“To Zone 12!” Nadine’s command snapped through the basin, her voice a battle cry. “Move!”
The Dissent surged forward as one. Boots hammered against the drainage tunnel floor. Weapons were clutched tight. Shoulders touched as they marched toward the upper levels ofPerileos. The thunder of the city’s awakening rose with them, a storm that made Christian’s pulse race.
He kept Gemma at his side, his fingers brushing hers every other step. Lysa stayed close behind, her staff collapsed and strapped to her back until the fight demanded it.
At the top, Nadine kicked open a bulkhead door. Cool air flooded in, heavy with the grit of Perileos. Their boots hit the street, and the city roared alive around them.
For a heartbeat, Christian froze. He had expected chaos. Instead, what he’d found was fury made flesh.
From everywhere, Perileos citizens poured out, led by the undercover Dissenters who’d waited for the call. Miners still streaked in dust. Vendors with knives clutched in fists. Women and men who had spent lifetimes bent under the Systems’ boot. They weren’t panicking. They were rising.
Nadine raised her fist, her voice ringing like revarium steel. “Zone 12, with me!”
The crowd surged like boiling water breaking its dam.
Christian moved with it, shoulder to shoulder with fighters and civilians alike, all of them charging with whatever they could carry—rifles, drills, pipes, blades. The roar of their voices shook the tunnels, pressing in his chest and rattling his bones.
Black-armored Systems soldiers fell back in waves, disciplined but outnumbered, their rifles spitting fire into the surge. People went down—some screaming, some silent—but more filled the gaps, refusing to break.
Christian ducked low, knives flashing as he ripped through a soldier who’d leveled on Lysa. She spun her staff in answer. The tip crackled when it whacked against another soldier’s ribs. The woman stiffened and dropped, smoke curling from her armor.
Hawk roared, swinging wide and catching a soldier across the helmet with the butt of his blade. The man staggered back just in time for Imara’s shot to drop him clean.
Gemma was a blur ahead of him. Every move precise, every strike brutal. Her tattoos burned like liquid, violet fire through the haze. She cut down two soldiers in a seamless arc and kicked another straight into the mob behind them. For one raw second, Christian almost forgot to breathe.
She was glorious.
The fight rolled with them, street after street, until the fortress came into view: Gallowood House. Its walls loomed over the city, hard and unyielding. Floodlights swept the approaches, catching faces and blinding fighters, but the Dissent didn’t slow.
Nadine raised her rifle high, her voice carrying over the storm. “That’s their heart. Let’s cut it out!”
The crowd answered with a thunder that shook the foundations.
Christian’s pulse skipped a beat the second he caught sight of heavy repeater guns powering up.
“Cover!” Christian shouted, dragging Gemma and Lysa behind the rusted carcass of an old transport tram as the first round of heavy gunfire ripped through the square.
Sparks showered where rounds chewed through metal. Screams tore across the mob. But the Dissenters didn’t stop. They scattered into alleys, climbed fire escapes, flanked hard from the shadows. For each body that fell, three more pressed forward.
Christian sucked in air thick with gunpowder. His heart pounded from the weight of what was happening. The Systems had brought in troops. Had gone after Gemma and the Dissent. But all they’d really done was set fire to a city that had been waiting years to burn.
He stayed low behind the tram carcass, waiting for a break in the Systems’ volley. Gemma was pressed against his side. Lysa crouched tight with her staff braced across her knees.
Hawk and Imara slid in beside them.
“We’ll never get inside this way,” Hawk growled, panting.
“What do you suggest?” Christian asked.
“Around back, I can sneak us in.” He pointed at the side of his house. “We’ll take the service lane that runs tight against the house. We get in, we convince Dad to surrender.”
“Will that actually work?” Imara asked. “I don’t exactly see your dad handing over the keys to the city.”
“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” Christian replied. “First things first—we gotta get into the house in one piece.”
When all nodded in agreement, the five of them surged from cover. Rounds ripped past Christian’s ear, hot with death. He dove hard, rolled, and came up slashing at a soldier who’d turned his rifle too slow.
More of the Systems soldiers ran at him. But Gemma was there in an instant, her blades a violet storm. One soldier went down screaming. Another gurgled through a ruined throat. Christian felt the old rhythm settle in, the unspoken bond of movement, strike, cover. Only this time, her power burned like a star beside him.
