Its milky white eyes flitted up, as if it was trying to see as its batlike ears crinkled. Another series of clicks escaped its mouth as he prepared for the finishing blow.
But as he brought his hatchet up, the monster surged forward, slamming into his body. He flew backward, crashing violently into a charcoaled car.
Pain throbbed through his body, but he ignored it, propelled by the mental pain of his lost brothers and sisters. He moved as the creature got up on both legs again, grunting in agony.
It sliced at him, but he was much faster this time. He bolted away, and then circled, lashing out with his knife and hatchet to cut the creature across its side and back.
Spinning toward him, he seized on the perfect opportunity, jabbing his knife into an eye. The orb popped so loud he could hear it over the gunfire. He brought the hatchet down with all his strength on the skull, splitting the bone.
The monster reeled backward, collapsing, but still struggling. Dohi tugged the hatchet and knife out, then struck out again and again. Hot blood sprayed over his face. The creature groaned, and its limbs finally stopped twitching.
Voices called his name, but he ignored them. He continued to carve the beast until he felt a hand grab his shoulder. He held up his blood-soaked blades, ready to strike the Chimera that had stopped his attack.
“Come on!” Corrin said, voice crackling. “We need to leave!”
Dohi looked up to see the Blackhawk was finally loaded up. He and Corrin ran back to the bird.
Corrin had laid waste to several of the thralls with his cutlass, and the other soldiers had taken down the rest of the pack with bullets. Dozens of gray corpses lay in the street and in the loading bay area.
Another wave of hungry Variants rushed down the street, chasing Dohi and Corrin back toward the helicopter. As soon as they were inside, it lifted, but several of the beasts were close enough to leap into the air, claws extended.
Another pack had charged in from the east, and three jumped into the opposite open door of the chopper before Beckham could get it closed.
One of them lunged at the injured man from Recon Sigma. Timothy aimed his pistol at the beast, shooting it until the monster tumbled backward, falling back. Dohi threw his hatchet, hitting one of them in the chest. The third pounced on Ruckley.
“Hell no!” Horn rumbled.
He grabbed the creature by the back of the neck and yanked it off, then slammed its head into the deck, over and over until it caved in. He tossed the limp body out of the chopper.
Fitz closed the side door, sealing out the shrieks and sporadic gunfire as the helo rose past the swirling smoke.
Dohi sucked in breath after breath. He finally crashed on the blood-soaked deck. Across from him, Horn leaned down to check Ruckley while Rico and Fitz tended to the other man on Recon Sigma, whose nametape read Boyd.
Corrin wiped his cutlass over his pant leg, eyes locked on Dohi. “Are you okay?”
Dohi nodded, trying to speak, his throat scratching, still raw from the smoke.
“I’m sorry about Ace. He stuck his neck out for me, even when no one else trusted me,” Corrin continued. “I won’t forget him.”
“None of us will,” Dohi said.
— 17 —
Azrael looked out over his land. The sun peaked over the mountainous horizon, red and orange light bleeding across the sky. It had been a full day since the victories in Las Vegas and Puerto Rico. Much of his fleet was escorting the ships they had captured there, preparing for their next battle as they headed west into the Gulf of Mexico.
The collaborators he had acquired over the years with adequate knowledge of operating the vessels were supplemented by those new prisoners they had enslaved and forced into service through the promise of brutal torture to them and their families.
He had only recently flown back to his lab on one of the civilian model planes they had commandeered from the forces they had defeated on the island, and he was anxious for the next step of his plan.
But before he could proceed, he waited for the return of Elijah and the rest of his forces from Las Vegas. They had spent the previous day ensuring there were no lingering survivors and taking multitudes of prisoners who Azrael hoped would fuel the New Gods in their final campaign.
Soon the entire Allied States would be nothing but smoldering ashes.
Ringgold would bow to his power when he gave her one final choice: join them or die.
He leaned against the railing on the terrace of a building that served as his communication center. From his perch, he had a clear view of the mountains and all the roads leading up to his base.
This was where his empire had begun.
To the casual observer, the facilities and warehouses around him appeared no different than they had during the first war. Like the human loyalist base Mount Katahdin in Maine, he ensured that everything was carefully camouflaged, keeping the important facilities out of sight and surveillance for as long as possible.
So far, it had worked. The heretics may have infiltrated smaller satellite bases around his kingdom, but they hadn’t found this stronghold.
This holy place was where he had first worked to help the United States, back when he thought he was developing a cure like Dr. Kate Lovato for the X9H9 virus plaguing the country.
But fate had other plans.
Azrael had unwittingly fulfilled the true mission behind the VX-99 program. The Scions were the perfect predator and soldier.
He had started a new world order, rising from the ashes of humanity’s self-destruction.
The fiery orange and red sunrise of dawn melted away to clear blue skies. Black specks appeared over the western horizon, growing larger.
Azrael drew in a deep breath of warm air. These were the first of his faithful legions returning from Las
