Descent into the Abyss

Chapter 44

Marcus stepped past Blake, the heat still blowing against his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

"Get the rest of the colonists out of of Chicago, Marcus. I'll hold them off as long as I can," Blake commanded, stepping forward with his rifle being lifted.

He took a few more steps away... Then a few more... And then he was sprinting down the street. If he couldn't fight, he'd honor the mission. But as soon as the colonists were on the move, Marcus would be back.

"The General said a kilometer," Marcus recalled, pushing off his feet with a newfound effort. "Blake's not dying."

Three blocks back, at the edge of the growing flames, Blake stood facing the heat.

"Well, can't turn back now," He remarked with a grim smirk. "Told the kid that I'd handle it."

It was still just the single target of Michael, and yet the heat pulsing into the streets from the enflamed buildings began to twist and distort the image. He stood less than two blocks away now; sweat collecting on his brow, on his neck, under his armpits, running wild down his back and legs.

It was a dry heat. One that stole the moisture from your body and turned your throat into sandpaper. A heat that would dry your eyes until you couldn't see further than a few yards in front of you, only to be battered by the blistering winds. An all too familiar heat that blew down the streets of the engulfed Chicago blocks into the unwavering figure of Blake.

He shouldered the rifle, quickly wiping away the growing moisture from his brow and eyes, before taking aim down the scope. At this range, the wind would have little interference, yet it could still cost him the kill shot. He had to move closer.

"I can't risk him getting back up after the first shot," He thought to himself, lowering the rifle for a few hurried strides.

Now, with barely a city block separating Blake from the raging inferno, he dropped to a knee. As the rifle came up and his target honed in, all he needed was a single pull of the trigger and this was over...

POP!

A second passed, Blake watching through the scope as the target stumbled back, falling onto the pavement.

"Stay down," He whispered under his breath, watching with baited breath as the figure remained motionless.

A whisper blew on the winds. One that froze him to the ground and sent shivers throughout his body.

"Too late..."

"You must be the soldier working with that bastard swordsman," A voice declared, eerily close.

Blake spun to the right, his trigger finger ready to squeeze the second he saw the owner of the voice. A hand stopped his spin, gripping the barrel with inhuman strength as Blake met their eyes.

"Wait!" His mind screamed, trying to understand. "Then who?"

The barrel began to glow a dark reddish orange, turning brighter by the heartbeat pounding in his chest. Dropping the rifle, Blake stepped away, watching as the two pieces clattered onto the ground. His newfound opponent stepped past the sizzling pieces, smacking the melted metal away from their hands as if it was nothing more than dust.

"A couple of things could've occurred," He began, casting a quick glance to the inferno raging, then back to Blake. "The swordsman could've lied when he showed up here. Told you guys whatever it was you wanted to hear, but I don't think that's the case. No, I don't think that at all."

Blake reached for his pistol, but as his fingers touched it, his hand recoiled and a heat began spreading from his hip.

"Don't."