Page 108 of Green Ravens

Zorion shot a titanium-tipped arrow into a wall, creating a magnetic field that yanked the others’ weapons out of their hands.

Without bullets, they had no means of defending themselves.

Standing confused and paralyzed with fear, Valor dashed around them in a blur of claws and muscle.

One mercenary raced to recover his weapon and Zorion shot an arrow with such force it pierced the man’s hand, nailing it to the wall.

“Destroy it all,” Jo ordered.

Chief Styles Sawyer

Zorion

Zorion fired multiple flare arrows into the rooms, and the contents and any remnants of the Ravens organization burst into flames.

“Floor twenty-seven. Four armed.”

Zorion reached behind him, his quiver rotating as he snagged a white halothane-infused arrow.

As Valor kicked the stairwell door open, Zorion aimed his bow and shot into the crowd of men.

A hissing cloud exploded and filled the corridor with gas. When they heard the muffled coughs and shouts for help, Valor threw his mask over his nose and mouth, then dove into the hall.

Damn, he was fuckin’ amazing.

He tore through their enemies, his claws slicing muscle and sinew, the force of his blows shattering bones. A man aimed his shotgun at him, but Valor was faster, gripping the barrel and thrusting it upward into the man’s nose, sending a spray of blood arcing into the air.

The disciples tore through the blinded guards, their strikes fast, their deaths quick and merciful.

“You’re clear,” Jo said. “End of the hall, make a sharp right, and you’ll be at the lab. Burn it all, Zorion.”

They entered the huge laboratory that took up the entire left side of the building. The air was pungent with chemicals and haunting memories.

Zorion’s vision blurred as flashes of what they’d done to him pierced his chest. Cold metal tables, needles penetrating his flesh, the agony of transformation. He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes for a second to calm himself.

“Fire in the hole,” he rumbled. “Take cover.”

It looked as if his cherished was just as affected as he was at seeing this place again. Valor stared unblinking at a long metal table near a machine with more than a dozen tubes connected to empty bottles.

Zorion took out his grenade arrows, launching them into the mainframes and storage rooms. The bangs from each explosion were ear-deafening, yet they were still the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard.

Fire erupted, consuming everything as Valor ripped apart machinery, his strength reducing it to rubble. The disciples cleared out data servers, smashing hard drives under their boots.

Once the sprinklers began to rain down, they heard a sudden shout, then hushed whimpers behind a closed door labeledStorage.

The disciples stalked over and yanked on a steel knob that was locked.

Zorion snagged an arrow from behind him and shot the nitric-hydrochloric solution at the metal, causing it to crumble into a corroded shell.

Valor yanked the door open and Zorion was right there with a new arrow aimed at whoever was behind it.

“Please,” a woman cried, throwing her hands up.

Zorion recognized Dr. O’Reilley, Dr. Pheung, and Dr. Santana. Behind them were about fifteen trembling men and women in white lab coats.

Then he saw him, the fuckin’ assistant director, Hank Madison, cowering in the back with a 9mm handgun pointing shakily at the backs of the staff.

Zorion remembered his ugly face in the observation booth, smiling haughtily beside the director during their training.

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