The doors are hot to the touch, so I kick them open with everything I have.
The rush of oxygen I allow in feeds the inferno.
The fire roars to meet me, a wall of orange and yellow that nearly drives me back. The heat is staggering, pressing against my skin like a physical force. Smoke burns my eyes, sears my throat.
But I see her.
Through the flames, through the chaos, I see the altar in the center of the room. I see Zaria pinned there, a silver handle gleaming in the firelight. She looks hurt.
Her face turns toward me. Even from here, I can see the tears streaking through the soot on her cheeks.
"Zaria!"
I run.
"Callum, wait!"
Pain explodes through my left arm.
I stumble and look down. Blood soaks my sleeve, spreading fast. The bullet tore through muscle, maybe clipped bone. I can't tell. I can't think. I can only see red.
I look around and all I see are flames and smoke.
Shit. I'm exposed.
"No!" Zaria screams.
Another shot.
White-hot agony rips through my left foot and my leg buckles. I hit the ground hard, and my gun slides away from my outstretched hand. My palm scrapes across burning floorboards as I try to push myself up.
Footsteps approach through the fire as I try to find my gun.
Cormac emerges from the flames like a demon summoned from hell itself. His robes are singed, his face twisted in ecstasy, and in his hand is a revolver pointed right at me.
"I've been waiting forty years to burn you for the prophecy."
I don't answer. I just stare at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my gun. It's about five feet away, too far for me to make a move for it.
The pain in my arm and foot throbs in time with my heartbeat.
Cormac steps closer, flames dancing behind him. "I never thought I'd have my daughter on the altar when I did it." His smile widens, displaying teeth stained with ash. "But both of you can meet the Morrígan together."
A rumble shakes the building and a section of ceiling comes crashing down, showering sparks across the floor. Cormac turns instinctively toward the sound.
I crawl and then lunge across the floor.
My fingers close around my gun's grip. I twist, raise it, and pull the trigger.
The shot hits Cormac in the right knee.
He screams and his leg folds beneath him. He hits the ground and points the revolver at me.
I fire again.
The second bullet hits his shoulder and he drops his gun out of reach. He collapses, blood pouring from his wounds.
I force myself to stand.
