.

  A trickle of hope slips into my mind.

  As soon as I turn around, it crumbles.

  Braden is down on one knee, furiously sending bursts of power at the Dorotabos in front of him as he tries to get back to his feet. Milo is throwing his power at a second Dorotabos. His talents are still fresh, while Braden’s are faltering. I don’t know how he sees it, but the second Braden falls with no hope of getting out of the way of the charging Dorotabos, Milo redirects his power, fully aware of what choice he is making. The gale he was about to send at his own opponent sweeps to the side and saves Braden’s life, but not without cost.

  I don’t know if anyone else sees the way Milo’s eyes close, or the look of finality and acceptance that graces his face, but I do. He knows the Dorotabos behind him is about to strike. He knew it when he spent his power on Braden’s behalf. Pure desire to never see the spear of Naturalism touch Milo slows time. But nothing can stop the inevitable. I can hear Celia crying out, but I am silent. The agony consuming me refuses to let any sound escape my lips. I watch as the Dorotabos’ stolen power slices through Milo’s body, silencing his heart, ending his life.

  As his body crumbles, my knees give out. Tears feel like acid as they trail down my face. I want to collapse, grieve, scream, but hands pull me back up to standing. Braden’s arms and love wrap around me, quieting my soul.

  “I’m so sorry, Libby,” he says. Celia is nearly inconsolable next to me, but neither of us can stop fighting yet. Braden’s arms tighten around me, but this time in fear. A second later, he pushes me away and turns us toward the oncoming slaughter. “Libby, they’re coming. What do we do?

  What do we do? The main horde of Dorotabos is less than ten feet away. In some areas, they have already broken through. My army and the Guardian turncoats are flinging talent in defense, making little impact. Braden’s words buzz around in my foggy head, banging around in the emptiness before finally slapping my mind awake. I know what to do. Mr. Walters gave me the key. Now all I have to do is use it. I stow my pain in a corner of my mind that I will revisit all too soon, and focus. I don’t turn to look at Braden, but I say, right as the lead Dorotabos hurls a fireball at my face, “Touch me.”

  Without question, his fingers slip around my waist, under the edge of my shirt to make sure he is touching bare skin. As soon as he does, I feel his power sweep through my body so strongly it nearly overwhelms me, multiplying and building just as I suspected it would after he revealed he could access my talents. I hear gasps go up around me as a corona of pure power envelopes both of us, looking as if we have been wrapped in pale blue flames. Our bodies radiate light and hope in the midst of darkening chaos.

  I don’t worry about the fireball. I can already feel Celia countering it. Instead, I think of Mr. Walters’s words, understanding of what he was trying to tell me before his murder, calming me with their truth. Spiritualism wasn’t the key, Concealment was. It was what my dad used on me the night he died, what I used to steal and give back Braden’s talents, what could break unbreakable promises. The one power that could strip away the damage done to a soul and renew it. Braden had been twisted into a killer after he was captured, but I freed him by taking away everything he was and forcing him to start over.

  The Dorotabos have been broken. Now they need to be remade.

  The air parts in anticipation of the blade streaking toward my throat, but I don’t flinch or move away. I tap the bottomless well of Perception inside me, turning it into a physical gesture with my hands to focus my mind, and sweep my hands out and away from my body a bare second before the knife reaches my flesh. I knock the knife away and a visible wall of power springs up around my army. The Dorotabos crash into it, breaking through. Cries of surprise erupt from everyone around me, but the wall wasn’t a physical barrier. The second they touched it, they were stained with my power. It reaches deep into their soul and traps them in my web.

  I don’t know how this feels or looks to anyone else, but for me, time seems to take a patient breath. Everyone but Braden freezes in this moment of destruction and rebirth. His hands slide up to rest on my shoulders and his lips brush across my cheek. He has no need to question or doubt. United through the Companion link, we are truly one. In soul. In power. In thought. His hands slip down my arms as we push the wall of Perception out.

  As soon as our power moves, time exhales, releasing everyone but those I’ve already trapped. Dorotabos rush in as power rushes out. At every point of collision, they stop, stunned, lost. My excitement bursts, and our Perception races away from us in a mad rush. Every last Dorotabos is engulfed, but I keep going until I meet resistance. The Dorotabos were mindless captives. The Spiritualists are not. Some have Perception to combat me, some do not. Those without succumb the fastest. Those with Perception last only a paltry few seconds longer before their minds are swallowed up as well.

  Now the real work begins.

  “Don’t let go of me,” I whisper to Braden.

  “Never,” he says as his finger touches the twisted bracelet on my ring finger.

  I smile at the reminder and think briefly of my birthday present and what it represents. Without me having to ask, Braden takes hold of our Naturalism to support my body under the strain of what is about to happen. I stay with Perception for stability, but tap the one power that can end this battle. I thrust my Concealment into every single captured Dorotabos and Spiritualist. My power latches onto their talents, locked and unlocked, and holds.

  I freed Braden from the twisted desire to kill me by taking away the talents that made it possible for him to be bound by the Oath. The Spiritualists can’t use their talents to control if they have no talents. The Dorotabos can’t be forced to use power their bodies have been stripped of. Maybe doing one or the other would be enough, but I’m not about to take that chance. I seize hold of my power, and their talents, and start yanking it back into me.

  Out of instinct and experience, I brace myself against the pain, but it doesn’t come. My knowledge of both Naturalism and pain lends itself to Braden, and he holds it off. But only for me. Screams of delirious agony fill the air until nothing else can be heard. Everyone around me looks terrified. They have no idea
what is going on. Their fear doesn’t affect me. Not once my power comes tumbling back into me, at least. I’m too fascinated watching the diktats blossom in a growing spiral on my flesh. They snake their way up my arm as stolen talents come rushing in. I have no idea how many of them there are, but the growing power suddenly becomes too much for me to contain. A shockwave of pure energy explodes out of me, flattening everything in its path.

  Chapter 38

  Life

  Lance thinks the white picket fence is silly, but he’s helping Braden install it anyway. Hope hands me a glass of lemonade. The glass is already sweating just from the short walk from the kitchen to the front yard. It’s another record setting heat wave. Most of Albuquerque’s residents are grumbling about it, but I have missed the dry heat of the desert. It warms my heart and soul alike. A muttered curse from Lance after clipping his finger instead of a nail makes me smile. Hope laughs and shakes her head.

  “He thinks just because he’s head of the World Intelligence Agency he can fix anything,” Hope snorts.

  “He never has been very handy with tools,” I admit. “He tried to help my dad build a tree house once. Nailed his pants to the floor.”

  Hope laughs hard enough that she almost drops her glass of lemonade. “I’m going to have to mention that later,” she says when she gets control of herself again.

  “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.” I don’t know why it hurts guys’ feelings so much not to be thought of as handy, but even Braden gets pouty when I fix something without asking him for help. Not that he lets me do much of anything lately. A little burr of irritation works its way into my awareness at that thought, sparking me to say, “I would have helped with the fence instead of hauling Lance over here, but …”

  “But nothing,” Hope interrupts, “you are under strict orders to relax for the next two weeks.”

  “Two weeks,” I say quietly, my hands drifting down to my belly. The baby rolls slowly as if turning over to let her other side soak up the warmth of the sun, too. “I can’t believe she’ll be here in two weeks. It’s gone by so fast.”