Page 177 of Remnants: Disruption
“I’ll call you when I need you to open it again,” I whisper and she nods, looking a bit dazed.
Cass’ finger glows red as she traces the square.
“Azazel!” I call, stepping through the doorway, but I’m met with pure sound.
There’s sirens blaring through the Citadel. People rush from building to building. Armored Remnants and supernaturals move in rank and formation, their weapons gleaming and powers on display.
“Hiraeth?” I hear their monotone voice from somewhere behind me.
If an expressionless white mask could look worried, Azazel definitely manages it.
“What happened?” they ask, stopping at a skid in front of me. “Where is the God Queen?”
“She’s alive, but—” I gesture to the crowded city streets. “What the fuck is happening?”
Azazel points up behind me, and I crane my neck a little to see the large screen projecting what looks to be NC Today.
It’s a video of what must be from the door of Damien Robert’s office—like a handheld unit. The focus is on Damien, so Cass isn’t on screen. When my power explodes, the camera glitches. It restarts as I pick up the unidentified body on the ground and careen through the wall of the building.
The chyron at the bottom chills my blood.
Dr. Damien Roberts murdered. President Ashworth declares state of emergency. All Remnants are now subject to RISE Containment.
Chapter 62
Traitors
November 16th, 1030 A.D., Night
When it comes time for the secret war, you will know which side you are on.
Kronos, 1023 A.D.
“Fuck.”
“Where is the God Queen?” Azazel asks, tearing their gaze from the replay.
I glance at them, then at the chaos around us.
“In the video she was on the ground, debilitated. I got her out of there and she’s recovering.”
They stare at me, obviously speechless.
“I can’t tell what face you’re making,” I say, gesturing around. “But we need to do something—fast.”
“For the God Queen?” they ask, voice weak. Clearly the idea of Cass being fallible at all is a foreign concept.
“Yes,” I say, pointing at the screen. “And also, that. Clearly they’re going to run with the narrative of us having killed Damien. Which is bullshit, but whatever.”
“What does she need?”
“More like who.”
“Which one of you is a Remnant?” I growl, my voice harsh through the shadowy form of the revenant.
There’s a handful of groans and one or two slurs, but no one speaks up. Even in the dull light of the Cradle, it’s difficult to even discern who is who.
I grab the first of the men at my incorporeal feet and hoist him by the collar of his Tempest garb.
