Certain death being within breathing distance of his face forced him to push himself ever harder than before. Finn channeled kinetic energy into his heel and stomped it further into the ground, then used that as leverage to shock his leg muscles beyond the limit so he could turn the motion into a roll.

  Or it would have been, if he didn’t slam down on his shoulder again the second he tried. The commander behind him scoffed, but said nothing as he began to move faster. Finn used similar dodges for the subsequent attacks, though he noticed that it wasn’t going to be sustainable. One, because this was utterly exhausting. And two, because the summon was truly out now.

  He’d been steadily moving back out of Pesante’s field to the best of his ability with the man following him at every turn. Eventually he managed to get both palms under him and propelled himself backwards in a burst of energy.

  There was no hesitation in his mind once he got that second of breathing room. He didn’t stop to reassess, evaluate, or anything that could have slowed him down. He just focused another laser into his fingers and shot it straight at the shaped ice block that was the giant bird’s head. The heated ray of light broke it, a thousand shimmering pieces scattering to the wind.

  Finn didn’t relax. He knew that wasn’t going to be enough; he’d seen weaker summons of Seraphim’s regenerate from losing their head. All he’d done was buy a bit of time for the refugees.

  Ernesto was cutting it close. He’d driven out of range, and he couldn’t hold the bindings anymore. Already, the headless creature was flapping its wings to chase down the truck. While it couldn’t do its breath attack without a beak, if it got close…

  The Unbound didn’t give Finn any more time to get away, appearing in front of him, forearm rushing at Finn to catch him in a lariat. He ducked underneath, noticing that the gravity didn’t hamper his movement as much. It was most apparent in his body.

  Specifically, his armor. Ever since first being exposed to active weight alterations, it had started adjusting itself in some unknown way. Every hit, he weaved a little bit faster. Every block, he stood a fraction steadier. He rearranged it, and it became smoother to control in response.

  The Grand Commander brought a foot down, prompting Finn to dive out of the way and land a straight in return. It barely fazed the man once it got past the field, but it was enough to draw his attention. Finn had to control the flow of the fight here. If he didn’t, he was dead. Slowed down as he was, unable to properly react to the outlined attacks, he needed an edge.

  Throwing a kick of his own, he signaled Ernesto to drive according to his directions. Didn't matter if his instructions seemed crazy. He had a plan for their escape.

  The gravity wielder was not so simple to plan around. He kept getting between Finn and the carrier truck so he couldn’t cripple Seraphim’s minion. Each attempt to create distance was met with more aggressive advances, the weight of Pesante’s presence pressing down harder every time Finn tried to slip away. Finn skidded back as another strike barely missed his jaw. The moment he shifted his footing, Pesante’s field locked onto him again, pressing his weight into the frozen ground.

  His senses warned him that a large hand was going to grab his upper arm. He couldn’t get out of the way in time, and it flung him into the air. Higher than should be possible. Wind buffeted him, blood rushed to the front, tingles lighting up his nerves.

  What? Lowered gravity?

  He twisted and did another full force clap. The shockwave arrested his momentum, and then he experienced a moment of weightlessness. He had a clear view of the ice wall, the burning frozen sea, and the snow-covered plains and forest. None of it mattered.

  Pesante was running for the truck.

  He had to get back down there immediately. How? He wracked his brain for an answer.

  For months now, Finn had been contemplating the matter of his grappling hooks. They had been discarded all the way back in Wanderlust’s dimension, having been broken. But they'd added an element to his early combat style that he had been missing from the moment he'd lost it. Midair acceleration was one of the things he missed.

  There would have been options to remedy that if his magnetic field had more range, which was unfortunately not the case. The nanites were still stubborn about sticking to the inside of his body and nothing else, so no luck on that front.

  But he did have his armor. Or rather, his suit. Thinking of it as simple treated leather armor was unnecessarily limiting. He could do more with it. Because he remembered that it wasn't limited to this shape. It had the capability to bring more of itself into the world, seeing as it lacked a fixed mass. It only had a range of how much or how little of it there could be at any given point. And he had to admit, both ends of that range were impressive. From a bracelet on his wrist, to an expansion of reach.

  Stretching out his right hand, he shot out a leathery chord at top speed that flew straight toward the charging form of Pesante. The barrel-chested man turned too late, bringing a hand up while the chord wrapped around his neck in a vain attempt to remove it. Finn yanked and retracted it at the same time to haul the uniformed commander off the ground.

  Simultaneously, Finn shot downwards like a missile. He loaded up a hook using energy from his nanites. The limb strained to contain the power, reinforcement working overtime to keep it from breaking.

  Just when he was about to make contact, the military leader twisted to face him, bringing up his own fist to meet Finn’s.

  They clashed.

  The world distorted, going completely silent for an instant. Both powers went into overdrive. Finn’s ears were filled with a low hum, in tune with the ripple stretching and bending their surroundings, the colors inverting as his reinforcement bled into the world.

  It should be no surprise that the shock of the impact traveled up his arm, making it groan in protest. However, the same was true for his adversary. That bearded smile grew strained before they got blown away.

  Multiple football fields worth of crushed earth exploded. A new crater formed, this one dwarfing its predecessors. It was so deep, Finn actually felt himself falling a few stories until he hit solid ground.

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  Cacophonous crashing rang out, clouds of dirty white obscuring his vision. He never lost track of his opponent. Reinitiating the fight was optimal for him here given that he had the indisputable sensory advantage. Another sprint, followed with a charged hit, and he landed a slowed punch on Pesante’s chin.

  Weight increased again. The loose debris was flattened against the ground. He was fully visible again. It didn’t deter Finn, who rendered himself invisible. The suit had reached a level of adaptation where he could move if he boosted himself enough. He evaded a counter and closed in.

  His elbow connected to the sternum, wrist to the jaw, then he backed away. Pesante gave chase, unfazed by his attempts to hide himself. Did that make sense? Yes, it did. The ability to control gravitational fields probably came with the ability to sense spatial distortions caused by mass. That meant his invisibility had been rendered useless for the umpteenth time. Finn wasn’t surprised.

  Soon, they were locked in a furious exchange of blows. He would add electric shocks to his strikes to compensate for the lack of damage, whereas the larger foe landed less but more devastating hits. The combat style focused on locking him down, setting up for unavoidable punishment that would lay him out for good.

  Whenever he was almost caught, he molded coils from his suit to maneuver himself into a better position. One wrapped around Pesante’s leg and pulled Finn out of the way of a bone-crushing stomp. The bigger man hardly budged, too heavy and experienced to be rattled by Finn’s unpredictability.

  This was a true test of skill. From the day he’d evolved his hand-to-hand against Aiden over a year ago, Finn had never come across an opportunity to measure his close combat proficiency as much as here, encountering someone who had been doing this for decades.

  He was discovering dimensions of combat that he hadn’t been able to comprehend prior. His technical skill was perfect—the combination of powers he possessed had seen to that. But he had to overcome, time and time again, the new variables he wasn’t prepared for. His own new skills that he hadn’t fully integrated. The environmental factors. The scenario. The flow. The back and forth.

  Jumping over a low sweep to perform a frontflip, he brought his foot down in an axe kick. An arm blocked it, which turned out to be a mistake on the enemy’s part. Finn used that as a platform to jump higher, out of the crater to get a clear shot on the monstrosity chasing the truck. No time to waste, they needed to get out.

  Lateral gravitic waves curved the laser, causing it to clip the bird instead.

  Then Pesante jumped up to greet him with a shoulder check. He rolled out of the crater, taking aim. Interrupted. Aim. Interrupt. Over and over.

  More gravity. More struggle. More obstacles.

  Had to… save them…

  *******

  Paloma and the others scrambled back from the towering menace. Wood cracked open the back wall. Claws bigger than her body peeked through the rents they carved. The neck was still regenerating, forming into a haunting, sharp-edged bird’s head.

  It broke the truck.

  They were driving faster than ever before, but the thing just pressed down, and then she saw wheels popping out on either side of the vehicle. Paloma tried to stand, but was knocked on her butt when they slid over a bump.

  The back was exposed to the air, and they watched wide-eyed while Ernesto got out of the driver’s room to raise a wooden barrier it broke nearly as quickly. A third grew in its place.

  The man sagged, fatigue catching up to him. His arms upheld the new barricade. He must have been pushing himself while Paloma sat there. Doing nothing.

  The other talons dug in. One glinting blade slashed Ernesto in the side, removing his arm. Blood splattered on the transparent floor. The ceiling ripped in half.

  Screams pierced the air. She almost didn’t realize the loudest one was hers.

  Mister Shade sprinted for them, but he wouldn’t make it in time. It was their fault, being a burden on him for so long, not even able to handle a single bird.

  She looked up at the looming caricature of freedom, watching the mist swirl in its beak. This was the end.

  The people would be caught in the fighting. It never stopped, a conflict older than herself. Started before she was born. Would continue after she died.

  But she closed her eyes.

  And hoped.

  *******

  On an arctic stretch of scarred land, a girl stood. She was the center, the eye of the storm. Around her, wars were fought. Beneath her, blood pooled, dyeing her feet red. Above her, suffocating smoke spread, blotting out the sky. Light reached her no longer.

  It was dark. It was not night. The sounds of battle rang in her ears. Cries of regret, rage, revenge, despair. Why were they fighting? The girl could never tell. She had forgotten. The memories had faded. The family she loved. The people she knew. They were distant echoes of a time she had lost.

  She was locked away.

  The cold started to creep in, sapping strength from her arms and legs. It bit at her skin, seeped into her bones. She could never escape it, she found herself immobile. The only thing her eyes saw were the growing flakes of frost on her body.

  A loud crash arrived from beyond the smoke. She was unfamiliar with breaking glass, yet she remembered it. Her eyes found the silhouette, jagged, winged, the envoy of a worse tomorrow.

  The girl was alone.

  All she had was dreams.

  She pleaded. With whom, she had no clue. Anyone who would hear her. Her silent call went unanswered, she thought. Not a soul heard the call for help, because why would they. She was but a voice among millions. A snowflake buried with countless others of her kind.

  War's grasping talons came for her. Stuck waiting in her prison, she imagined better days. Ones where she could see the light, where she didn’t have to look over her shoulder ever again. She wanted this to end. Not merely for herself. For everyone.

  Feathers fell through the smoke. And she listened to the chirping whistles. Her will extended farther than her arms could ever reach. Twisting between weapons and clashing minds, it rose and connected.

  From on high, her new flock descended.

  *******

  When she returned, she felt the change. In her thoughts. They were fast. Everything her eyes saw was slow. Very slow.

  Instinctively, Paloma moved to cup her hands together in offering.

  The clouds parted.

  Rays of gold graced them, shining on the sins of battle.

  Sunlight warmed Paloma’s skin, and the first helper materialized. A dove so white it made the snow look dark, carrying a glowing leaf in its beak.

  Four more appeared. Ten. Twenty. A hundred.

  Time resumed its normal pace.

  As one, they flew at the thieving bird. Yeah, a thief of lives. Culling people without remorse. Her helpers met it, but never for a fight. They knew no war. Although Seraphim’s creation, it would know them.

  The first dispersed into white sparks, and the building mist breath shrank. The helper’s brethren disappeared in kind, all directives lessening. Reducing the aggression. The hunt to kill.

  She dreamed of peace.

  They delivered it.

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