Unbound

Chapter 16

"They've seen us," Simon said.

The men and women rolling about on the ground, biting, kicking, and punching one other, all looked up as one when Jesus and Simon came within the circle of their awareness, something carried over from their creator. Shira made sure to instill a tiny piece of her will in each Taken, so they could always be aware of the Wardens.

Somewhere behind Jesus and Simon, Pastor Tim groaned. The passion he'd displayed earlier when talking of his son was gone now, replaced by utter terror.

"Try not to kill those who can be redeemed," Jesus said to Simon as the other man stepped away, summoning his large ax. The old weapon fell into the man's hands, blade rusted and dark with the spilled blood of men thousands of years dead.

"Right," Simon said. The Warden sigil on his head, which had flared when he summoned his weapon, became dull, but still pulsed with light. Jesus knew his own, on his forehead, must be doing the same.

The Taken snarled and stood. All base instincts to fight one another was gone, wiped away in the presence of the Wardens. They had but one goal now—kill. Of course, that also meant Shira was now aware that her pets were about to fight at least one Warden. So be it.

Jesus roared and rushed forward. The crowd roared back as one and ran toward them. There had to be at least fifty men and women, and some children. A growl ripped its way out of his throat at the sight of the kids. A few were bleeding; some had blood running down their throats and staining their chests, where they'd bit others.

A man came within striking distance and Jesus lashed out, both hands coated in a sheen of his own blood. He grabbed the man by his throat and lifted him up, then slammed the palm of his other hand against the man's forehead, leaving a print of blood. The man's eyes, dull and lifeless, suddenly flashed as the link to Shira dissolved. Jesus dropped him to the ground and moved on, three more men already surrounding him.

To his right Simon swung back and forth, decapitating those he must deem beyond saving. At least, that better be the only thing he was doing. Simon had always enjoyed taking his zealous fury out on the weak rather than the strong.

Jesus spun, ducking a man's clumsy punch while lashing his bloody hands out and catching two more in the forehead. They dropped, he moved on. A woman leapt over the crowd, her hands claws, face bloody. She stepped on several heads before launching herself at Jesus.

"No," he whispered. He stepped aside and swung up, fist catching the woman in the chest. He hated it when it was women. She flew back and hit several others, but sprang forward almost immediately. Her hands flashed out, fingers ending in ruby-tipped claws, some broken and jagged, but all dripping blood.

Jesus ducked her swing and someone hit him from the side, a man in a suit like Pastor Tim had worn. He jerked an elbow back and clipped the man in the side of the head, spinning him around. The woman was coming again, faster this time. So fast.

"Simon!" Jesus called as realization dawned. "Shira is using the Berserker wave!"

"Shit," Simon said, spitting while he yanked the blade of his ax from a man's chest. He had to release the haft and punch another in the face, sending him reeling back with a gushing nose.

Jesus turned as another man lunged at him from the side. They were giving the female deference, knowing she was stronger. She had to have been the strongest mind of them all, to pick up on the Berserker Wave. He punched the man on the top of his head, then slammed his palm against the attacker's forehead and turned back to the woman.