Page 183 of Remnants: Disruption
The shadows respond instead.
Several tendrils of inky darkness snake from the spaces behind them. Each hold sharp, serrated edges with the perfect slant for slicing muscle and sinew.
The agents don’t even see the blades.
Azazel steps around the pooling blood and follows me up the stairs and
“I did not think you had gotten so strong so quickly,” they say, sounding far too contemplative for the first battle in a war.
“When the Seer mind-fucked me, I sort of justgotit, you know?” I respond, thumbing the button for the elevator. “Feels serendipitous, if that’s the right word.”
Azazel lets out a soft snort as the elevator dings.
The agents at the elevator’s entrance let out a startled scream before shadowy blades cut through their armor.
Azazel rolls out to my right and I see them in my periphery tossing grown men around like ragdolls. Their glowing hands launch red projectiles into agents further away, dropping them where they stand.
This is the only floor occupied by RISE. Which absolutely means it’s a trap. So, springing it is, really, the only option.
The other floors had been occupied by terrified residents and business owners who assured us that RISE had simply kept going up.
And up.
To the floor that held the Boilerhouse.
Because, of course, that’s where this would go down.
I can see the place, too, and it’s not even guarded. The only agents that we’d encountered were the ones at the elevator’s entrance.
“There’s no one else,” I say as Azazel falls into step beside me. “This is a trap.”
“Certainly,” they say and I see them draw a symbol into their palm. It glows red and then their entire body illuminates.
“Are you ever going to explain that?” I ask.
“You already have enough power, Hiraeth,” they hum like a disapproving teacher.
The bar’s entrance sits like a lone beacon amongst the otherwise desolate market area. The lit sign and paraphernalia make the place seem like an oasis when, really, it’s likely going to be a slaughterhouse.
I push open the door and frown as my eyes adjust slowly to the dimmed lights.
There’s well over two dozen RISE agents. Each of them look armed to the teeth with stuff I’ve never seen before. And each of them levels their weapons at us.
At the far end, where the VIP area usually is, and see two women and a man.
“Oh, fuck, Arya,” Kronos grunts out, sounding in incredible pain. “I told them you wouldn’t be stupid enough to come here.”
Ana, the muscle, is on the ground, alive, but bruised and beaten. If the men holding her in position with glowing-red lassos are any indication, she’d put up a helluva fight before they’d gotten her.
Lucille, on the other hand, is on her knees in front of a familiar blonde.
“Oh,” the blonde says, her eyes turning to meet mine. They’re a weird orange. Not like Cass’. More like neon. Unsettling. “Arya here is likely pissed we killed her girlfriend. Aren’t you, dear?”
“Alexa, right?” I ask, genuinely forgetting her name.
She levels a kick at Lucille who tumbles to the side, groaning in pain.
“That one is trouble,” Alexa says, voice far too calm for the situation. “And don’t you start again with that silly amnesia rubbish. You were hard enough to find in the first place. Did you like the little gifts I left?
