Page 57 of Zeke
“No!” The scream tore from her throat as she launched forward, lifting Raaze’s blade. It was too heavy, the balance was wrong, and her grip was all fucked up, but she charged the monster anyway. Her plan formed as she ran... leap onto its back, bury the dagger between the vertebrae, and twist until she fucked something up.
The feral stood nearly nine feet tall, its body a grotesque stretch of mutated flesh and crystalline growths. Jumping, she reached for its shoulders.
Her fingers scraped against hardened skin three feet too low.
Crap.
She hit the ground hard, her knee buckling, and the blade nearly flew from her grip as she caught herself. The monster hadn’t even noticed her attempted attack, too focused on crushing Zeke’s windpipe.
She scrambled to her feet, adjusting her plan. The thing had been Izaean once—under all that armor and mutation, and organs still needed blood. The ribcage stretched way too long, with gaps between the bones where the mutations hadn’t fully fused. She gripped the dagger with both hands and drove it between the sixth and seventh ribs, feeling the blade scrape against bone before punching through into something soft.
The monster’s roar shook dust from the canyon walls. It released Zeke, who collapsed to his knees, gasping, and spun toward her with blinding speed.
She saw the arm coming, a blur of motion tipped with lethal spikes. The world seemed to crawl as the thorns grew larger, aimed right for her. She tried to pull back, but her broken leg wouldn’t respond fast enough.
The spikes punched through her abdomen with a wet pop she felt more than heard. The impact drove the air from her lungs, a tearing pressure that went deep before the feral roared again and ripped its arm free.
She dropped to her knees. Her hands went to her stomach, finding holes that shouldn’t exist. Blood poured between her fingers, hot at first, then cooling fast against her skin.
She didn’t feel pain. That should have worried her more, but all she felt was cold. An awful, creeping iciness that started at the wound sites and spread outward through her veins. Her fingers went numb first, then her hands. The cold moved up her arms with each weakening heartbeat.
She knew... somehow just knew... that when the cold reached her brain, she would be gone.
Her vision swam, but she forced herself to focus on Zeke. She wanted his face to be the last thing she saw. Wanted to hold his image as the darkness took her. The look on his face was a separate, deeper wound. His features twisted, the sound he made... her name... was so full of agony it barely sounded human through the growing static in her ears.
She wished she could spare him this. Wished she could tell him it was okay, that she’d chosen this. That she didn’t regret a single moment they’d had together—not the arguments, not the desperate sex in caves, not even this ending. Her only regret was their fight last night, and the hurt in his eyes when she’d pulled away.
That she’d never said the words out loud: I love you.
Zeke changed.
She’d seen him fight before, had witnessed his violence against the ferals who’d taken her. But this was different. He rose from his knees, his grief and rage a visible aura around him. His legion armor flowed over his entire body, black as space and his claws extended past anything she’d seen before, each one gleaming like obsidian knives.
The monster that had gutted her turned to face him, and for the first time, it hesitated.
Zeke didn’t just fight. He destroyed.
The monster screamed, swinging spiked arms as Zeke's claws punched through it’s chest, over and over. Zeke flowed around it like a dancer in the middle of a show. He took the creature apart piece by piece, each strike precise and brutal. Black blood painted the canyon walls as he dismantled something that had seemed unkillable moments before.
The cold crept up her chest, making each breath a monumental effort. Her vision tunneled, darkness eating at the edges. But she kept her eyes on Zeke, watching him become deadly and grieving.
Around them, Raaze and Kraath fought to keep the other ferals back. She caught glimpses of movement, and Raaze’s blade opening throats, Kraath’s fists crushing skulls. They formed a protective circle, giving Zeke space to finish his work.
The monster tried to heal, tissue knitting together even as Zeke tore it apart. But he was relentless. He grabbed the creature’s head with both hands, his muscles bunching under the legion armor. The monster clawed at him, drawing more blood, but he didn’t even flinch.
The wet tearing sound when he ripped its head free made her stomach turn.
Or would have, if she could still feel her stomach.
Wind battered the canyon, bringing the mechanical roar of engines. Her dimming vision caught shapes dropping from above, as troop transports hovered over the canyon and warriors dropped from them.
The garrison had found them.
The ferals scattered at the sight of reinforcements. Those who didn’t run fast enough were met by Izaean warriors in full combat gear. Bursts of plasma lit up the night, and the feral shrieks turned to sounds of panicked retreat.
The cold reached her throat. Each breath became a conscious effort as her lungs forgot how to breathe. She watched Zeke drop the monster’s head, his eyes finding her across the bloodied ground. He moved faster than she could track, there in an instant, pulling her into his arms.
His hands pressed against her wounds, trying to stop the bleeding that had already slowed to a trickle. Not because she was healing, but because there wasn’t enough blood left to flow. His mouth moved, words she could barely hear through the static filling her ears.
