An Intellectual Tech nearby, still rocking on the ground, his voice shaking just as easily as the walls had just minutes before, cries out, “Some of our crafts aren’t meant for fighting! Not like,”—he waves a hand frantically at the small group of us in the front—“you all. We’re nothing but lambs to the slaughter to these monsters!” Handfuls of people scattered throughout the room murmur in frightened agreement.
“Are you kidding me?” I scoff. “That’s your excuse as to why you’re not going to do anything to fight back? To protect Karnach? To protect Magical-kind?” My voice trembles, too, but in white-hot anger, not fear. “When I was out hunting Elders while the rest of you were sitting in your comfortable houses and offices, there was a Métis on my team that has no craft whatsoever. And you know what? He never gave up. He never fell back on how he had no Magic to make things easy on him. He fought those bastards with everything he’s got, and sometimes that meant his fists.” I jab a finger toward the Informer. “Don’t give me asinine excuses. Nobody is expecting you to use a craft that won’t work. But dammit, you have hands. You have a brain. You have an urge to stay alive, don’t you? Use those!”
It makes me want to scream to see so many blank faces reflecting back at me.
Jonah’s got no time for them, though. He immediately lays out a plan, organizing those with both defensive and offensive crafts in hastily sketched battle plans. A few Council members, their courage surging, organize escape routes and rescue parties for those people surely trapped in offices upstairs. We get the Shamans in the room to immediately start triaging, starting with Mac. I need him clear headed and ready to kick ass. Our goals are simple: get people to safety; take down whatever Elders we can.
Enlilkian continues to taunt me, his voice seeping through my strengthened walls and cracks through the doors. Part of me wants to block his voice from our room, but realistically, I need these taunts. I need my anger to help sharpen my focus, hone my drive to hunt him down and tear his existence apart until he is nothing more than a distant thought.
I worried at first that Jonah might argue with me, insist that I need to find a way out, but he’s just as resolute as I am to finish this. There are no arguments, no attempts to change my mind—not once. He knows we need to hunt Enlilkian immediately. To know he has my back even when there’s a chance I’m walking straight into trouble means the worlds to me.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve got a handful of monitors whipped up to allow us to see what’s going on. And ... it’s not pretty. I have to bite back the vomit that surges up my throat at how many dead bodies there are, how many others are hurt and trapped within the rubble. From what we can tell, there are six Elders hidden within Magical bodies, including Enlilkian. Bios, somehow free from Guard custody, is in his natural form. There are ten others still incorporeal, their shapes constantly shifting in black, smoky trails. That makes seventeen total that we need to counter.
“I know it’s a long shot,” Jonah says to me as a group of us huddle over one of the larger monitors, “but do you think you can do that whole stop time thing you did in high school?”
If only. “I’ve tried it a few times since, but ...” I blow out a hard breath. “Enlilkian counters me immediately. Apparently, stopping time does not affect Creators. Even though he’s not at full strength, he’s still able to break whatever I enact.”
Johann Baldurrsson, one of the Council’s lead Informers and a member of the Elders Subcommittee, asks me, “Can he reverse anything you do?”
“Yes.” I want to break something, I’m so frustrated. “Like the walls—so far, they’re holding. He was upset I fortified them. But could he reverse them as easily as he does my attempts to stop time and other objects I make? I have no idea.” I run a hand through my messy hair, fingers struggling through tangles. “I don’t know how it all works. I wish I did. But I think I can safely say he isn’t able to bring back anyone I’ve erased out of existence. Or, at least, that’s what Bios told us.”
“Could you?” Mac asks.
I feel like I’m letting them all down, since my answer is the same. “Bios said his father had the gift of reincarnation. I don’t know if I have that, though.”
“Then we’ll just go with the initial plans,” Jonah says. He motions to the monitor I’ve made showing us Guard HQ. Zthane has already mobilized the troops; teams are on their way, roughly ten minutes out. I’m glad to see our friend looking no worse for wear, glad to know that, in Bios’ escape or rescue, the Guard who protected him these last few weeks was left unscathed. “We’ll just have to ensure that once the Guard comes, we’ll have the place ready for them.”
Mac nudges my shoulder. “No sweat. We’ve got this. Piece of cake.”
His loudly voiced optimism is greatly appreciated.