YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT US.
The words vibrate through the tunnels beneath the building.
WE MADE YOU STRONGER.
“You made me a cage,” I say through clenched teeth.
The tar lashes violently around my arms, reacting to the rage burning through my veins.
THE HEIR BELONGS TO US
My chest rises and falls hard.
“No,” I growl. “They both belong to me.”
WE WILL DESTROY EVERYTHING BEFORE WE LET YOU TAKE WHAT IS OURS.
“Try me,” I snarl.
I burst into the giant warehouse. My vision weaves through the dark, seeing everything in shades of energy and shadow.
“SISK!”
I’m moving fast, my head whipping back and forth scanning the towering stacks of train parts and the skeletal remains of machinery. Every shadow is a potential threat, every dark corner a place where she could be bleeding out.
The whole building shudders violently and I look up without breaking stride. A massive crane arm, a behemoth that must weigh tons, is swinging down from the ceiling, a wrecking ball aimed right at my head.
I search for the power, the magic that always answered without question.It’s gone.Taken back by the pit, like I was just borrowing it.
Now it’s tar against tar.
I throw my hand up, palm out, and the tar explodes from me, a solid black wall that materializes out of thin air. The crane arm hits it with a deafening roar, an impact that feels like it’s going to shatter every bone in my body. I scream, pouring every ounce of myself into it, and shove back. The tons of steel scream in protest as I hurl them sideways into a far wall with a crash that makes the floor buck beneath my feet.
I don’t even wait for the sound to die. I’m already running again, digging deeper into the guts of this place. “SISK!” I roar again, my voice cracking with desperation.
A high mezzanine walkway collapses ahead of me, a tangle of steel grating and pipes crashing down to form a wide wall. I don’t even hesitate. I lower my head and pour the tar into my legs, feeling the muscles swell and burn. I leap, my body clearingthe gap in a single, impossible bound, landing on the other side in a crouch, my fingers tearing gouges in the concrete to slow my momentum.
I see a faint glow ahead, coming from a small area deep in the warehouse, a space cordoned off by hanging tarps and dirty sheets. That has to be it.
I sprint toward it, my boots eating up the distance. The building is actively trying to stop me. The ground heaves, and a row of massive storage racks, each one loaded with heavy steel axles and wheels, starts to topple over. It’s a domino effect of screeching, groaning metal that fills the air with a deafening pandemonium.
I throw my palm forward, and pour all my rage and fear into the tar, letting it consume me. I burst through the newly cleared path, a whirlwind of black energy and fury, and I break through the hanging tarps like they’re made of cobwebs.
The makeshift space is a fucking dump, a nest of squalor and madness. A stained mattress is shoved into a corner, covered by a thin, dirty blanket. A plate sits on a stack of old train manuals, a single pot crusted with the remains of some long-forgotten meal. Empty cans and food wrappers are littered everywhere. I don’t really see any of it. I don’t smell the stale food or the unwashed body.I only see her.
Sisk is strapped to a metal chair bolted to the floor, her head hanging forward. A glass bottle of black liquid hangs from a rickety IV stand beside her, the slow, steady drip of it flowing into her veins the only sound I can hear.
Standing beside her, calmly adjusting the valve on the IV, is Murtaugh. He looks up, and my eyes meet his. They’re completely devoid of surprise or fear. He remains perfectly still, with a fucking syringe in his hand, as if he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life.
Across the room, Ivan paces in erratic circles. He doesn’t look at all like the Ivan I remember, he doesn’t even look human. His skin is unnaturally pale, stretched thin over a wiry frame that looks like it hasn’t seen real sunlight in a decade. His hair is a matted, tangled mess, hanging in greasy strands around a face that’s all angles and sunken eyes. Those eyes aren’t just wild; they’re empty, burned out by whatever voice that has been living in his head. He’s not just a man who’s been locked away; he’s something that’s been hollowed out and refilled with madness.A creature of the tar.
“Faster,” Ivan says, rocking slightly as he walks, his hands twitching at his sides. “He’s here. Faster.”
His head snaps toward me, and a wide, unsettling grin spreads across his face.
I notice all of this in a matter of seconds as I sprint toward her.
A section of ceiling crashes down in front of me blocking my path, and behind me Matt shouts something, but his voice disappears under the roar of collapsing structures.
