Day 178. 10:30 hours.
Forbes Park.
The Peacock Mansion.
The gate opened.
Three figures stepped out. Into the minus-seventy. Into the snow. Three people who were going to meet sixty-seven pests and were not worried. Were angry.
Jae-min on point. Dual Glock 19s drawn. Wormhole Guided Bullets loaded. His dark eyes flat. His spatial awareness mapping sixty-seven signatures. Two kilometers. Closing. Fast.
Ji-yoo on his left. Soulcleaver manifested. The eight-foot blade of compressed gravitational energy. The dimensional edge humming. Her dark eyes fierce. Not the fierce of a woman going to enjoy what came next. The fierce of a woman who had heard the word children and was going to do what needed to be done.
The woman in white on the right. Katanas drawn. Both. Glocks in shoulder rigs. Her regeneration humming. Ready.
Behind them, the gate closed. The compound sealed. Rico on the walls. M4 up. The ridge group, 188 soldiers, at the perimeter. Vanguard Six, Captain Vasquez and Corporal Reyes, at the north.
"They are at one kilometer." Jae-min offered, his spatial awareness mapping. "Closing. Fast. Two minutes. Sixty-seven signatures. All Enhanced. We do not know what they can do. We will find out."
"Copy." Ji-yoo confirmed, her voice fierce.
The woman in white nodded. Once.
Three people. Standing in the snow. In the minus-seventy. In front of a mansion in Forbes Park. Under a Jollibee billboard. Waiting for sixty-seven pests who were about to learn what happens when you knock on the door of a mansion full of Enhanced who just killed a god.
— • • • —
Day 178. 10:32 hours.
The raiders came into view at one kilometer.
A horde. Sixty-seven Enhanced moving through the snow. Not marching. Not organized. Loping. Men who did not need to march because they were the apex. And the apex did not march. The apex loped.
At the front, Big Rex. Seven feet. Three hundred pounds. Moving through the snow like a truck. His boots leaving craters. The minus-seventy nothing.
Behind him, sixty-six. Various. Not an army. A horde. Individual predators. Coming to take.
"We cannot fight sixty-seven at once." Jae-min pressed. "We cut the front. We slow them. But some will get past. The ridge group has to hold."
"The ridge group is regular humans." Ji-yoo pressed. "Against Enhanced."
"I know." Jae-min confirmed. "But the ridge group has M4s. And Glocks. And fragmentation grenades. And satchel charges. And numbers. 188 against however many get past. The raiders are cocky. Not trained. Pests with powers. But pests. The ridge group holds until we finish the front and come back."
"Copy." Ji-yoo confirmed.
The woman in white nodded. Once. The katanas up. The Glocks ready.
The raiders closed. Five hundred meters. Four hundred. Three hundred.
Two hundred.
"Now." Jae-min pressed.
The strike team moved.
— • • • —
Jae-min fired first. Both Glocks. The Wormhole Guided Bullets wormholed. Not at the bodies. At the heads.
The bullets emerged behind skulls. Inside skulls. Already inside. No need to pierce. Four raiders dropped. Skulls opened from the inside. Rounds exiting through foreheads. Bone and brain matter spraying forward into the snow. Four men dead in two seconds.
The horde did not stop. Sixty-three men who had seen four of their own drop and had not flinched. Cocky. Five months of never meeting anything that could stop them.
Big Rex laughed. A man who had seen four drop and was not afraid. Amused. A predator seeing something new. Not recognizing that he was looking at a predator bigger than him.
"They have guns." Big Rex offered, his voice loud. "The little man has guns. Cute."
He did not know.
Ji-yoo swung. Soulcleaver. The dimensional edge. Not at the horde. At the air. A cut that was a wave. A dimensional edge that traveled through the air. Through the snow. Through the front rank.
Ten raiders in the path. The edge hit them. Bisected. Ten men cut in half. Not by severing matter. By severing the space the matter occupied. Torsos separated from legs. The two pieces falling in different directions. The cut clean. The blood came after. From the exposed organs. From the severed vessels. Pouring into the snow. Steaming.
Fourteen down. Fifty-three remaining.
Big Rex stopped laughing. A man who had seen ten of his horde bisected by a woman with a scythe. Not cute. Not guns.
"What the fuck." Big Rex offered, his voice loud. Not amused. Confused. A predator seeing something he had never seen in five months.
The woman in white moved. Not toward the horde. Into the horde. Fast. A woman who could regenerate and was not afraid of anything. A woman who had fought the Snake Woman and was now fighting pests.
She was in the horde. Among them. And cutting.
The katanas. Both. Finding necks. Arms. Torsos. Men in range. Pests who had preyed on regular humans for five months and were now being preyed on.
She cut. Left. Right. Left. Her body knew the movement. Did not think. Just cut. Katanas finding necks. Heads coming off. Wet. Heavy. Hitting the snow. Rolling. Faces still frozen in cocky grins. Grins that would never change.
Eight more down. Eight men whose heads were not on their shoulders.
Twenty-two down. Forty-five remaining.
The horde broke. Forty-five men who had seen twenty-two of their own drop in ten seconds. Not slowing. Accelerating. The strike team was among them. And cutting.
Some fled. Men who were not cocky anymore. Were afraid. Pests who had never been afraid in five months. And were now.
But some did not flee. Some ran. Past the strike team. Toward the compound. Not fighting. Running. For the food. The supplies. The warmth. The women.
"They are breaking past." Jae-min pressed, low, into the comms. "Twenty, maybe thirty, running for the compound. Ridge group, weapons free. Do not let them reach the walls."
[Rico]: "Copy. Ridge group, weapons free. The compound does not fall." Rico confirmed, low, from the wall. His M4 up. His dark eyes on thirty Enhanced running toward his compound.
— • • • —
Day 178. 10:45 hours.
The compound.
The perimeter.
The raiders hit the perimeter at 10:45. Thirty of them. Various powers. Various cockiness. Men who had never met resistance. And were meeting it now.
The ridge group fired. M4s. Glocks. 188 soldiers. A firing line that was efficient. Shooting. Hitting. Rounds finding bodies.
Five raiders dropped. Men whose bodies were hit by 5.56mm rounds that pierced because the raiders were not titanium-scaled. Were flesh. Enhanced but not armored. Pests who had never needed armor because their prey could not shoot back.
But the raiders were Enhanced. And the ridge group was not. And the raiders had powers the ridge group had never seen.
A raider reached the wall. A foxhole. Three soldiers. The raider jumped into the foxhole. A man who cleared a two-meter wall in a single bound. The soldiers did not know what he was until he was among them.
He grabbed the first soldier. By the head. The grip squeezed. The skull cracked. Bone gave. The skull caved. A head that was not a head anymore. The soldier dead. His body still standing for one moment. Then falling.
The second soldier fired. M4. Point-blank. Into the raider's chest. Three rounds. The raider staggered. But Enhanced. Tougher. A body that took three rounds and did not die. Still standing. Still holding.
The raider grabbed the second soldier. By the throat. Squeezed. The trachea crushed. The windpipe collapsed. A soldier who could not breathe. Who was dying.
The third soldier ran. A regular human who had seen two friends die in seconds.
The raider let him run. Not interested in a fleeing man. Interested in the compound. The food. The supplies. The warmth. The women. Climbing out of the foxhole. Toward the mansion.
This was happening at every foxhole. At every wall. A perimeter being breached. Not the wall. Not the gate. The soldiers. A ridge group that was dying. Regular humans against Enhanced they had never seen before. A slaughter.
— • • • —
Day 178. 11:00 hours.
The compound.
The north perimeter.
Commander Reyes fought.
Not with powers. Not with Enhanced abilities. With an M4. And a Glock. And the stubbornness of a man who had been a liaison officer and was now a fighter. A man who had no powers and was fighting Enhanced with bullets that were not enough but were all he had.
Reyes fired. His M4. At a raider whose hands were flaming. A man throwing fire at the foxholes. Fire hitting soldiers. Winter gear igniting. Men on fire in minus-seventy. Burning and freezing at the same time.
Reyes had never seen a man throw fire. Had never fought a man who threw fire. Had no idea fire was coming until the foxhole next to his erupted in flames and the soldier in it screamed and burned and the snow around the foxhole melted and then refroze and the soldier was not screaming anymore.
Reyes fired. At the fire-thrower. Center mass. Four rounds. 5.56mm finding the raider's chest. Not armored. Flesh. The raider dropped. Dead.
But another raider. From the left. A man who was a blur. Fast. Too fast. At Reyes' side before Reyes could turn.
Reyes did not see him. Not Enhanced. Regular. And regular could not track a man moving that fast. The man was there and then not there and then there again. And Reyes was on the ground.
The impact broke ribs. Multiple. The full force of an Enhanced moving at speed. A ribcage that failed. Lungs that punctured.
The raider stopped. Turned. Came back. Standing over a commander who was on the ground. Broken.
Reyes looked up. At a man standing over him. Reyes reached for his Glock. Not giving up. Fighting. On the ground. Broken. Reaching.
The raider stomped on Reyes' hand. A boot crushing fingers. Bones snapping. A hand that was not a hand anymore.
Reyes did not scream. A commander looking at the raider with dark eyes that were not afraid. Were flat. The flat of a commander who had stopped seeing people and had started seeing numbers. And was now a number. His own.
The raider stomped again. On Reyes' chest. The cracked ribs. Breaking completely. A ribcage collapsing. A chest caving. Lungs crushing. A heart rupturing.
Reyes died. A commander whose ribcage had collapsed and whose lungs had crushed and whose heart had ruptured. A man who had been a liaison officer and a commander. Who had stopped seeing people and had started seeing numbers. And was now a number. His own. In his own notebook.
The notebook fell from his coat pocket. Into the snow. Full of names. Of numbers. Of the cost. Beside a commander who was dead.
Commander Reyes was dead.
— • • • —
Day 178. 11:15 hours.
The compound.
The north perimeter.
Corporal Reyes fought.
Not the commander. The corporal. A woman who shared a name with a dead commander and was not dead. Was fighting. Beside her captain. The brace. The woman who had held her captain up in a crater. In a wave. And was holding again.
Corporal Reyes fired. Her M4. At a raider whose hands were frozen white. A man throwing ice at the foxholes. Ice shards she had never seen coming until they were in the soldiers next to her. Piercing winter gear. Piercing flesh.
Her rounds hit. The raider. Center mass. Three rounds. The raider dropped. Dead.
"Captain Vasquez. Left." Corporal Reyes pressed, her dark eyes on a raider coming from the left. Big. Not Big Rex big. But big enough. And his fists were. She did not know what his fists were. Until they were on Corporal Reyes.
Vasquez turned. Fired. Her M4. At the raider. Rounds hitting. The raider's chest. The man staggered. But Enhanced. Tougher. Three rounds and not dropping. Still coming.
The raider reached them. Swinging. A fist at Corporal Reyes.
Corporal Reyes dodged left. Fast. But not Enhanced-fast. Regular-fast. Not fast enough.
The fist clipped her. The right arm. The impact connected. The arm broke. Not cracked. Broke. The humerus snapped. Shattered.
But the fist was not done. Following through. Coming again. At the same arm. Already broken.
The arm came off. Separated at the shoulder. The joint tore. The shoulder dislocated. The arm was not attached. Was on the ground. In the snow.
Blood. Arterial. The subclavian artery open. Pumping. Bright red. Spraying from the shoulder.
Corporal Reyes screamed. A woman whose arm was gone. A limb that was not there. Was on the ground.
"Fuck!" Corporal Reyes screamed. A woman who had seen her brace. Her last. Lose an arm.
Vasquez fired. At the raider. Point-blank. Her M4. Into the raider's head. The skull opened. The man dropped. Dead.
Vasquez was at Corporal Reyes' side. Not fighting. Holding. Her corporal. A woman whose arm was gone and whose blood was pumping from the shoulder.
"Tourniquet." Vasquez pressed, her hands on the shoulder. Pressing. Holding the blood with her hands.
She pulled a tourniquet from Corporal Reyes' tactical rig. Going on the shoulder. The wound sealed. The blood stopped.
"Captain." Corporal Reyes breathed, her voice low. Strained. A woman whose arm was gone and whose body was in shock.
"Stay with me, Corporal." Vasquez pressed. Not steady. Afraid. A woman holding her corporal. Who was the last.
— • • • —
Day 178. 11:30 hours.
The compound.
The gate.
Big Rex reached the gate.
Not through the perimeter. Through. A man who was big and strong and walking through M4 fire. Through the ridge group. Through everything. The rounds hit him and did not stop him. His body was Enhanced. Tough. A body that took rounds and kept walking.
He was at the gate. In front of a gate that was sealed and was not going to hold against Big Rex.
Captain Elena Vasquez stood. At the gate. In front of Big Rex.
She was not a small woman. Five foot eight. Broad-shouldered. The kind of figure that filled a tactical rig the way it was meant to be filled. The kind of figure that the AFP had never known what to do with because the AFP issued uniforms for men and Vasquez was not a man. Vasquez was a woman who looked like she had been carved from the earth itself. Solid. Heavy in the places that mattered. The kind of solid that made men look twice and then look away because the looking twice was not worth the trouble.
She had put Corporal Reyes down. Behind the gate. With a tourniquet. And was not staying with her corporal. Was standing in front of the gate. Because the gate was the last thing between Big Rex and the compound. And the household. And the women.
"Little girl." Big Rex offered, his voice loud. Looking down at her. Seven feet to her five foot eight. Three hundred pounds to her one hundred and sixty. Amused. A predator seeing a woman in front of a gate.
"Move." Big Rex offered, his voice loud. Not asking. Telling.
Vasquez did not move. Her M4 empty. Her Glock drawn. Aimed at Big Rex's face.
"You are not entering this compound." Vasquez offered, her voice steady. Her pale brown eyes on Big Rex. Not Enhanced. Regular. Standing in front of a monster.
Big Rex laughed. Amused. A predator who had never been stopped in five months.
"Cute." Big Rex offered, his voice loud.
He punched.
— • • • —
The fist was a truck. Superhuman. Like Rico. Maybe stronger. The fist connected with Vasquez.
Her ribs shattered. Not cracked. Not broke. Shattered. Bones exploding. A ribcage that was not a ribcage anymore. A chest that caved. A thorax that compressed to half its width.
Vasquez flew. A woman who had been standing and was now airborne. Flying because a fist had hit her and sent her through the air. Into the wall behind the gate.
She hit the wall. A surface that received a body that was broken. Ribs shattered. Lungs crushed.
She fell. Off the wall. To the ground. Down. Not moving. Still.
Big Rex laughed. Again. Amused. A predator who had punched a woman through the air into a wall. Laughing because it was easy.
He stepped over her. Not interested in a body that was not moving. Going to the compound. The food. The supplies. The warmth. The women. Walking past the body of a captain who was dying.
— • • • —
Vasquez.
She was cold.
Not the minus-seventy cold. A different cold. An inside cold. The cold that came from the inside out. The cold that started in the chest where the ribs had been and spread. Through the body. Through the arms. Through the legs.
She could not breathe.
The lungs were crushed. The ribs that had protected them were inside them now. Bone fragments in the tissue. In the alveoli. In the spaces where air was supposed to go and was not going. The chest was a cavity that was not a cavity anymore. Was a compression. A thing that had been a chest and was now a vice. Squeezing. The lungs. The heart.
She was dying. She knew she was dying. The way a soldier knows. Not from training. From the body. The body that was shutting down. System by system. The lungs first. Then the heart. Then the brain.
She was on the ground. Behind the gate. In the snow. The minus-seventy. The snow. The cold.
"I don't want to die on the snow." Vasquez thought, her mind fading.
"Not on the surface. Not exposed. Not on top of the ground for anyone to see. For anything to take." Vasquez thought, her body going still.
"I want to be under the ground." Vasquez thought, fierce even in the dying.
Under the ground. Where it was dark. Where it was quiet. Where the cold could not reach. Where the snow could not reach. Where the men could not reach.
"That is where a soldier goes. That is where a captain goes. Under. Not on the snow. Not on top. Under, like a hero." Vasquez thought, her jaw tight even as her body went limp.
"Under the ground. Where the earth is. Where the dirt is. Where the rock is. Where the solid is. Not the snow. Not the cold. Not the surface. The earth. The deep. The under." Vasquez thought, her mind reaching.
The thought was reaching. Down. Into the ground. Into the earth beneath the snow. Into the frozen soil. Into the bedrock. Into the deep.
"But not yet." Vasquez thought, her will burning through the fading.
"Not yet. I am not done. I am not finished." Vasquez thought, fierce.
"I have a corporal with one arm behind that gate. I have a compound full of people. I have a war that is not over." Vasquez thought, her jaw clenching.
"I refuse. I refuse to die on this snow. I refuse to die here. I will not die. I will not." Vasquez thought, her body shutting down but her will burning.
"I will go under when it is my time. And it is not my time. It is not my fucking time." Vasquez thought, fierce.
"Under the ground. Where the earth is. Where the solid is. That is where I will go. But not today. Not today. I will not die today." Vasquez thought, her mind reaching down into the earth.
"I want the earth. I want the ground. I want the solid. I want the rock. I want the deep." Vasquez thought, fierce even in the dying.
"I refuse to die on the snow. I refuse. I refuse. I refuse." Vasquez thought, her body shutting down but her will. Her will. Her will was not shutting down. Her will was burning. Burning through the cold. Through the dying. Through the everything. Her will was the one thing that was not fading. Was not stopping. Was not giving up.
"I will not die. I will not die on the snow. I will not die. I will not."
— • • • —
Day 178. 11:31 hours.
The compound.
The gate.
Jae-min's spatial awareness caught it.
Not the fight. Not the gate. The signature. Vasquez's signature. The thermal signature that was a captain. A captain who had been standing. And was now not. On the ground. Behind the gate. The signature dropping. Fast. A body that was dying.
He was still in the field. The strike team was still cutting. The horde was still breaking. But the signature. Vasquez's signature. Was dropping. And the dropping was fast.
"Ji-yoo." Jae-min pressed, his dark eyes going flat. "Vasquez is down. Behind the gate. Her signature is dropping. Fast."
"Go." Ji-yoo confirmed, her voice fierce. "We hold here. Go."
Jae-min moved. The void opening. Not to store. To travel. The void tear splitting the air. Jae-min stepping through. The void tear closing. The distance between the field and the gate gone in a step.
He was behind the gate. And he saw her.
Vasquez. On the ground. In the snow. Not moving. Her chest caved. Her ribs shattered. Her body still. The still of a woman who was not breathing. Who was not conscious. Who was dying.
He was on his knees. Beside her. His hands on her chest. The chest that was caved. The ribs that were shattered. Bones inside the lungs. Fragments blocking the air.
He could feel it through the spatial awareness. The heart. Still beating. Faint. But beating. The lungs. Not working. Crushed. The heart was the last. Still going. For now. Going to stop.
"Vasquez." Jae-min pressed, his hands on her chest. "Stay with me."
She did not answer. Not there. Dying. On the snow. In the minus-seventy. Behind a gate that a monster was tearing open.
Big Rex. At the gate. His hand on the metal. Tearing. The gate giving. Metal bending under the hand of a man who was going to get in.
Jae-min did not think about Big Rex. Thinking about the woman. On the ground. Dying. Going to die if he did not.
He pressed. His hands on her chest. Compressions. A man performing CPR on a woman whose ribs were shattered. Bones inside the lungs. And he was pressing on them. The pressing necessary. A captain who was not a doctor. Was not Alessia. Was not the Healing Hands. Was just a man with hands pushing on a broken chest.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Compressions. Then he tilted her head back. Pinched her nose. Sealed his mouth over hers. Two breaths. The air pushing past crushed tissue. Past blood. Past the bone fragments that were blocking the airway.
The air that was supposed to go into the lungs and was not going. Because the lungs were crushed. And the air had nowhere to go. And came back. His mouth filling with the taste of blood. Her blood. The blood that was in her lungs. The blood that was drowning her from the inside.
He did not stop.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Compressions. Then mouth. Two breaths. The air pushing. The blood coming back. His mouth on hers. His breath in her lungs. The taste of copper and iron and the particular iron of a woman who was dying.
"Come on." Jae-min pressed, his hands on her chest. "Come on. Vasquez. Stay. Come on."
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Compressions. Then mouth. Two breaths. His lips on hers. His breath in her lungs. The blood on his lips. Her blood. The particular her-blood of a woman who was dying and whose body was not accepting the air he was giving her.
Big Rex tore the gate. The metal screaming. The gate coming off its hinges. Gone. On the ground. Big Rex stepping over it. Into the compound. Going to take. The food. The supplies. The warmth. The women.
Jae-min did not stop. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Then mouth. Two breaths. His mouth on hers. His breath pushing into crushed lungs that were not taking the air. The blood on his lips. Her blood. The particular her-blood of a woman who was dying and whose body was not accepting the air he was giving her.
"Come on, Vasquez." Jae-min pressed, his mouth against hers. Breathing into her. "You do not die on the snow. You hear me. You do not die on the fucking snow. You die under the ground. Like a soldier. Like a captain. You die under the ground. But not today. Not today. Come back. Come back."
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Then mouth. Two breaths. His lips sealed over hers. His breath pushing. The blood on his tongue. The taste of her dying in his mouth.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Then mouth. Two breaths.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Then mouth. Two breaths.
The gamma. Five months. The saturation. A body that had been bathed in gamma for five months. Under a sky that was saturated. Full of radiation from a supernova that had been bathing the Earth. Including Vasquez. Who had been saturated with gamma for five months and had not Enhanced. Because she had not crossed the Threshold.
The crossing required three things. Gamma. And the inner desire. Not just wanting. Needing. A desire so deep. So fundamental. That it crossed the line. And the will to survive.
"I refuse to die. I refuse. I refuse. I refuse." Vasquez thought, her will burning through the dying.
The desire was not just about the earth. The desire was about living. About refusing to die. About a will so strong that it was burning. Through the cold. Through the shutting down. Through the everything. A will that was not fading. Was not stopping. Was not giving up. A will that was reaching. Down. Into the earth. Into the ground. Into the solid. Into the deep. And was also reaching. Up. Toward the hands on her chest. Toward the mouth on hers. Toward the breath that was pushing into her. Toward the living.
"I will not die. I will not die on the snow. I will not die. I will not." Vasquez thought, fierce.
"I want the earth. I want the ground. I want the solid. I want to live. I want to protect. I want to protect the compound. The corporal. The women. The children. I want to protect. I will not die. I refuse." Vasquez thought, her will and her desire and the earth and the gamma all converging.
The Threshold crossed.
The gamma and the will and the desire and the earth. All of it. Converging. In a body that was dying. And the dying was triggering. The desire so deep. So fundamental. That it was crossing. The line. The Threshold. Happening now. Inside a body that was changing. Not changing shape. Not changing form. Changing inside. Cells awakening. Cells that were connecting. To the earth. To the ground. To the rock. To the deep. The earth answering. The earth responding. The earth reaching up. Through the frozen soil. Through the snow. Through the ground. Into the body of a woman who was dying and who wanted. The earth.
Jae-min felt it. Under his hands. The chest that was caved. Not caved anymore. Ribs healing. Bones knitting. A ribcage reforming. A chest expanding. Lungs re-inflating. Organs working again. A body that was not dying anymore.
But not just healing. Something else. Something that was coming from below. From the ground. From the earth. Through the snow. Through the frozen soil. Into the body of a woman who was lying on the ground and who was connecting. To the earth.
The ground trembled. Not the void. Not the spatial awareness. The earth. The particular earth of a tremor that was not seismic. Was not geological. Was. Her. The particular her of a woman who was crossing the Threshold and whose desire was the earth and whose will was the earth and whose power was. Earth.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Vasquez's body arched. Off the ground. A body that was not on the ground anymore. Being pulled up. Not by the CPR. Not by the compressions. By the earth. The earth rising. Through the ground. Through the snow. Into the body of a woman who had wanted to be under the ground and had refused to die and who was now being held. By the ground. By the earth. Not letting her die. Not letting her go under. Holding her. Up. Because the earth was hers. And she was the earth's.
She gasped.
Air. A woman who had not breathed in minutes. Breathing. Lungs working. Organs healed. Ribs whole. A ribcage intact. A chest not caved anymore. A body healed by the Threshold. Healed. Whole.
The ground trembled again. Stronger. The snow shifting. The frozen soil cracking. The earth responding. To a woman who was awake. And whose power was the earth.
Vasquez opened her eyes.
Not the pale brown of before. Something else. Darker. Deeper. The color of earth. Of soil. Of rock. Of the deep. Eyes that were connected. To the ground. To the earth. To everything that was below.
She stood. Not slowly. Not gently. Fast. A woman who had been dead and was now not. Standing on legs that were whole. On a body that was whole. The same body. The solid body. The broad-shouldered body. The body that had been carved from the earth. The body that was now the earth's.
The ground trembled. A third time. The snow shifting around her boots. The frozen soil cracking beneath her. The earth responding. To its daughter. To the woman who had wanted to be under the ground and who the earth had given. Not death. Not the under. Power. Earth manipulation. The ability to move rock. To shift soil. To crack the ground. To feel the earth through her boots. Through her hands. Through her body. The earth that was hers. And she was the earth's.
She looked at Jae-min. At his bloody hands. At his bloody lips. At his dark eyes. At the captain who was still on his knees. Who had pushed on her broken chest and sealed his mouth over hers and breathed into her and tasted her blood and told her she was not going to die on the snow. And she smiled. Not the steady smile of a captain. Not the flat expression of a soldier.
A smile.
The particular smile of a woman who had been dead and was now alive and was standing on the earth and the earth was hers and the man who had brought her back was kneeling in front of her with bloody hands and bloody lips and a look on his face that was. Something.
"That was one hell of a kiss, Captain Del Rosario." Vasquez offered, her voice low. Not the steady of before. Something else. The particular something-else of a woman whose voice carried the weight of the earth and the warmth of someone who was very much alive and very much aware that a man had just had his mouth on hers. Breathing into her. Tasting her blood. And she was calling it a kiss. "Even brought me back to life."
Jae-min stared. His dark eyes wide. His mouth. Open. The particular open of a captain who had been performing CPR with mouth-to-mouth and was now not prepared. For a woman who had been dead thirty seconds ago to be standing. Alive. Smiling. And calling his CPR a kiss. His lips still tasted like her blood. Copper. Iron. The particular iron of a woman who had been dying in his mouth.
"I. That was. That was CPR." Jae-min offered, his voice not low. Not steady. Not. Anything. Just. A man who was kneeling in the snow with bloody hands and bloody lips and a woman who had been dead was standing above him and smiling and calling his CPR a kiss and his brain was not working.
Vasquez leaned forward. Quick. A peck. On his lips. Her lips on his. On the lips that still tasted like her blood. Gone before Jae-min could. Could. Could anything.
The particular anything of a captain who was kneeling on the ground with bloody hands and a look on his face that was not prepared for a kiss from a woman who had been dead thirty seconds ago. And was now.
Kissing him.
On the lips.
In the snow. In the minus-seventy. Behind a gate that was gone. With a monster inside the compound. And the ground trembling under her boots. And the earth in her eyes. And the kiss. On his lips. Quick. Gone.
"Thanks, Captain." Vasquez offered, her voice steady. The steady of a woman who had just kissed a man in the middle of a war and was not embarrassed. Not sorry. Not. Anything. Just. Thanks.
Jae-min stared. His mouth still open. His dark eyes still wide.
A captain whose brain had stopped processing and was now running on something that was not logic and not training and not spatial awareness and was the particular was of a man who had been kissed by a woman who had earth powers and a body that had been carved from the earth and who had been dead and was now alive and had just kissed him on the lips.
The same lips that had been sealed over hers. Breathing into her. And she had called it a kiss. And then kissed him again. And said thanks. And was now. Turning.
Toward Big Rex.
Who was inside the compound. Three steps past the gate. Who had torn the gate off its hinges and was walking toward the mansion. Toward the food. Toward the supplies. Toward the warmth. Toward the women. And was about to find out what the earth felt like when it was angry.
Big Rex turned. A man who had heard something behind him. The sound of a woman standing up. And the sound of the ground. Trembling. The particular trembling of an earth that was responding to a woman who was no longer Regular.
"What the." Big Rex offered, his voice loud. Not amused. Not cocky. Confused. A man who had punched a woman through a wall and was now seeing her stand up. And was feeling the ground move under his feet. The particular move of an earth that was not his. Was. Hers.
Vasquez looked at him. Her eyes dark. The color of earth. Of soil. Of rock. Of the deep. A woman who had crossed the Threshold. Was not Regular anymore. Was Enhanced. Was the earth. Standing between Big Rex and the compound. Not going to let him pass.
The ground beneath Big Rex's feet cracked. Not from his weight. From hers.
The particular hers of a woman whose power was the earth and whose anger was the earth and whose boots were on the ground and the ground was responding.
Cracking. Under Big Rex. An earth that was telling him he was not welcome. On this ground. On her ground. On the compound's ground. On the earth that was hers.
Big Rex looked at her. At the eyes. At the stance. At the ground that was cracking under his feet. A predator who was, for the first time in five months, not the biggest thing.
Because the biggest thing was the earth. And the earth was hers. And she had just kissed a man and said thanks and was now walking toward him. And the ground was trembling. And the earth was rising. And Captain Elena Vasquez was coming. For him.
He did not know what he was looking at.
He was about to find out.