by TS Ward
The storm burned beneath my skin, gathered in my palms in a blinding white light as the anger and pain inside me boiled.
The real Apotelesma?
A quick thunk stopped him with the trigger a hair away from firing. The Talon soldier stumbled and fell to his knees, and collapsed backwards with a heavy thud.
Everything in me faded as I realized what happened—Jack shot him. He shot Fitz.
I let my head loll to look at him, and then past him to James slumped in his chair.
He looked so casual and calm in his stillness. He looked like he was sleeping. But dark, ruby red dripped from him, trailed down an arm to the tip of a finger to splash on the floor.
I pressed my hand over the warmth that spilled from the same place I had been shot before, the burning sensation too familiar, spreading into my hip bone.
Soldiers were coming. I felt them in the stairwell.
It took the last of the static that flickered in my bones to let the elevator have power again, to bring them quicker, because the smoke and the pain and the blood that I felt under my hand made my heart stammer faster and faster.
A thought crossed my mind as I stared at James across the room.
If I had talons and sharp enough claws, I would tear him apart. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. He was already gone, and so was my father, and so was that Talon soldier.
If I could force myself from the ground, to stand, to live, I would tear the world apart. For Percy, for my father and mother, for Pucks and Tiger and Rabbit and Arden and Ellie, for Jack—I was going to be the fire that burned down this world.
I twisted onto my elbow with a growl in my throat. I forced myself to my feet. And I stood. My claws are sharp and spark the flame.
There is a fire within me. A burning rage to match the sun.