Page 70 of Detonation
They writhe on the floor from the teal flames consuming them, rolling around to try to snuff them out. I let their screams fade into the background, allowing myself to sink into that deadly headspace I need, my singular, obsessive focus on making it out of this fight alive.
The guards smarten up and catch on quickly, rushing me en masse to overwhelm me. My body shakes, threatening to give out as my magical and physical energy hit the bottom of the barrel in my reserves.
Struggling to move my hands quickly enough to produce the orbs, I drop to my knees, my legs no longer wanting to hold me up. A few guards break through my attacks and I act on instinct, halting my attacks to lift my forearms in defense of their fists and the butts of their swords. A small, white energy shield forms in front of my forearms, blocking their attacks, granting me a small respite.
Please, just a bit more, Gaia.
My pleas go unanswered as a crippling wave of pain flares through my chest. My shield only holds for a moment longer before wavering and vanishing. They're on me in seconds and I crumple to the ground, rolling into as small of a ball as I can get, covering my head with my arms.
A scream rips from me as my ribs snap from a kick at the same time as someone grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so hard I feel hair rip from my scalp.
I keep my eyes shut, trying to let my consciousness fade into the place where I don't feel pain, where I feel like an outsider looking down on my body. Where I can think of happier memories to get me through the agony.
Smiling, I force myself to think of a happy moment from my two lives for every kick or punch my body receives.
My wrist snaps as a boot kicks it.
Beth. Our Sunday ritual of folding laundry after the boys took a nap to sleep off the heavy brunch. We zoned out the monotonous chore by enjoying the peace of each other’s company to chat or simply exist in silence. The lazy Sundays that I waited every week for.
A fist lands on my cheek, my head cracking into the floor.
Christmas mornings when the boys would fight over who got to give me their gift first and how they would try to trick me into admitting whose I liked the most. I never gave in, not daring to snuff out the joy and hope in any of their eyes, settling on telling them they all did so good that I was too shocked to pick, when, in fact, the best gift was simply being with them.
My breathing becomes difficult and I suspect my lung is punctured from a broken rib.
My fae mother and father, tucking me into my bed at night, alternating between who sat with me while I fell asleep. We'd create a story together, typically about a princess on a new quest to defeat a bad monster, and we'd continue on with it until my eyes were too heavy to stay open. They'd always end it at that point, with the princess slaying the beast and accepting her role as Queen. I used to argue with them that I didn’t want to be Queen. I just wanted to be a monster hunter.
My ears ring as I cradle my broken arm, my head snapping back with the force of another kick. The pain fades from me, my vision feels hazy like I'm underwater, as my mind slows. I float in a void as I hear Ash’s voice, “Lana! Don’t give in!”
Is this death?
* * *
Light assaults my eyes from behind my closed lids and I wince.
A soft hand caresses my cheek, a beautiful voice coaxing me to open my eyes. "Oslana, please look at me."
I want to obey, even though my mind wants to pull me back into the void where I can't be hurt. Clenching my eyes shut, I whisper to myself, "No, no, no. They're hurting you. Don't go back to reality."
Fingers trail up and down my arms, causing a shiver to run through my body as goosebumps appear under the touch. "Oslana, you are safe in this moment with me."
It's too good to be true. Don't listen to the voice.
"My child, believe me."
Gaia?
My mind comes out of fight or flight mode, allowing me to accept the possibility that I’m safe with the goddess, that she’s here.
I peel one eye open and sigh as her swirling eyes peer down at me. Opening my other eye, I do a mental sweep of my injuries as I search for any pain. Upon finding none, I sit up and she moves backwards to give me some space, sitting back on her knees.
We're in a pure white room, nothing here except for us. This time, she has lightly tanned skin, copper hair similar to mine, and white flowers braided into strands.
"Where are we?"
"We’re in my head where my brother can't reach us. I pulled you into here as I felt you slip into unconsciousness."
I frown. "Brother?"
