Ender is toying with his opponents. There are five versions of him, circling the rebel, and she is stuck in the center, fighting each one, not knowing which one is the real Ender.
A knife slices through the air towards him. Ender reaches out and catches it mid-flight. His shoulder snaps back, lightning-fast, and the blade catapults forward, sinking into the eye of his attacker.
Terror strikes through me. I’ve never seen Ender Vale on the field. And everything they’ve said about him is true.
He is unstoppable.
He is a menace.
He is the most powerful Gifted I’ve ever seen.
Blood trickles down his mouth, and he licks it clean and smiles, revealing his crimson teeth.
He is more beast than man now.
Even the rebels hesitate for a second, exchanging confused looks.
Ender raises his hand, and the floor shakes. It cracks beneath our feet, breaking in half. He drags his elbows down, and rubble shoots up to the sky.
We are prepared for this. The reason Ender constantly changes the environment when we train is to teach us to outsmart his illusions so we are not distracted during battle.
The rebels fall in a heap, losing their footing while we remain upright. He drags his hands down, and the roof collapses, beams flying down to crush us. I almost flinch at how realistic it is.
Ender is using their fear as a distraction; he holds two guns and shoots in rapid succession. Bodies collapse around him, falling limp where they stand.
Ender flings his guns aside when he runs out of bullets and drags out two long blades from his back and rushes into the swarm. He moves like water, graceful and lethal. I’m riveted byhis fighting style, not that there is much for me to do. Nobody is attacking me, and I refuse to hurt anyone.
“We need your help,” a woman says into my ear, appearing behind me. “I need the leader.”
It’s the Transporter. The pretty one.
“Ender?” I ask.
“Capturing him will change everything,” she says, excitement flashing in her eyes. “It will tip the scales in our favor.”
I hesitate.
“It’s too soon,” I say. “I’m getting closer to him. He’s of more use to us at the Forge.”
She contemplates my words.
“Fine,” she says. “Check your pocket when you return. Prue has a message.”
A shot rings and blood splatters my face.
Ender puts a bullet in her shoulder, and the rebel collapses beside me, her eyes wide with fear. Ender’s footsteps echo menacingly around us. His enemies lay dead at his feet.
I bend down, placing a hand on her shoulder and raising my fist, as if I intend to knock her out. Except I use our contact to stop time.
“Can you transport out of here?” I ask.
She’s looking around the room in wonder. Everyone is frozen, locked in motion.
“You could kill them all,” she says in awe. “Put a bullet in everyone’s head. Even the powerful Commandant.”
I pursue my mouth, uneasy at the thought.
It is inhumane to kill people when they can’t fight back. It reminds me too much of the executions at the square. Every few months, someone would be killed for defying the laws. Especially those from the poorer boroughs. They were always used as an example to convey the regime’s strength and itsintolerance for subversion. Even speaking poorly of Malric Vale could result in one’s death.
