My landing was slightly softened by my multiple attempts to hold on to something on my way down, but blood had gotten into my eyes, and my arms were a tad weak from all the climbing. I was probably bleeding internally, too—or I’d bruised an organ or two, at the very best. It was getting increasingly difficult for me to physically function at a level that would allow me to survive this fight.
I hit the ground hard enough to get the air knocked out of my lungs. Ashes burst out from beneath me in grayish clouds. I groaned from the pain, but the adrenaline and my will to live didn’t let me succumb.
Glancing up, I saw that Jakkhiel was approaching, his claws out and a hungry sneer slitting his face.
He was eager to tear me apart and splatter me across the jungle.
I couldn’t let him win. I’d endured enough from him during the first days of Ta’Zan’s so-called ideal society. He’d kicked me, he’d humiliated me, and he’d murdered one of my best friends. Of course, he’d claimed it was an accident, but Jakkhiel was as vicious and as evil as Abaddon and many other Perfects who’d gotten drunk on their own power.
No, I couldn’t let him end this here. Not now. Not like this.
Fate smiled upon me. My pulverizer weapon was just a couple of feet away. I cried out in agony as I managed to extend a hand to reach it. My fingers caught the nozzle just as Jakkhiel jumped on the last branch—a mere second away from finishing me off.
One second. That’s all I get.
Jakkhiel came down, his claws long and sharp and craving my flesh. The look of impending victory on his face quickly morphed into one of dread. I’d never seen the color drain from someone’s face so fast.
I fired the pulverizer pellet.
Poof.
Jakkhiel was a puff of ashes, momentarily suspended in the air.
One breath. Another. The third was equally painful, but at least I was still alive. The ocean breeze blew through the jungle and sent Jakkhiel away.
I lay there for a few seconds, listening to the sounds around me. Shots fired. Bones broken. Perfects dying. Faulties and Draenir getting torn apart. Their screams would never leave my memory. I’d brought them here.
Then again, we hadn’t known that the Perfects had their own version of the pulverizer weapon. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to begin with, though. Ta’Zan had stolen most, if not all, of his knowledge and technology from the Draenir. He hadn’t seen the need for such weapons until Ben and Rose’s crew started using them back on Merinos.
“Come on, Araquiel, how much long—” I muttered, but was promptly interrupted by his voice in my ear.
“The explosives are set. I repeat, the explosives are set,” Araquiel said.
I pressed the main button on my earpiece, feeling my lips stretch into a broad smile. “Finally. It took you a while,” I replied.
“On it!” Amal’s voice came through.
“We’re almost out of the diamond dome!” Elonora said on the same channel. “About a dozen left to come down, along with the witches and warlock.”
“Five minutes,” Rose added. “Give them five minutes, then blow this place up.”
“Got it,” Araquiel replied.
As if rejuvenated, I managed to pull myself up into a sitting position. My people were scattered, as were the Draenir, dashing between trees as the Perfects tried to catch them. I saw pellets flying, their targets obliterated.
Most of the shots were fired while running, often over the shoulder, so the trees incurred most of the damage. But I couldn’t let this go on for another second.
I belted out the retreat signal, a cackle imitating a specific wild bird my people and I had encountered during our travels in the eastern archipelagos. It echoed through the jungle, its distinctive sound reaching everyone.
We’d planned for this. From taunting and engaging the Perfects, we quickly switched to running away from them. I got up, determined to ignore the stiffness and crippling pain coursing through my bones, and climbed the first tree in front of me.
The higher I got, the better I could see.
Below, my people were running. The Draenir were nowhere to be seen, already. The Perfects were falling behind. The more persistent ones got themselves pulverized.
I wasn’t as close to the colosseum as I’d thought. About a hundred and fifty yards had grown between us during my fight with Jakkhiel. I couldn’t help but smile, settling on one of the treetop branches to watch what came next, once the explosives were detonated.
Despite my aching body and wounds that would require treatment soon, I was satisfied. I’d managed to kill Jakkhiel, the one Perfect I’d known I would never let see the light of day, ever again, if I got the chance.
Lo and behold, the universe had appeased me.
Whatever else came next, I could take it, head on.
Douma
Ta’Zan came to see us again. This time, however, he seemed angrier than before. I could tell from the way his eyes darted from Raphael to me, then back to Raphael. It was one of the few signs I’d identified as stress markers for Ta’Zan—his inability to focus his gaze on a single person.
“Did you know?” Ta’Zan asked us both.
Raphael didn’t miss an opportunity to further annoy his creator. “About what? The fact that everything is slipping through your fingers?”
I didn’t have his sharp tongue, unfortunately; otherwise, I would’ve gladly chimed in. I was more focused on getting Ta’Zan out of the room before Isda or the twins came in to release us. I’d just heard Araquiel through my earpiece. This place was going to explode in five minutes.
“About my surrogate mother!” Ta’Zan snapped.
“Oh, he’s fuming,” I murmured, mostly to Raphael, who gave me a quick wink, then grinned at Ta’Zan.
“He found out about Bogdana,” he said.
