Page 106 of Splitting Secrets
It’s enough of a distraction for me to realize that instead of fighting time, I need to start controlling it myself.
I seize control ofhisvery lifeline, forcing him into an endless loop of his last breath. Over and over, he watches himself die, but never fully fades. Trapped in eternity, he screams, but no one hears.
Raze has snuck up behind James and wrapped his arm around his neck, his face scrunched with effort as he squeezes with all his might. I step forward and swing a right hook, my fist landing against his cheek bone as payback for my sore, swollen jaw.
But James’s smile only grows wider as he maneuvers out of Raze’s death grip. He shrugs off every attack, his body absorbing impacts and redirecting them with explosive force.
I punch and kick and stomp, but no weapon, no strike, no magic seems to break him. I’m ready to give up, my body nearly depleted from the constant physical effort. I have to pause to catch my breath, drawing on the wisdom of my ancestors to help me find a way out of this while Raze continues the useless efforts.
And then it hits me.
He absorbs energy. So, what happens when I overload him?
I stand back and take a deep breath. Raze looks over at me, a question in his eyes as I raise my arm and channel everything—every ounce of kinetic force, every raw element, every temporal shift—into a single strike. And to my utter shock, the sheer, uncontainable energy makes him implode from within. For the first time, he cannot contain what he has taken. His body detonates before my eyes, a final, near-earth-shattering boom marking his end.
Raze leaps in front of my chest to shield me from impact, but I’ve already got a large, protective bubble wrapped around our kneeling bodies where time slows and all the gore passes by without touching us. We wait beneath it, still as stone, until the last drop of James’s blood falls to the ground. Only then do I remove the bubble.
I look to the right and find another body lying on the ground a few feet away, the face wrinkled and unrecognizable and covered in James.
“Viridian,” he explains, out of breath when I shoot him a confused look. “Fucker healed every strike I made against her. It took way too long for me to realize I could warp her mind until she accelerated her healing right to death.”
Damn.So that’s where he disappeared off to.
“It’s too quiet,” I mutter, turning my head to try to listen for the next Supreme. My ear drums must be completely blown out, because I can’t even hear the sounds of struggle coming from the rest of the rebellion. Power thrums against my veins, energy desperate to be released.
Aunt Divina sits up from her spot on the ground a few feet away, her face covered in a splattering of blood.
“Where is the next one?” I ask Raze, flexing my fingers. I’m a little irritated that they haven’t shown themselves already.
“That’s all six,” he explains slowly, standing to his full height.
I frown. That can’t be right. There was the Luminara, then the Primaris...I think the Valerian jumped in after that...
Raze grabs my elbow to stop me, tugging me into a standing position. With his arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders, he lowers his lips until they’re directly against my ear.
“That was all of them,” he assures. “Take a look at what you’ve done.”
Pulling away, he tilts his head toward the town’s square, where everyone has gone still to look in our direction. They gawk at us with widened eyes, weapons still poised in their hands as if they were just about to strike the person standing next to them before James exploded.
All six Supremes are dead. The Midnight Syndicate is leaderless—their strongholds abandoned, their influence erased.
“What does this mean?” I ask Raze, my voice barely above a whisper.
“It means that we’ve won. The war is over.”
54
Raze
The once-lively streets of the town I’ve called home for my entire life are now cracked and littered with debris—shattered glass, splintered wood, and remnants of battle left to the mercy of the wind. Blood stains the cobblestone, dried and dark and refusing to be scrubbed away. Buildings stand half-destroyed, their facades riddled with scorch marks and bullet holes. The homes nearest to the town’s square are reduced to skeletal frames, hollow and abandoned, while others lean precariously, threatening to collapse with the next strong breeze.
Smoke still lingers in the air, a haunting reminder of fires that raged during our conflict. The square, once bustling with voices and people dodging me in the streets, is eerily silent. Broken glass litters the outside of most of the shops, which have been looted and destroyed in the chaos.
Those who have survived move like shadows, their faces lined with exhaustion and grief. Some sift through the wreckage of their homes, searching for anything that might still be salvageable—a photograph, a keepsake, a sign that life beforethe war wasn’t just a dream. Many of the people who chose not to fight on either side left their homes and have returned to nothing.
We’ve had to break up multiple fights between them and rebellion members over what has been done. I want to pummel every coward who dares to blame us for what the Midnight Syndicate started, but the logical voice inside me reminds me that they don’t know any better. They’ve spent so long being told what to think and feel by their leaders. They don’t know what to do now that the control has been handed back to them.
Sonny is recovering at her parents’ safe house. It’s been five days, and she’s still asleep. Five whole days without seeing her beautiful violet eyes blinking back at me or her snarky mouth telling me to go to hell. I’d be worried if I wasn’t digging deep into her psyche, ensuring she’s still safe and sound every time I see her. Her friends never leave her side.
