Chapter 24: Limits

  Day 41

  The alarm bells started ringing at 0347 hours.

  I was already awake. Had been for an hour, staring at the ceiling of the barracks, my thoughts all over the place. I had expected the attack to begin right after we had seen the other army, but apparently that was not how it worked. They had spread out, cutting us off from reinforcements, preventing patrols from going out and gathering intelligence, and building ladders from fresh cut timber. I didn't even know what country they were from, but I supposed it didn't matter to us, that was only important for some economic calculations done by Aria after the fact. So instead I had been laying here, trying to rest, waiting to find out when the attack would finally begin.

  The bells answered that question pretty definitively.

  "Everyone up!" James was shouting before I'd even gotten my boots on. "Full gear! Walls! Now!"

  The barracks exploded into motion. Soldiers grabbing weapons, armor, moving with nervous energy. I pulled on my hardened leather, buckled the straps, grabbed my spear and shield.

  Thirty seconds. We were out the door in thirty seconds.

  The compound was chaos. Torches everywhere, soldiers running to positions, officers shouting orders. I followed my unit toward the northeast wall, the one facing the forest where we'd seen the shapes.

  Where we'd seen the humans.

  "Archers!" someone was shouting. "Get archers on the wall!"

  I took the stairs two at a time, my new armor feeling solid and real. Reached the top of the palisade and looked out.

  The forest was full of movement. Torches. Hundreds of them. And between the torches, soldiers. Human soldiers in armor that looked just like ours, carrying weapons that looked just like ours.

  Moving toward us in organized formations.

  "Shield wall in front, archers behind!" James ordered. "Front rank, shields up! Second rank, loose on my command!"

  We formed up. I found myself in front of Okoye, shield and spear gripped tight, watching the approaching army move steadily.

  They were close now. Maybe a hundred yards. I could see their faces in the torchlight. Young faces. Scared faces. Determined faces.

  Just like us.

  "Hold!" James shouted. "Wait for my command!"

  The attacking force stopped suddenly. Just stood there, shields raised, weapons ready. Waiting.

  A figure stepped forward from their ranks. An officer, judging by the slightly better armor. He raised his hands, showing he was unarmed.

  "You don't have to die here!" he shouted. His accent was thick, Middle Eastern, the vowels rounded in a way I couldn't quite place. "My orders are to take this position. But you are outnumbered, significantly. If you retreat to another village, there is no need for bloodshed. You can leave with your lives. Please."

  There was movement behind us. Captain Reeves appeared on the wall, her presence commanding immediate attention. She stepped forward to the edge of the palisade, looking down at the officer.

  "I appreciate your offer," she called out, her voice carrying across the distance. "And I understand your position. But we're not abandoning this compound."

  "Captain, please, " The officer's voice was soft and yet still carried. "We have our orders. We must take this position. You can walk away. No one needs to die tonight." He sounded almost sad.

  Reeves was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her tone was firm but not unkind. "We have out duty."

  Behind the officer, someone shouted something sharp and guttural. Not a language I recognized, but the tone was unmistakable. The officer spun and yelled an order to hold, but it was too late.

  An arrow came from somewhere in their ranks. Flew over the officer's head and slammed into the palisade wall three feet from Reeves.

  The attack had begun.

  "Loose!" James roared.

  Our archers fired. A volley of arrows arced over the wall and into the attacking force. I heard screams. Saw soldiers fall. Saw others raise shields, the arrows clattering off hardened leather and wood.

  And then they were charging. The sight of hundreds of armored men rushing toward me, arrows flying back and forth, was something to behold.

  "Brace!" James ordered. "Brace for impact!"

  They hit the wall like a wave. Ladders slammed against the palisade, heavy wooden things that shook the entire structure. Grappling hooks flew over the top, iron claws biting into wood. The front rank pushed forward, trying to knock the ladders back.

  A soldier appeared at the top of the ladder directly in front of me. Young kid, maybe nineteen, terror in his eyes. He swung a sword at the shield in front of me.

  I thrust my spear through the gap. Felt it punch into his shoulder. Felt the resistance of leather and flesh and bone. He screamed, high and sharp and human, and fell backward, taking two other soldiers with him.

  The ladder swayed. Crashed down. Bodies hit the ground with wet, heavy sounds.

  "Keep them off the wall!" Okoye was shouting from somewhere to my left. "Don't let them get a foothold!"

  More ladders. More soldiers climbing. The wall was a chaos of stabbing spears and swinging swords and screaming men. I thrust my spear again and again, not thinking, just reacting. Another ladder landed heavily on the wall near me. I tried to push it back but the weight of enemy soldiers climbing was already too much. I stepped back as one crested the top of the wall with a shield held in front of his face. I feinted high, went low, caught him in the thigh. He fell.

  Another took his place immediately. Swing at me with a sword. I raised my shield and caught the blow, then shoved forward, causing him to fall back with a yell and knock several others off the ladder as well. Taking advantage of the brief reprieve, I leaned against the ladder and felt it slowly start to inch backwards. Another soldier added their efforts to mine and it tipped away from the wall, clearing the space for a moment.

  I leaned over, breathing hard from the exertion. The smell hit me then. Blood and sweat and fear. Smoke from the torches. The acrid stench of voided bowels from the dying. It was overwhelming, choking, real in a way that made my stomach turn.

  An enemy soldier made it over the wall to my left. Landed on the platform, sword raised. Marcus was there instantly, shield slamming into the man's chest, sending him tumbling back over the edge. His scream cut off abruptly when he hit the ground.

  "South wall!" someone was shouting. "They're hitting the south wall hard!"

  I risked a glance. Could see torches massing there. More ladders. More soldiers.

  "Petrov!" James ordered. "Take a squad and reinforce the south wall! Go!" He turned to me, seeing I was leaned over and breathing hard. "Are you ok?"

  "Are you ok?". The police officer's kind eyes looked down at me with concern.

  The memory came unbidden and I shoved it away. Not now. Not here.

  "I'm fine." I growled and turned back to the all as James attention switched to another soldier. I glared out at the enemy, daring them to challenge me.

  The attack kept coming. Wave after wave. They'd pull back, regroup, come again. We'd push them off, catch our breath, brace for the next assault. My arms were burning. My shoulders screaming. The spear felt like it weighed fifty pounds.

  LEVEL UP

  You have reached Level 4

  Attribute point available

  I swiped at it without reading. Didn't have time. Didn't care. Just needed to keep fighting.

  "They're bringing up siege equipment!" someone shouted.

  I looked. They were dragging something through their ranks. A battering ram. Essentially a tree trunk with ropes attach so it could be swung. Crude but effective. Heading for the gate.

  "Archers!" James roared. "Target that ram! Now!"

  Arrows rained down. Some of the soldiers carrying the ram fell. Others took their place. They kept coming.

  "We need to reinforce the gate!" Okoye said.

  "Hold position!" James shouted back. "Keep firing!"

  The arrows kept coming. One of the soldiers carrying the ram took a shaft through the throat. He dropped, and the front of the ram dipped. Another arrow found the soldier behind him. Then another.

  The ram wavered. Tilted. The remaining carriers tried to adjust, but the weight was too much. It crashed to the ground, crushing one of them beneath it.

  A ragged cheer went up from our side of the wall.

  "That bought us maybe five minutes," James said, breathing hard. "They'll-"

  "South gate!" The scream cut through everything else. "South gate is breaching!"

  I spun around. Couldn't see it from here, but I could hear it. The splintering of wood. The roar of voices. The clash of weapons.

  "They're through!" another voice shouted. "South side is collapsing!"

  James's face went hard. He looked at the north gate, then at us, calculating in seconds what would take minutes to explain.

  "I'm holding north," he said. "That's our exit. I lose that gate, we're all dead."

  "James-" Okoye started.

  "No." His voice was flat. Final. "I hold north. You three, south side. Try to slow them down. Buy us time to organize a retreat."

  "We aren't enough," Marcus said.

  "Preserving our exit is the priority at this point." James was already moving, shouting orders. "Defensive positions! Inside and outside the north gate! We need to be ready to move!"

  We ran.

  Down the stairs, across the compound. I could see the south side now. The gate was a splintered ruin. Enemy soldiers were pouring through, spreading into the village streets between the buildings. Our people were falling back, trying to form a line, but there were too many.

  "We can't hold them!" someone was screaming. "There's too many!"

  "Then we slow them!" Okoye shouted. She nocked an arrow, drew, released. An enemy soldier went down. "Fall back to the buildings! Use the streets!"

  We hit the edge of the fighting. The enemy had pushed maybe fifty yards into the compound, spreading through the narrow lanes between barracks and storage buildings.

  A soldier came at me from the left. I barely got my shield up in time. His sword crashed against it, ringing on the metal edge. I thrust with my spear, aiming for his midsection. He twisted away, and my spear scraped along his armor.

  He swung again. I blocked, but the force drove me back a step. He pressed forward, and I could see the calculation in his eyes, I was giving ground, he had momentum.

  I let him think that. Waited for his next strike. When it came, I didn't block. I sidestepped, let the blade pass inches from my ribs, and drove my spear into his exposed side. He went down hard.

  "Smith! Left!" Marcus's voice.

  I spun. Another soldier, this one with an axe. He brought it down in a brutal overhead swing. I raised my shield. The axe bit into the wood, stuck. I yanked sideways, pulling him off balance, and Marcus was there with his sword, driving it through the gap in the soldier's armor at the shoulder.

  Blood sprayed. The soldier screamed. Fell.

  "Thanks!" I gasped.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Move!" Marcus shoved me forward. "Don't stop moving!"

  We were being pushed back. Step by step, fighting and retreating through the narrow streets. Okoye was somewhere to our right, her bow singing. Every few seconds I'd hear the thunk of an arrow finding flesh, a scream, a body hitting the ground.

  A sword came at my face. I ducked, felt it whistle past my ear. Thrust upward with my spear. Caught the soldier under the chin. He dropped.

  Another one immediately took his place. And another behind him.

  "There's too many!" Marcus shouted.

  "Keep moving!" Okoye's voice, strained but steady. "Toward the center! Regroup!"

  I blocked a strike with my shield. The impact moved me back a step. Blocked another. My shield was getting chewed up, the wood splintering under repeated blows.

  A blade got through. Sliced across my left forearm. Not deep, but it burned like fire. Blood ran down to my wrist, made my grip slippery.

  I kept fighting.

  We were in a narrow alley between two buildings now. The enemy couldn't surround us here, had to come at us two or three at a time. It was the only thing keeping us alive.

  Marcus took a hit to his shoulder. His armor caught most of it, but I saw him wince, saw his left arm drop slightly.

  "You good?" I shouted.

  "Good enough!" He blocked a strike, countered with a vicious slash that opened a soldier's throat. "Keep moving!"

  An arrow whistled past my head. Not from Okoye, from them. I ducked instinctively, and the arrow buried itself in the wall behind me.

  "They've got archers!" I called out. "We need cover!"

  We burst out of the alley into a wider street. Bad move. Immediately we were exposed, enemy soldiers coming at us from three directions.

  Okoye put an arrow through one. Marcus engaged another. I blocked a strike from a third, but a fourth was coming at my right side, and I couldn't turn fast enough-

  Something flickered in my awareness. Not sight. Not sound. Just... a feeling. A wrongness in the air.

  I dropped.

  An enemy arrow hissed past my head so close I felt the wind of it, burying itself in the wall where I'd been standing a moment before.

  The fourth soldier pressed forward, thinking he had me. But Okoye's arrow took him in the chest before he could close the distance. He staggered, gasping, and I rolled forward, came up inside his guard, and drove my shoulder into him. He went down hard, air knocked out of him.

  "Move!" Marcus shouted, grabbing my arm. "Now!"

  We ran.

  A soldier with a mace came at me. I blocked with my shield. The mace shattered what was left of the wood, and suddenly I was holding splinters and leather straps.

  I dropped it. Gripped my spear with both hands. The soldier swung again. That feeling flickered again, a pressure in my skull, a sense of there, and I ducked under the swing before I'd consciously registered the movement. Drove my spear into his gut, twisted, pulled it free.

  He fell, clutching his stomach, screaming.

  I kept moving.

  My left arm was bleeding steadily now. My right shoulder was screaming from the repeated impacts. My legs felt like lead. But I kept moving, and something in me was learning. Each time that feeling touched my awareness, I responded faster. Trusted it more.

  "Command post!" Okoye shouted. "Thirty yards!"

  We ran. Fighting and running and bleeding. An arrow caught Marcus in the thigh. Not deep, his armor deflected most of it, but he stumbled, and I had to grab him, keep him moving.

  "I'm good!" Marcus said through gritted teeth. "I'm good!"

  A soldier lunged at us from a doorway. I felt it, that pressure again, sharper now, and my spear was already moving, intercepting him mid-stride. He crashed into the point and went down.

  We reached the command post. James was there, breathing hard, blood on his armor. "North gate is holding," he said. "But we need to move. Now. Secondary compound is three miles north. That's our rally point."

  "Half our people are still out there," Okoye said, looking back at the chaos.

  "They're dead or they're running," James said flatly. "We stay, we join them. We move now, we might make it. We need to alert the rest of our forces so they can be prepared better than we were."

  He was right. The compound was lost. The enemy was everywhere, spreading through the streets, securing positions. In minutes they'd have us surrounded. I grabbed another shield off an enemy corpse and slid it onto my arm.

  "North gate!" James ordered. "Everyone! Move!"

  We ran. Through the compound, toward the north gate. I could see it ahead, still holding, James's people maintaining a defensive line.

  We burst through. The cool night air hit my face. Behind us, the compound was burning. I could hear screaming, fighting, the sounds of a battle lost.

  "Keep moving!" James shouted. "Don't stop! Three miles north!"

  We ran. Thirty-five, maybe forty soldiers, running through the darkness toward a village we hoped was still there.

  And then I heard it. Behind us. The sound of pursuit. Boots on dirt. Weapons clanging. Voices shouting in that foreign language.

  They were coming after us.

  "They're right behind us!" Marcus gasped.

  "Keep moving!" James ordered.

  But I knew. We all knew. If they stayed on us, if they kept pace, they'd run us down before we reached the village. We were exhausted, wounded, disorganized. They were fresh, organized, motivated.

  We needed time.

  I looked past the police officer as he knelt next to me. There was no time!

  I slowed. Stopped.

  "Adam!" Marcus grabbed my arm. "What are you doing?"

  "Someone needs to hold them off," I said. "Buy you time to get to the village."

  "That's suicide," Okoye said.

  "Yeah." I gripped my spear tighter. "Probably. But if they stay on us, we're all dead anyway."

  Marcus looked at me. Then at Okoye.

  "Fuck it," Marcus said. "I'm staying."

  Okoye checked her bow. Nocked an arrow. "So am I. Let's make it count."

  James looked at our faces, paused for a moment, then nodded once. "It's your choice."

  "Fall back!" he ordered the others. "Move! Now! Get to the village!"

  They ran. Thirty-five soldiers disappearing into the darkness, heading for safety.

  Leaving three of us standing in the middle of the path as the enemy closed in.

  I could hear their officers shouting. That same foreign language. Sharp consonants. Commands that sounded like "Sepah" and other words I didn't recognize. They moved with discipline. Professional. Organized.

  Not mercenaries. Not raiders.

  Soldiers. Real soldiers. From somewhere.

  The path was narrow, dense forest on either side. It would work to our advantage. Forced them to come at us head-on. Marcus and and stood side by side waiting. Okoye was right behind us, an arrow nocked and ready.

  They came.

  I met the first soldier with my spear, driving it into his shield, forcing him back. The next one came immediately, and the next.

  The odd feeling was constant now. A low hum in the back of my mind, pulsing with each threat. A soldier swung at my left, I felt it before I saw it, shifted my weight, let the blade pass. Another thrust from the right, the pressure spiked and I was already moving, my spear intercepting, redirecting.

  I wasn't thinking anymore. Just responding. Trusting that sense, leaning into it.

  A blade came at my throat. My senses screamed and I dropped into a crouch, felt the steel pass overhead. Came up inside the soldier's guard, drove my spear through his ribs.

  Another soldier. The pressure told me where he'd be before he got there. I was waiting when he arrived.

  Marcus was shouting something. Okoye's bow sang. But I was in my own world now, that sense guiding every movement, every decision. It wasn't perfect, I still took hits, still felt pain, but I was reading the fight in a way I'd never been able to before.

  LEVEL UP

  You have reached Level 5

  Attribute point available

  I pushed it to the side quickly.

  And then something changed.

  The world... slowed.

  Not physically. I wasn't moving faster. But I could see everything. Could process every movement, every attack, every shift in weight and balance.

  The soldier in front of me was swinging his sword. I could see the arc of the blade, could calculate exactly where it would be in half a second, a full second. Could see the opening in his defense that would appear when he committed to the strike.

  I moved. Not faster. Just... perfectly. My spear found the gap in his armor before his sword completed its arc. He fell.

  Another soldier. I could see his footwork, could read his intention in the way he gripped his weapon. Could predict his attack before he made it.

  I moved like water. Like thought. Every motion economical, precise, necessary.

  They kept coming and I kept moving and somewhere in the back of my mind I realized I was in a flow state. The kind athletes talked about. Where everything just... worked.

  But it was more than that. It was like I could see time itself stretching out, giving me space to think, to react, to choose.

  "It's your choice." Emma was holding up two hot pretzels, one covered in salt, the other in cinnamon sugar.

  The memory hit me like a physical blow. But I didn't stop fighting. Couldn't stop.

  "This place is such a tourist trap," she said, laughing as I grabbed the salt pretzel unsteadily, leaning into my crutch. "Why do we come here?"

  "Because you love it," I said. "You pretend you don't, but you do."

  We were waiting for her train, mom and dad behind us. People everywhere. Emma excited and almost bouncing.

  "Six dollars for a pretzel," she said. "This city is insane."

  Then she went quiet. Staring at something.

  "What?" I asked.

  "That guy," she said quietly. "Over there. By the subway entrance."

  I looked. Saw a man in a heavy coat. Wrong for the weather. Standing too still. Watching the crowd with an intensity that felt wrong.

  "He looks nervous," Emma said.

  I watched him. She was right. The man was sweating. His hands kept moving to his coat. Checking something.

  A police officer was nearby. I saw him notice the man too. Saw him start moving in that direction.

  But my head was starting to hurt. A pressure building behind my eyes. Like my brain was working too hard, processing too much.

  I stood up. Started to follow Emma's gaze. Took a step.

  And tripped.

  Stupid. Clumsy. My foot caught on the edge of the step and I went down hard. Hands out. Caught myself. But the damage was done.

  The police officer turned. Saw me fall. Changed direction.

  "You okay?" he asked, reaching down to help me up.

  "Yeah," I said. "Sorry. I'm fine."

  He helped me to my feet. Checked that I was steady. By the time he looked back toward the subway entrance, the man in the heavy coat was gone.

  The explosion came thirty seconds later.

  So loud it didn't register as sound. Just pressure. Just force. The world turning sideways.

  Dust everywhere. Screaming. I was on the ground. Couldn't hear properly. Couldn't see properly. Everything was gray and red and wrong.

  The police officer who'd helped me was lying ten feet away. Not moving. Half his body just... gone.

  The pressure in my head was getting worse. Like something was trying to crack my skull open from the inside. But I couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop.

  I found her twenty feet away. She was lying in the rubble. So much blood. Too much blood.

  A spear thrust at my chest. I twisted, let it slide past. Grabbed the shaft. Pulled the soldier off balance. Drove my own spear into his side.

  "Emma, stay with me. Stay with me."

  Her eyes were open. Looking at me. Trying to focus.

  "Adam," she whispered. I could barely hear her. "Adam, I can't-"

  They were afraid.

  Good.

  I glared at the soldiers, daring them to come at me.

  "You're going to be fine," I told her. Lying. We both knew I was lying. "Help is coming. You're going to be fine."

  "I'm scared," she said.

  "I know. I know. I'm here. I'm right here."

  But I wasn't. Not really. Because I'd been the one who distracted the officer. I'd been the one who fell. If I hadn't, maybe he would have reached the bomber. Maybe he could have stopped it.

  Maybe Emma would still be alive.

  I was crying. Tears streaming down my face as I fought. As I killed. As I moved through the soldiers like a ghost, like death itself.

  I'd failed her. I'd been right there and I'd failed her.

  A sword caught my thigh. Deep. I felt the blade scrape bone. Fell to one knee.

  I couldn't save her.

  Another cut. Across my back. The leather armor splitting. Blood running hot down my spine.

  I couldn't do anything.

  The flow state was fracturing. The pressure in my head unbearable. I could feel something breaking. Not my body. My mind.

  She died holding my hand and I couldn't do anything.

  Movement to my left. Marcus, still fighting, two soldiers pressing him hard. He was bleeding from multiple wounds but holding his ground, his spear work still precise despite the exhaustion.

  Then a third soldier came from his blind side.

  "Marcus!" I tried to shout, but my voice was raw, barely audible over the chaos.

  The sword took him in the side, punched through the gap in his armor. I saw his face-surprise, then pain, then something like resignation. He tried to turn, to bring his spear around, but his legs buckled.

  He went down hard.

  "No." The word came out broken. "No, no, no-"

  An arrow hissed past me. Okoye, still fighting, still covering the retreat even as blood ran down her arm from a deep cut. She loosed another arrow, dropped a soldier who'd been charging my position.

  Then I saw the spearman behind her.

  "Okoye!" This time I screamed it. "Behind you!"

  She started to turn. Too slow. The spear caught her in the back, drove through her chest. She gasped, I heard it even across the distance, and fell forward onto her knees. Fear in those eyes that always had seemed so confident.

  The archer who'd saved my life a dozen times. Who'd taught me how to be a soldier. Who'd told me I was doing better than I thought.

  Gone.

  Not again. Not again. Not again.

  Something in me snapped. Not broke- snapped. Like a wire pulled too tight, like a bone stressed past its limit.

  The pressure that had been guiding me, that subtle feeling in my skull- it wasn't subtle anymore. It was screaming. Every threat, every movement, every intention of every soldier within fifty feet crashed into my awareness all at once.

  I could see them. Not just see, know. Where they'd move. Where they'd strike. The exact angle of every blade, the precise timing of every thrust.

  Time didn't slow. I made it slow. Forced it. Pushed that ability harder than I'd ever pushed anything in my life.

  I failed. Again.

  A soldier came at me. I saw his strike three moves before he made it. Stepped inside his guard, drove my spear through his throat. Pulled it free and turned before his body hit the ground.

  Another soldier. The pressure in my head spiked, white-hot pain behind my eyes, but I could see his next five moves like they were already written. Blocked. Countered. Killed.

  I won't let them die for nothing.

  The pain was getting worse. Not the pain from my wounds, those were distant, irrelevant. This was different. This was inside my skull, building like pressure in a sealed container. Like something was trying to crack open from the inside.

  I didn't care.

  Three soldiers rushed me together. The pressure showed me their pattern, their coordination, the exact moment their formation would create an opening. I moved through them like water, my spear finding gaps that shouldn't have existed.

  Marcus. Okoye. Emma.

  I couldn't save them.

  The pressure spiked again. I felt something in my head shift. Not break, not yet, but strain. Like a muscle pushed past failure, like a joint hyperextended beyond its range.

  Blood ran from my nose. I tasted copper.

  Didn't matter.

  I gripped her hand tighter, but I knew she was already gone.

  Four more soldiers. The wrongness was constant now, a roar in my mind that drowned out everything else. I could see everything. Every threat. Every opening. Every possible outcome branching out like a tree of probability.

  I moved through them. Killed them. Kept moving.

  The pain in my head was unbearable now. White-hot spikes driving through my temples. My vision was starting to blur at the edges, dark spots creeping in.

  Just a little longer.

  Five soldiers. Six. I'd lost count. They kept coming and I kept killing them and the pressure kept building and building and building-

  Something cracked.

  Not metaphorically. I felt it. Something in my brain, some connection, some part of me that wasn't meant to handle this much input, this much processing, this much everything, cracked like overstressed glass.

  The pressure didn't stop. It got worse. Louder. More intense. Information flooding in faster than I could process it, faster than any human mind was meant to process it.

  I was drowning in it.

  I won't stop. I won't-

  Another crack. Deeper this time. More fundamental.

  My legs gave out. I caught myself on my spear, used it like a crutch to stay upright.

  A soldier came at me. I could still see his moves, all of them, branching out in infinite possibility, but my body wouldn't respond fast enough anymore. The connection between knowing and doing was breaking.

  His sword caught my shoulder. I barely felt it.

  Marcus. Okoye.

  Another crack. This one felt like something vital giving way. Like a dam failing. Like a levee breaking under too much pressure.

  The pressure was screaming now. Every threat within a hundred yards, every movement, every intention, all of it crashing into my awareness at once with no filter, no control, no way to stop it.

  I tried to raise my spear. My arm wouldn't move.

  I'm sorry.

  A blade caught my side. Another my leg. I was falling and couldn't stop it.

  The pressure in my head reached a crescendo, unbearable, impossible, fatal, and then something inside my skull shattered.

  The pressure cut off all at once. Not fading, severed. Like a wire snapped. Like a circuit blown.

  Darkness rushed in.

  Emma. Marcus. Okoye.

  I'm sorry I couldn't save you.

  One moment I was there, fighting, dying, burning out from the inside.

  The next moment there was nothing.

  Just black.

  Just silence.

  Just the absence of everything.