Page 43 of Remnants: Disruption
Percy takes a tentative step forward, but she stumbles.
I glance down and see the heel of her boot has sunk into the concrete floor.
“What the—” she begins, but several of the nearby vehicle alarms pop off at once.
Then they cut off suddenly.
“They will likely put you down anyways, Dark One,” a higher pitched voice trills through the garage. “Or I can, I suppose. I’ve always wanted to try myself against you.”
The nebula-like helmet appears from between two vehicles, like they’d been there the whole time. Golden armor radiates softly in the dim light, reflecting along the nearby vehicles.
Percy’s stumble and cry of panic tears me from my gawking as she almost falls flat on her face. I catch her and pull her out from where the boot has firmly phased with the ground.
The probability of atoms matching in such a way that they phase through one another is infinitesimally small.
And yet with Omen it’s almost an assurance.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” I ask, doing my best to subtly push Percy behind me. Omen’s gaze, hidden by the helmet, seems to be firmly on me, though.
“Darkrend heard about your little skirmish with one of his generals. He’s upset to learn you turned Titan into a stuck pigbut is willing to forgive the slight if you turn over the detective. Just my luck I find you two together.”
It’s never just luck with Omen.
“What does Darkrend want with two dead bodies?” I ask, letting the shadows rise around me. “First he sends Titan, now you. He must be worried.”
“This issue doesn’t concern you,” Omen hisses, voice completely unidentifiable. “You only managed to get in the way. This would be the third time, now.”
They take a step forward, their golden armor shifting and bending in weird ways that only make sense when you consider the Remnant wearing it.
“Why didn’t Darkrend come here himself?” I ask, turning to shield Percy with my body.
Omen seems to consider me for a moment before a dark chuckle emanates from the helmet.
“Darkrend hasn’t done his own dirty work in a long, long time. He’s working on much more important matters.”
“I’m not letting you take her,” I say firmly, my shadows licking at the ceiling as I expand them further. “You’re going to have to go through me.”
Chapter 22
Lost
Too Late
Kneel, for you shall now be bound by blood and flame. Pro omni tempore et spatio.
Tempest Initiation, 100 A.D.
Their first volley of indecipherable blows misses when I toss myself and Percy out of Omen’s reach. Percy’s landing issomewhat softened by the tendril of shadow that grabs her, but she still lets out a grunt as she rolls.
Omen doesn’t fire normal weapons; hell, they don’t even use their hands. Things justhappenwhen you’re around them. In the years I’ve spent studying Nye Verden, one thing has always been certain. Between Omen and Darkrend, neither of them have been beaten. And neither of them leave survivors unmarred.
And it isn’t that I don’t think I can win. It’s that as I watch Omen’s approach, I know that if we escape this, we’re only going to be facing Darkrend next.
He won’t let us get away—I will not be able to beat him.
Shadows jab at Omen as they take off at us at a sprint. Instead of striking true, though, they seemingly miss by the smallest of margins. The sharp manifestations are never imprecise. Yet with each passing strike, they whiff just barely over the reflective helmet.
Omen’s fist lands squarely along my jaw and the force sends me staggering backwards.
