Chapter 26: Ring of Fire - Part 1
POV: Alec Morgan
The Grounder war cry echoed across the forest like rolling thunder, three hundred voices raised in harmonious threat that spoke of coordination, training, and absolute commitment to our annihilation. They emerged from the treeline like a dark tide, warriors painted for war and moving with fluid precision that made our desperate defensive preparations look like children playing with sticks.
My combat prediction exploded into full activation, flooding my consciousness with tactical data that painted the entire battlefield in crystalline detail. Twenty different attack vectors converging on our perimeter. Flanking movements through creek beds and elevated positions. Weakness patterns in our defensive line that professional soldiers would exploit with surgical efficiency.
But for the first time since arriving on Earth, my enhanced awareness was connected to communication systems that let me coordinate responses across the entire engagement zone.
"All positions, contact imminent," I said into the radio network that linked our scattered fighters. "First wave, six assault teams, primary thrust through eastern approach with flanking elements north and south."
Through my earpiece, I could hear Raven's voice crackling with static and concentration: "Copy that, tactical. IED network is armed and ready."
"Miller, three warriors coming left flank in five seconds," I called, watching attack patterns develop with supernatural clarity. "Harper, fall back to secondary position NOW!"
The predictions landed with perfect accuracy. Miller's position came under assault exactly when I'd warned, his advance preparation letting him meet the attack with tactical advantage rather than surprised desperation. Harper's retreat saved her from a spear thrust that would have punched through her ribs if she'd remained in primary position.
"Bellamy, they're flanking through the creek bed," I continued, coordinating defensive responses with impossible precision. "Six warriors, moving to cut off your retreat route."
"How the fuck do you know that?" Bellamy's voice carried over the radio, but he was already moving to intercept the flanking movement before conscious thought could question the source of my intelligence.
Because I could see everything. Every warrior's movement pattern painted across my consciousness two seconds before it happened. Every strike, every feint, every tactical decision rendered in perfect detail by combat prediction that had evolved from unreliable glimpses into comprehensive battlefield awareness.
"Raven, trigger eastern cluster in three... two... one... now!"
The explosives detonated in sequence as Grounder assault teams hit the trigger points I'd calculated based on their movement patterns and tactical preferences. Bodies flew through the air, earth erupted in fountains of dirt and shrapnel, and the organized advance collapsed into chaos as survivors scrambled for cover.
"Holy shit, it's working!" Raven's voice crackled through the radio, triumph and disbelief mixing in equal measure. "Your placements are perfect! How did you know exactly where they'd mass their forces?"
"Because I can see the future. Because I have supernatural capabilities that let me predict enemy tactics with perfect accuracy. Because I'm not human in any way that matters and this is what happens when I stop hiding what I am."
"Lucky guess," I said automatically, but the deflection felt hollow even to my own ears when I was demonstrating capabilities that violated every assumption about normal human limitations.
The first wave broke against our defenses like water against stone, leaving bodies scattered across the approach routes while survivors regrouped for the next assault. But even as our fighters celebrated the unexpected success, I could see the second wave forming with adaptations based on what they'd learned from the initial failure.
"Regroup and resupply," I called over the radio. "They'll come again in two minutes, different approach vectors, adjusted for our defensive positions."
"How can you possibly know their timing?" Finn's voice carried confusion and growing suspicion.
"Pattern analysis," I replied, which was technically true if inadequate as complete explanation. "Professional forces regroup predictably after failed assault."
But before anyone could press for more detailed explanation, the Grounder warriors breached our inner perimeter through a gap my prediction had somehow missed. Five warriors materialized from cover with coordinated precision, flowing toward our command position like death given form and purpose.
Time dilated as my combat prediction exploded with overlapping threat patterns. Every strike sequence rendered in perfect detail, every counter-move calculated with mathematical precision, the exact combination of movements required to survive simultaneous assault by opponents who'd spent their entire lives learning to kill efficiently.
I moved like water through their attack patterns, my body finally matching the awareness that had been developing since my first day on Earth. A spear thrust whistled past my ear as I ducked left, redirecting the warrior's momentum into a throwing technique that sent him flying into his companion. A blade aimed at my spine scraped across reinforced leather as I spun right, my own weapon finding the gap in his armor with precision that spoke of training I'd never received.
The third warrior came from my blind spot, but my prediction had already shown me where he'd be. I flowed backwards through a strike pattern that should have disemboweled me, using his forward momentum to execute a counter that disabled without killing—because even in desperate combat, I couldn't bring myself to murder people defending their territory from invaders.
But the fourth warrior's blade caught my side deep enough to scrape against ribs, sending fire through my nervous system as steel parted flesh that hadn't yet adapted to this level of damage. I kept fighting through the injury, adrenaline and desperation overriding pain that should have dropped me immediately.
The watching fighters stared in shock as I moved through combat like someone who'd been training for decades rather than weeks. Supernatural awareness translated into physical capability that defied every assumption about what untrained teenagers could accomplish against professional warriors.
"Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?" Murphy called from his defensive position, his voice carrying awe and growing suspicion about capabilities I'd hidden until desperation forced revelation.
"Nowhere. I downloaded it along with transmigration and comprehensive knowledge of future disasters. Because I'm not actually human and this is what happens when I stop pretending to be normal."
"Survival instincts," I gasped, clutching my bleeding side while my regeneration began working to close wounds that should have required immediate medical attention.
But even as I offered inadequate explanations, the first wave's remnants were retreating to regroup with reinforcements that would overwhelm our depleted defenses through sheer numbers and professional expertise.
"Raven," I called into my earpiece, blood loss making my voice weaker than intended.
"Alec!" Her voice crackled with panic as she saw me clutching my wounded side. "How bad is it?"
"I'll live," I said, which was true if misleading about the supernatural capabilities that would ensure my survival. "But we need the ring of fire. Now. Before they can coordinate the next assault."
"Working on it," she replied, and I could hear her fingers flying over ignition controls with desperate efficiency.
As I collapsed against a makeshift barricade, feeling my enhanced healing working overtime to repair damage that would have killed normal people, I realized something fundamental had changed. My supernatural abilities were no longer hidden beneath layers of deflection and convenient explanation. Everyone had seen me coordinate defensive responses with impossible precision, had watched me fight multiple opponents with skills I shouldn't possess.
The secret that had defined my existence since arriving on Earth was finally, irrevocably exposed. And somehow, surrounded by people who'd chosen to trust me despite knowing I was different, that felt less like catastrophe and more like coming home.
The war for our survival was far from over, but we'd proven something important in the first exchange: even impossible odds could be overcome when people fought for something worth dying to protect.
Some battles were worth revealing everything you were to win.
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