Page 44 of Remnants: Disruption
“Shit,” I grunt, shaking my head at the pain. The split lip mends almost immediately, but the coppery taste in my mouth lingers.
The next two spikes miss as well but tie themselves around Omen’s waist as they lunge forward. Rather than moving, though, their stagnate movement sends a shuddering crack through the infrastructure of the parking facility.
“Get out of here Percy,” I yell behind me, unsure as to where she might be in the darkness.
“Fate is a funny thing,” Omen says, grunting though the tightening band of shadow. “It weaves itself for no one.”
The darkness tenses, and I can feel its anguish in my teeth.
“Except me,” Omen hisses and the shadows explode outward.
I launch myself at Omen this time, hoping the direct assault may put them on their back foot.
To my surprise, the gambit works and they try to sidestep me, but a tendril shoots from the nearest vehicle and impales itself in Omen’s thigh.
They yowl in pain as it skewers flesh and bone, exiting out the other end and snaring like a perverse grappling hook.
I land a blow to Omen’s helmeted jaw. Then another. And as the third one strikes true, the reflective glass chips.
“Fuck,” Omen growls, sounding uncharacteristically annoyed.
They kick out with the other leg and I catch it, but the force overbalances me and I fall onto my ass, taking them with me.
Or, at least, they should have.
The sound of spike through flesh turns my eyes to where Omen stalks past me, their leg now mending despite the blood slowly spilling out.
“Why do you want her so badly?” I yell out, several tendrils of darkness wrapping around Omen’s neck and arms.
They yell out something caught in the muffled shadow.
I get to my feet and reach out another shadow, its point already sharpened. It inches close to their helmeted face as they continue to struggle.
“Why do you want her so badly?” I ask again, this time letting the shadow around where their speaker is to fall.
“Darkrend said so,” they hiss, then they let out a soft giggle.
I turn to where they’re looking and find Percy aiming at me again.
“Fate is funny like that,” Omen says, their voice raspy.
“Percy,” I warn, raising my hands placatingly. “We can talk after I put this freak down.”
“How do I know you aren’t like them?” she asks, eyes wide with fear so primal I almost feel it myself.
Omen’s struggling continues behind me, and I know this is their doing. Fate and probability are one and the same.
“You’re being manipulated, Percy,” I whisper, trying to approach, but she pulls back the safety on the pistol. “They’re messing with your head.”
“This kind of power shouldn’t exist,” she says, sounding terrified. I want to close the space between us and hold her. Despite all the wounds she’s landed, I want her to know she’s safe. That she can trust me.
That I would never hurt her.
“I know, sweetie,” I say, trying to sound affectionate despite the way my voice breaks. “I know, and I will turn myself in if you just lower the gun. We can stop Omen now. I’m strong enough to—”
The gun goes off.
Be it chance, fate, or something worse, the bullet strikes my arm and, again, hurts like the blaze of a thousand suns.
