Chapter 32: The Cost

  “Move!”

  Cole wasn’t sure why the children listened. Most kids were difficult on the best of days, but all of them were over five, or so he thought at a brief glance, and they listened. Moving the way he gestured.

  Maybe it was his voice. Maybe it was the halo over his head. Maybe it was the way the world was literally falling apart behind them and they didn’t need anyone to explain that it was time to run.

  “Up. Up the stairs. Don’t stop,” Cole said, and pointed again, sharper this time.

  The concrete beneath their feet trembled. Dust rained down in thin sheets from above. The rift behind Veritus pulsed.

  Demons began to crawl out of the collapsing portal.

  “Choir of Verdict, Ashen Aegis, Edict: Disarm.”

  Cole strung out the spells without pause, his words clean even as the ground shook.

  Choir landed first. That invisible weight, the sense of judgement dropping onto the space around the demons. It didn’t crush Veritus. But the things crawling out weren’t Veritus. They were subordinates, husks, corpse-things, demons with weapons made of scraps.

  They hit the concrete and their bodies slammed down hard as if gravity had doubled.

  Ashen Aegis followed, the unseen shield spiraling out in front of Cole. That subtle line in the sand. The air itself saying no.

  Then Disarm, and any demon that had managed to come through holding a weapon, and there were very few, dropped them with a clatter that echoed too loud in the shaking structure.

  Cole didn’t look back to see if Veritus approved.

  He stepped into the flow of children and grabbed the smallest one he could reach, a little girl with tangled hair and dirt streaked down her cheeks. She was shaking so hard her knees looked like they might fold.

  “Keep going,” he told her, and lifted her up onto the first broken step.

  Her fingers clamped around the concrete.

  Cole didn’t let his own fear show.

  “Black Halo Lance.”

  Shadows turned into deadly light, stabbing into their demonic hosts. The seraphic black light didn’t flare like a normal spell. It punctured. It ended. It reduced the rushing things into drifting ash that fluttered across the ground.

  Ash rolled through the air in lazy spirals, mixing with concrete dust. The whole room was embers.

  Veritus stood back from the chaos, smiling that horrible smile, as if this was entertainment. The runes on the floor pulsed wildly, the chain of red markings flashing too fast to track, as if they wanted to break apart.

  Caleb held it together.

  He stood on the runes where Veritus had told him to stand, shoulders rigid, jaw clenched. His hands were open at his sides, fingers twitching.

  His skin grew paler and paler.

  Color leaving the way it had been pulled out of the children.

  Light blazed around him. So white Cole had to turn away from it out of fear his eyes would be burned out.

  Cole forced his gaze away and kept moving.

  The children climbed up the stairs as his spells went to work. They stumbled over broken concrete. They tripped, caught themselves, grabbed each other’s arms and hauled one another upward. Older kids pulled younger ones. A boy grabbed a girl by the wrist and yanked her out of the way just before a demon’s claw scraped where she’d been.

  Cole didn’t have to tell them everything.

  He just had to keep the path open.

  He helped another child up, then pivoted as something hissed and tried to rise against the weight of Choir. The creature’s arms shook, bones cracking under pressure as it fought the spell.

  Cole didn’t give it time.

  “Black Halo Lance.”

  It collapsed into ash before it could take a second breath.

  A scream echoed from the stairwell.

  Cole snapped his attention upward.

  One child was sobbing. A small boy, face wet, eyes wide, voice cracked.

  “Uncle Caleb,” his small chest heaved.

  “I know,” Cole said, voice strained. “But we need to move.”

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  It was the truth, spoken gently.

  Cole moved between the stairs and the rift, a barrier of spells and will. Sometimes two at a time, he helped kids up, pushing them higher, forcing them to keep moving

  The concrete shook again, harder.

  A deep crack ran up a wall to Cole’s left.

  Cole’s authority stat tightened, warning him before his eyes fully registered what was happening.

  “Move!” he barked, pointing, and the children scrambled, fear lending them speed.

  A piece of the wall cracked fully free, falling downward in a deadly arc.

  “Ashen Aegis,” Cole gestured.

  The rock stopped midair.

  It hung there for a second, a slab of concrete frozen above screaming children. The air around it seemed to tremble as the shield held, the line in the sand refusing to be crossed.

  A kid screamed anyway.

  Cole shoved the nearest children out of the path, grabbing shoulders and pushing them forward.

  “Keep going,” he said through his teeth.

  The moment the kids were clear, his shield released.

  The concrete crashed down with a boom that shook the whole level. Dust exploded outward, making the air briefly opaque.

  The rift’s light pulsed again, reverberating, growing smaller, but also more violent.

  Cole coughed once, then forced the air back into his lungs.

  He glanced toward Caleb.

  Caleb was still standing.

  Still holding the runes together.

  His face was slick with sweat, and his lips were pale now, almost gray. The light around him surged with each pulse from the rift, and every surge made his body jerk slightly.

  Cole’s mind tried to protest. Tried to scream that this wasn’t right.

  Cole ignored it.

  This was already done.

  The structure groaned again. Somewhere above, a column shifted.

  Cole was forced to stop a few times to deal with falling concrete. Each time, he did it fast. A shield here. A lance there. A quick shove to keep the kids moving.

  The demons that crawled out were disorganized now.

  Choir pinned most of them. Lance erased the rest.

  The rift kept shrinking.

  Caleb kept shining.

  And then the stairs opened onto daylight.

  Dirty air. Cold wind. The street above the garage looked torn up, cars abandoned, debris scattered, but it was open. It wasn’t a belly full of nightmares.

  Cole got the last child onto the street and turned automatically, ready to go back down and grab Caleb.

  He took one step.

  His authority stat tightened again.

  The garage boomed behind them.

  It collapsed with finality.

  Concrete folded. Floors pancaked. The opening they’d climbed out of vanished beneath a rolling wave of dust and rubble. The sound echoed down the street, and then it was done.

  Cole stood there, chest heaving, staff in hand, staring at the settling dust cloud.

  Caleb was gone.

  Cole swallowed hard.

  His throat felt raw. His eyes burned.

  He turned to the children.

  “Is everyone okay?”

  He scanned the six children. They were crying, scared, grimy, but okay as far as he could see. No blood. No broken limbs. No one lying too still.

  Breathing cleaner air certainly helped. You could see it in the way their shoulders loosened a fraction, the way some of them coughed and then took a real breath.

  They huddled close instinctively. Older kids pressed near the younger ones. One child clung to another’s sleeve so tight the fabric stretched.

  Cole gave them a moment. Just long enough for their minds to register that the ground wasn’t shaking anymore.

  He looked around to make sure there were no more threats.

  Then he pointed his staff toward Hawthorne.

  “Let’s go.”

  They started walking.

  Cole stayed slightly ahead, setting the pace, watching the street, scanning corners and broken windows. He kept the kids from drifting. Every time they slowed, he kept them moving with a hand gesture and a firm, steady voice.

  Behind them, the dust cloud from the collapsed garage drifted.

  Cole didn’t look back again.

  As they walked, Cole swiped away the experience notifications he had gotten.

  It wasn’t anything to write home about.

  He knew now he would need to seek out greater challenges.

  Would have to.

  The thought settled cold in his gut. The world wasn’t going to let him avoid it. Veritus had made that clear. Tier gaps existed. Walls existed. The System didn’t care about what was fair.

  That demon was almost certainly going to be a problem later.

  He’d made a deal with it, and while he was technically going to fulfill the terms very soon, he knew he was on Veritus’s radar, and that didn’t bode well.

  Cole’s fingers brushed the pocket with Nathan’s picture again, a reflex he couldn’t stop. The image Veritus had shown burned in his mind. Nathan, older. Stronger. Alive. In a cell that felt out of time.

  Alive.

  And yet trapped.

  Cole’s mind tried to latch onto that hope and hold it, but guilt was right there with it. He’d taken the deal. He’d let Caleb step into the runes.

  Caleb had died because Cole wasn’t strong enough.

  Cole’s jaw clenched.

  He felt a tug at his jacket. He looked down.

  Caleb’s nephew stared at him, a currently dirty face, but solid. His eyes were red.

  “Sir,” the boy said, voice thin, “is Uncle Caleb gone?”

  Cole closed his eyes.

  What did you say to a child who had just lost a loved one? How did you convey that? A comforting lie, maybe? Tell him Caleb would be back soon. Tell him Caleb just got separated. Tell him something soft.

  But Caleb had given his life. Caleb had looked at his nephew and chosen to do it anyway.

  Cole couldn’t insult that with a lie.

  Opening his eyes, he stared at the boy.

  “What’s your name?” Cole asked softly.

  “Daniel.”

  Cole nodded.

  He smiled at Daniel.

  “Good name,” Cole said.

  Daniel’s lower lip trembled.

  “Your uncle,” Cole continued, “he gave us all a wonderful gift, but it cost him, Daniel. So yes, he’s gone, and that hurts.” Cole’s voice thickened on the last word. He forced it steady again. “But he wouldn’t want you to be sad forever. He’d want you to live. He’d want you to be happy.”

  Daniel scrunched up his eyes, his chest shaking.

  “But,” he whispered, “he was all I had.”

  Something in Cole’s chest twisted.

  “I know, bud,” Cole said quietly. “I know. But there are many other people who will love you and take care of you, okay? You’re not alone.”

  Daniel shook, trying to master himself. Cole could see it. The boy wanted to cry more than he already had. Instead, he took a shaky breath and held it, face tight, as if he was forcing the tears to stay inside.

  Cole watched him, stunned.

  No more than six, and he was trying to be strong.

  “Uncle Caleb would want me to be happy,” Daniel said, voice trembling. “To be strong for the others.”

  Cole felt his throat tighten again.

  “Yeah,” Cole said, nodding. “Yeah, he would. It’s okay to be sad, though. You’ve got a good heart, bud. That matters.”

  Daniel looked up at him for a moment, and there was something there, fragile but real.

  Then Daniel gave a small nod.

  They kept walking.

  The settlement came into view soon after.

  The palisade. The gates. The patchwork defenses that had become less crude over the weeks. The watchers on the wall spotting them and pointing, voices rising.

  The gates opened.

  People ran out.

  Naomi was there, clipboard forgotten in her hands, eyes widening when she saw the children. Alina was behind her, already crying, hands flying to her mouth.

  The kids were safe.

  Cole watched them get pulled into arms. Watched shoulders collapse in relief. Watched adults sob.

  For a moment, Cole let himself feel that.

  Then the weight returned.

  The work wasn’t done.

  Nathan was alive, somewhere Cole couldn’t reach yet.

  Cole’s eyes narrowed, and his grip tightened on his staff.

  Judgement was coming for them.