CHAPTER 9
The dream starts the same way it always does—with fire.
I'm standing on a battlefield of bones. The sky is split open like a wound, oozing crimson light and the air tastes like blood.
Across from me stands...me.
But not me.
My face on an angel's body, wings spread wide, flaming sword raised. His eyes burn with righteous fury, but his mouth twists with doubt.
Opposite him stands another me—demon-faced, horned, fanged, scarred. Laughing. Always laughing.
"My name is Legion," the angel-me whispers.
"For we are many," the demon-me finishes.
They circle each other, these twin versions of myself, neither fully winning, neither fully dyin’. I try to scream, try to move, but I'm frozen between them.
For some reason, I’m not participatin’ in this battle. I’m just a witness.
Blood begins risin’ up from the ground. . Droplets formin’, defyin’ gravity, floating up like rain in reverse. It beads on my skin, then pulls away, drawn to the sky.
The angel-me turns, fixing me with eyes that burn. "Youchosethis," he says, my mother's voice coming from its mouth. "You chose this the day you were born."
The demon laughs, the sound shattering the air like glass. "Tell him the truth," it growls. "Tell him what happens when the blood reaches the sky."
I look up. The blood droplets converge, forming a perfect circle. A clock face. A countdown.
"My name is Legion," I try to say.
"For we are many," every voice I've ever known answers back.
The blood-clock strikes thirteen?—
BANG BANG BANG
I jerk awake, hand already reaching for the shank under my pillow that's not there. Heart hammering against my ribs. Sweat-soaked sheets twisted around my legs.
"Kane! Wake the fuck up!" Roach's voice cuts through the door. "Brick wants you.Now."
I blink at the ceiling, dragging myself back to reality. The clubhouse. My bunk. The morning after patching in.
The space beside me is empty. Mercy's gone.
"Two minutes," I groan back, voice rough with sleep.
"Make it one," Roach answers, footsteps already retreating down the hall.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as the movement pulls at the fresh brand on my chest. The bandage Diesel applied last night is spotted with blood and clear fluid. I peel it back carefully, hissing through my teeth.
The Badlands B stares back at me, angry, red, and black. The skin around it swollen and weeping. It's not just a mark, it's a covenant. Permanent and binding.
No goin’ back now.
Not that there ever was a goin’ back.
I stand, stretching my stiff muscles until they ache. The dream clings to me like smoke, that reversed blood rain still vivid behind my eyelids.
