The Network ( Book One of the Grounders Series )

9

Dedicated to so1tgoes

It takes all I the strength left in me to roll out of the way of the door as it falls.

I am still recovering from the pain as Verro soldiers flood into Artery. They yank me to my feet and walk me towards the Hearth.

People flood the Artery, cramming together in the mass of bodies. Today must be my execution.

When we get to the Hearth, I see that the entire Network has gathered to see my death, even the pacified clanless have joined.

I am strapped to a whipping post. My wrist are wedged into tight manacles, my chest pressed against the wood.

They slice the back of my tunic with a dagger and rip it off my shoulders, revealing my bare back.

"By the power vested in the Council of the Network, Alaric Constantine is sentenced to death for tampering with ancient magic. He murdered his oppressor, and his own mother. He must be brought down," the herald says.

"I didn't murder anyone," I say through grit teeth. "The Lizard of Death is coming for you-."

My words freeze on my tongue. I see him. In the shadows of the Artery, a bloodied villagers from my vision.

He bursts from the darkness, tackling the herald to the ground and twisting his neck with intense ferocity. He's like a crazed animal, craving death.

The soldiers are stunned for a moment.

My wrists feel hot. I look at the manacles and see that they've been melted off.

Escape to Daws, Alaric Constantine. The war will begin. Soon the doors to the clans will be closed and anyone left in the Artery will die.

I yank my wrists from the remains of the manacles and yank the sword from the nearest soldiers sheath. They react at that, lunging at me instead of the insane killer atop the carcass of the herald.

Time stops for everyone as the blade of the sword slides smoothly through the chest of the villager.

My hand releases the hilt, and I step back. Looking at the carnage my own hand created.

Two bodies. Two, making four, adding to all those who died in the village in my vision.

This is what war is, Alaric. Become accustomed.

"Only the soulless can kill without remorse," I say, not even realizing that I'd said it aloud until seconds later.

Then more animalistic villagers pour into the Artery, attacking anyone in their path.

My instincts tell me to fight, to defend my people, to play along in this war.

I yank the sword from the body of the villager and focus in on one particular target. A villager whom had ripped the throat of a man out with his bare teeth. Droplets of blood splatter his face, glowing like beacons against his porcelain skin.

My muscles are moving before my brain has time to register what's happening. My blade slashes shallowly across the man's chest. He howls in pain and lunges for my face.

I raise my blade and it slides through his Adam's Apple. He chokes for a moment, his body dangling gruesomely from the tip of my blade.

You are a natural killer, Alaric.

The blade falls from my hands, cushioned by the fine sheen of blood that has accumulated on the stone floor.

I am a killer...