When the dust cleared, the Summoned was standing before a huge gash in the wall.
They had their entrance. “Follow me.” Sullivan shouted as he vaulted over the log.
“Halt,” the Iron Guard ordered. “Incoming.”
Sullivan froze at the sound of leathery wings. Something passed overhead and blocked the stars, then the wings folded in and a bolt of black fell from the sky, whistling through the air. It hit the ground next to Ian’s Summoned in an explosion of soft earth. Sullivan covered his eyes as he was pelted with dirt and bits of brick.
Something massive shot from the hole toward Ian’s creature. The pale Summoned spun toward the new arrival, only to have four awful lacerations rip through its chest in an explosion of ink. It crashed backwards, tearing down an even wider chunk of wall, and was quickly covered in tumbling bricks.
Lowering the gigantic claw that it had used to effortlessly tear through the Summoned, the new demon slowly turned to face them. It was humanoid, mostly, blacker than the night and nearly as tall as what was left of the crumbling compound wall. A bank of four red eyes watched them from under a heavy brow of bone. Ram’s horns curled around each side of the misshapen skull.
It was the most impressive demon Sullivan had ever seen. Bigger than the one that had killed General Roosevelt in the war, bigger than the Bull King from Mar Pacifica, and that one had soaked up a burst from a. 5 °Caliber like it was nothing. Sure, bullets would kill a greater Summoned eventually, but without magic, they wouldn’t have a chance in hell of beating this thing without taking heavy causalities.
The demon grinned with a mouth full needles. “Heavy Jake Sullivan, I presume…” The horns dipped in recognition.
“Yep.” Sullivan said flatly. This had to be Crow. There was no use talking to this asshole. “And you must be- Open fire! ”
Francis could barely hear the gunfire through the thick walls of his prison cell. He was focusing so hard on the spell that he’d drawn that it was making his eyes hurt, but he still couldn’t access his Power.
There was a clank and a clatter in the hall. They were unlocking his door.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
He could hear them now. “-and Griffin, take the rich guy first. He’s soft. The rest of us grab the German. That bastard’s a handful.”
The heavy door creaked open.
Francis swore at the design and cursed Buckminster Fuller to hell. Why won’t you work? Damn it! The OCI men came quickly into the room, but Francis was too busy to look at them. It was all there, bits and pieces, shapes and lines. Why did the Power have to be so damn complicated?
Rough hands grabbed hold of him. “Come quiet, Stuyvesant, or we’ll have to bust you up.” A key was inserted into one shackle and the lock clicked open. Pain flooded through his cramped arm, but Francis was still trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. The other wrist was freed and he was hauled to his feet.
From this angle the spell looked a little different. Obviously, he’d been stuck looking at it the same way the entire time, plus, from standing, Francis could see what he’d done wrong. Two of the lines hadn’t met completely!
“Come on-” The goon choked on the words as Francis slammed his elbow back hard. The other men standing in the doorway were taken by surprise. Francis shook free long enough to slug the second one in the mouth before he was tackled and dog-piled to the ground.
Don’t mess it up. Please, don’t mess it up. Despite the weight on top of him, Francis struggled forward, got one hand free, stretched, and tried to complete the intersection. Then somebody had his legs and he was pulled across the floor on his face. Did I get it? He couldn’t see anymore, as he was now completely surrounded by OCI thugs. His hands were yanked behind his back and tied with cord. “Get off me, you rat bastards!”
Somebody punched him in the mouth. Someone else kicked hard in the stomach.
“Watch it, idiot. Can’t have him too beat up.”
“Thought you said he was soft,” gasped one man.
“Get them, Francis!” Heinrich shouted through the wall.
“Shut up, Kraut! Get him out of here. We’ll deal with that damned German.”
The last thing Francis heard was Heinrich shouting, “Come and try me, Scheisskopf!” before he was dragged into the hall with one man clamped onto each elbow. Four other OCI men followed them out into the hall, but they turned and went toward Heinrich’s door. Despite his thrashing, both of the guards were far bigger and stronger than he was and they merely pulled Francis along like an unruly child.
As they started up the stairs, Francis managed to crane his neck enough for one last look. The others were focused on Heinrich’s door, and they didn’t notice the shift in the shadows as some new source of light flickered through the open door of Francis’cell.
Francis experienced a momentary flash of excitement.
But nothing happened.
Then the OCI thugs pulled him up the stairs and his hopes were dashed.
Heinrich was ready as he could be. The unlocked shackles were resting on his freed wrists. Outnumbered and against an enemy prepared for a scrap, he would be at a disadvantage, but they would not be expecting him to have freed himself. The nails that Lance had slipped him were squeezed in one fist, just their points sticking past his knuckles. An advantage, any advantage, could be utilized to great effect, and surprise was one of Heinrich’s favorites.
When he’d struggled against the OCI before, he’d discovered that they were a hardy lot, but it didn’t matter how tough you were with your eye gouged out or your throat crushed in the first few seconds of an engagement. He reasoned that he could take one, maybe two of them quickly, then it would be a struggle to defeat the remainder.
The room was only ten by ten, slightly more spacious than fighting inside an elevator car. There would be little room for maneuvering, another advantage to the numerically superior side. There was a single light source in the room. If he could put it out, the darkness could add to the confusion. It was a useful possibility.
However, even if he made it past these men, there would be many more, and he was unarmed, had no Power, and did not know the layout of the facility at all. He would more than likely be gunned down, but it would be worth it if he could cause a distraction to aid his fellow knights.
Most men would have been frightened, but not Heinrich Koenig. It was about time he’d finally be able to have some excitement around here. Being a prisoner had proven to be terribly monotonous. Worst case scenario, the OCI would damage his body to the extent that they would no longer be able to utilize his corpse in their secret scheme. Sometimes, spite alone was worth dying for.
He could hear the men unlatching the door, but there was something faint in the background… What is that noise? It was like… wind? But it was coming through the chain hole leading to the cell that Francis had occupied. Interesting. There had never been a breeze any other time that door had been opened, though it wasn’t quite right, as there was something other than simply the whistling of wind
… It was almost a suction noise.
But there was no more time to ponder on the sound. The door opened.
“Time to go,” said the leader. Heinrich recognized him from the split lip. He had been one of the guards Heinrich had fought on his last escape attempt. The leader and two other burly types entered the cell while a fourth stayed in the hall. That one had a small orange box in hand, and stroked it as nervously as an old nun with a rosary. Of course, there was a large nullification field over the entire prison, but they would have to be bringing along some smaller ones to keep him and Francis under control while they were transported. “Let’s get you to the scene of your crime. It’s gonna be a bloody night.”
“You disgust me. You filth would murder your own people to advance your cause?”
“Literally, our own people,” said the man on Heinrich’s right. “Buddy, you got no idea.”
Heinrich didn’t know what he was talking about. Who was the target?
“Shut up, Deych. The Coordinator’s plans are solid. Sometimes you’ve got to break some eggs.” The chief OCI man was a thick-necked, dark-haired slab of meat, with a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. “Grab him.”
“Alright, Sharps. Never mind I said anything.” Deych took one of Heinrich’s arms. The second pulled a ring of keys from his coat and reached for the shackles.
“What’s that noise?” asked Sharps, hearing the whistling wind for the first time. He put one hand to a
