Reckoning, page 26
But I wasn’t inside anymore.
I stepped forward, through the jagged gap, every vein lit up like fire under my skin. My legs trembled, my breath came ragged—but I was free.
Silence padded to my side, muzzle still smeared, eyes gleaming like twin embers. She growled once, low and steady, and it sounded an awful lot like victory.
“Good girl,” I muttered, voice rough, a grin cutting across my face despite the ache in every bone.
Free. Now it was their turn to know what a cage felt like.
The stone corridor stretched ahead of me, narrow and suffocating, its Runes still faintly glowing in patches. I moved like a shadow in spite of the weight dragging at my bones, blade gripped tight in my fist, Silence padding at my side. Her growl was low, constant, vibrating against the silence like a warning bell.
The first set of boots clattered against the grating before I even saw them. Purifiers. Two in white coats, rifles in hand, their faces twisted with that false zeal I’d come to know too well. They froze when they saw me stepping out of the dark, blood still wet on my hands, fire still burning behind my eyes.
One lifted his weapon, but I was already moving. My blade flashed up, catching the rifle barrel, and I slammed him backward into the wall. The sound of his skull hitting stone was sharp, final. I didn’t stop. I drove him into it again, and again, until the bone gave way with a wet crack, his body going limp in my hands. He slid down the wall leaving a smear behind him, eyes wide and glassy.
The other fired. The round skimmed my arm, burned hot, but I barely felt it. I turned into the fire, snarling, and Silence lunged. She hit him in the chest, jaws clamping around his throat. The scream cut off in a gurgle as she dragged him down into the dark, her weight crushing him against the grating. The wet tearing sound echoed through the hall, blood spraying across her muzzle as she shook him until he stilled.
More footsteps. Another pair rounded the corner, these with Rune-blades sparking in their grip. One swung, the light searing as it hissed toward my side. I caught his wrist mid-swing, the strength in me fueled by fury, and twisted until the bone snapped with a clean, brutal pop. His blade clattered to the floor. I kicked him back, snatched the weapon off the ground, and drove it clean through his chest. His eyes went wide, mouth opening around a prayer he never finished before the light in him died.
The last one came in screaming, blade raised high. I didn’t flinch. I caught his strike on my own weapon, shoved upward to open his chest, and buried my forehead into his nose. Bone shattered under the impact, blood spraying warm down my face. He staggered, dazed, and I gutted him with a single hard thrust, tearing the blade free in a rain of red.
The hall was silent again except for the ringing in my ears and Silence’s steady panting as she stood over what was left of her kill. Blood dripped down the pristine white walls, running in rivulets, staining the place they’d once called holy. My chest heaved, every muscle screaming, but I felt steady. Alive.
I wiped the blade clean on a dead man’s coat and glanced down at Silence. She met my gaze, her muzzle slick, her teeth bared in something that looked a lot like a grin.
“Come on, girl,” I muttered, stepping over the bodies, voice low and jagged. “Let’s paint every wall in this place.”
And together, we moved deeper into the belly of the Bunker.
The deeper I pushed into the Bunker, the thicker the stink of incense and blood grew. My boots left dark prints across the spotless floor, the trail of slaughter carved behind me. Silence prowled close, hackles raised, her muzzle still dripping with what was left of the last man stupid enough to stand in my way.
Three more Purifiers stepped out from a side passage ahead, their white robes stark against the sterile walls. Two carried rifles etched with Runes, the third wielded a gleaming sword that thrummed with holy light. Their eyes locked on me, not with fear, but with that damned fanatic gleam.
The first fired before I could close the distance. The round punched into my shoulder, hot iron tearing flesh, but it only made me angrier. I lunged forward, blade raised, and swung wide. The rifle went flying, clattering down the corridor. My follow-through split him open from clavicle to gut, the spray hot across my face. He collapsed, hands clutching what he couldn’t hold in.
The second swung his glowing sword at my head. I ducked low, ribs groaning, and drove my blade up through his thigh. He screamed, buckling, and I tore it free only to ram the edge into his throat. His blood sprayed across the wall, painting scripture carved there in a truer color than they’d ever dared admit. He gurgled and dropped to his knees, gasping like a fish before he toppled flat.
The last one staggered back, eyes wide at the carnage. His voice cracked, desperate, but he shouted loud enough to carry down the halls, “You’re proving us right, Brimstone Heathen! All you know is violence!”
I froze for half a breath, chest heaving, blood dripping from my blade. Then the growl built low in my throat, spilling into the open, rough and dark as stone grinding against stone. “And all you’ll know is hell when I’m done.”
He raised his rifle, shaking, but too slow. Silence moved like a shadow, barreling into him and sinking her teeth into his arm. The shot went wild, sparking off the ceiling. I closed the gap and ripped the rifle from his hands, smashing the butt into his face hard enough to break bone. He went down screaming, Silence tearing his flesh, and I finished it—blade driven straight into his chest until the light drained from his eyes.
The hall fell quiet again, save for the wet drip of blood onto tile and Silence’s panting growl as she released the corpse. My body shook with exhaustion, but my rage carried me forward, step after step over the broken heap of bodies.
I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t falter. Every man and woman they threw at me was one more nail in the coffin of their so-called holy order.
They wanted me to prove them right? Fine. I’d show them violence. I’d show them a reckoning no angel, no bunker, no false shepherd could walk away from.
And when I was through, there wouldn’t be a soul left in these halls who could twist God’s name to justify their cruelty.
Blood still clung to my hands as I wiped it across my face, streaking the grit and sweat already there. My blade dripped red, every step echoing with the sticky slap of boots through pools I’d left behind me. But my head wasn’t on the carnage. It was on two words, pounding over and over like a war drum in my skull.
Find her.
The hall stretched into shadows, doors yawning open on either side. I pushed through the first without thinking, shoulders brushing cold stone. Rows of cribs lined the room, dozens of them, metal frames bolted to the ground. Most were empty. Some still held scraps of fabric, worn toys gnawed at the edges, the ghosts of children long gone. My gut twisted. They weren’t raising soldiers—they were harvesting them.
I moved on before the bile in my throat could rise.
The next chamber was wider, a hall whose walls were carved over and over with scripture. Not scripture I recognized in its fullness—pieces, fragments, half-truths etched deep like commandments. “OBEY.” “SUBMIT.” “PURITY IS SACRIFICE.” I dragged my fingers across the grooves as I passed, feeling the lies baked into stone. This wasn’t faith. This was indoctrination. A goddamn factory for obedience.
Find her.
I shoved through another set of iron doors, heavier than the last, and stopped dead. An armory stretched out before me, racks of weapons glinting in the pale white light. Angel-forged steel, humming faintly with power, blades etched with Runes I could feel burning in my bones. Rifles in neat rows, their barrels carved with sigils meant to pierce flesh like mine. Helmets, breastplates, shields—all shining, immaculate, waiting.
The air smelled of oil and polish, not dust. They weren’t relics. They were ready.
My chest heaved as the truth crashed down on me. This wasn’t just about controlling women. It wasn’t just about stealing children. It was a machine, endless and precise, stockpiling bodies and weapons for a war they swore was still coming. The Purifiers weren’t content with cages. They were building an army.
I gripped my blade tighter, knuckles whitening. Emma’s face flashed in my mind. Everly’s voice, trembling but fierce, vowing to tear all this down. And here it was—the proof of everything they feared, everything they’d suffered for.
Find her.
I spat onto the spotless floor, the sound sharp in the silence, and kept moving. The rooms blurred past me now, my boots striking harder, faster, my blood singing with rage. My vision tunneled to the path ahead. I didn’t care how many halls I had to cut through, how many zealots I had to drag into hell with me.
I’d tear this place apart, brick by brick, body by body, until Everly was back in my arms.
And when I found her—when I saw her alive—that’s when the real reckoning would begin.
The halls narrowed, closing in like the ribs of some beast I was carving my way through. My boots dragged blood with me, leaving a red trail down the spotless tile, but I didn’t slow. Couldn’t. My head was a storm, rage and need crashing together until I felt half-mad from the pressure.
Faint at first, muffled behind layers of stone and steel—but I’d know that voice if the whole world went silent. Everly. Not screaming. Not crying. Talking. Her words blurred by the walls, but her tone carried—a low, steady rhythm I’d burned into my soul long before I knew what saving felt like.
My body froze. Just for a breath. Every muscle locked, blade heavy in my hand, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and fury. She was here. Close enough I could hear her. And that was enough to tear every stitch of restraint from me.
I pressed forward, steps heavier now, grip tightening until my knuckles cracked around the hilt. My chest trembled with it—the ache of knowing she was near, the need to rip apart whatever bastards stood between us. The Runes on the walls hummed, mocking me, but I drowned them out with the drumbeat of her voice, chasing it deeper into the dark.
“Hold on, angel,” I whispered, my throat raw, voice rough enough to scrape stone. My blade caught the light of a distant torch, a shimmer of blood and steel.
I leaned into the sound of her, into the promise I’d carved into my bones the moment she was taken.
“I’m comin’.”
Chapter 29
Everly
The chamber glared too bright, white walls glowing with a sterility that made my skin crawl. I sat stiff-backed at the metal table, my fingers locked so tightly together in my lap that I could feel my nails digging into my palms. Across from me, two Purifiers in ceremonial robes watched me like hawks pretending to be doves.
The older one, lines etched around her eyes like stone worn thin, leaned forward first. Her voice was even, almost warm, though it carried the weight of judgment. “Do you believe you can save them?”
The question clawed at me. My throat tightened. Save them—who? The girls locked in dormitories? The women dressed like brides for slaughter? I wanted to say yes. I wanted to be sure. But the words curdled in my chest, too heavy to lift.
The younger one spoke next, her tone sharper, less patient. She tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “Do you believe God chose you for this?”
That nearly broke me. My faith felt ragged, threadbare from Michael’s hands on me, from the endless silence that met my prayers. I had begged for strength, begged for rescue, begged for anything—but the heavens stayed shut. Was this what being chosen looked like? To be bruised and bound, tested until I couldn’t breathe?
I parted my lips, but nothing came. The truth was simple, terrifying: I didn’t know anymore.
Then the walls shuddered.
At first, it was subtle, a low vibration under my feet. The older Purifier’s gaze darted toward the door, her mask of calm faltering. A second later, the crash came—a roar of impact that rattled the metal table between us, dust sifting down from the ceiling.
The younger one stiffened, her face hardening. “What is that?” she hissed, rising to her feet.
Another impact. Louder. Closer. The lights above flickered, buzzing faintly before humming back to life.
And then—his voice.
It echoed down the corridor like thunder dragged across stone, raw and uncontainable. Walton. A roar laced with fury, carrying violence in every syllable.
My whole body jolted. The sound poured through me, filling every hollow I thought would never be whole again. I pressed my hand to my mouth, tears pricking hot in my eyes. Relief. Terror. Hope so sharp it hurt to hold.
The older Purifier stood now, motioning for the guards outside. Her calm cracked like porcelain. “Secure the chamber,” she ordered.
The younger one’s hand trembled as it rested on her weapon, but her voice stayed cold. “The demon comes for you. Even now, you cling to him.”
I hardly heard her. My breath shook, my heart hammering. His voice was real, alive, close enough to rattle the bones in my chest.
“D,” I whispered, his name breaking on my lips.
Not a plea. Not despair. Recognition.
He was here. And I knew in my marrow that no Rune, no chain, no wall could stop him from reaching me.
Not anymore.
The door didn’t creak or shudder—it exploded. Metal slammed against stone with a screech, the white chamber suddenly filled with the smell of blood and smoke. My breath caught, a gasp tearing out of me before I could even stop it.
Walton stood there.
He was a ruin and a storm all at once—blood smeared across his face, his blade dripping red, his coat torn and scorched. Silence prowled at his side, her muzzle slick, teeth bared, the low rumble of her growl shaking the floor itself. The sight of them—feral, unstoppable—made the Purifiers falter. For the first time since I’d been dragged into this chamber, I saw fear in their eyes.
My heart leapt into my throat. “Walton.” His name escaped me like a prayer I hadn’t dared to voice until now.
The guards in the hallway surged forward, rifles raised, but he didn’t flinch. He moved with the kind of brutal certainty only Walton carried—like every ounce of rage, every scar carved into him, had been honed for this one moment. His blade tore through the first man’s throat, the spray of blood painting the white walls crimson. Another fired, the shot ricocheting past my shoulder, but Walton was faster—he slammed the broken haft of a spear into the man’s chest, twisted, and dropped him to the floor.
Silence lunged, dragging one of them screaming into the hall, the sound cut short by the crunch of bone.
I pressed my hand over my mouth, tears springing hot and fast. Relief and terror tangled in me until I could hardly breathe.
Walton’s eyes found mine—blazing and wild, but alive, focused. He crossed the space between us in three steps, his hand seizing mine with a grip so tight it hurt. For the first time in weeks, the ache in my chest cracked into something fierce and burning.
“Let’s go, angel,” he growled, voice low and urgent, his breath hot against my face. His hand squeezed mine harder, like he could anchor me back to myself through sheer force of will. “Time to burn this place down.”
Behind us, the Purifiers shouted, calling for reinforcements, but their words felt distant. The world had narrowed—just his hand locked in mine, just the weight of his presence blotting out every shadow that had haunted me.
I nodded, breathless, trembling. Not from fear this time, but from the surge of something stronger. Walton had come. Against angels, against Purifiers, against walls and Runes and chains—he had come.
I tightened my grip, whispered through the tears on my face, “With you.”
His mouth twitched, just enough to soften the fury for a heartbeat. Then he yanked me toward the open hall, his blade raised, Silence at our heels.
The white chamber, once sterile and cold, now stank of iron and fire. Behind us, the Purifiers scrambled. Ahead of us, the halls stretched wide, waiting to be torn apart.
For the first time since Michael laid his hand on me, I believed it—this place wasn’t going to hold. Not with Walton here.
Not with us together.
The central control hall looked more like a machine’s heart than anything human—walls lined with dead screens, rust-flecked speaker systems, gears as tall as I was grinding slow and low behind steel grates. The air vibrated with the hum of power, stale and suffocating. Walton and Silence held the entry while I sprinted for the override panel tucked in the far wall.
My fingers trembled, not from fear but from memory. I’d stood in front of a panel just like this as a child, reciting the sequences the Overseers drilled into us, watching numbers and Runes blink until the gates locked behind another Reaping. I’d hated it, but I had remembered it. And now—God forgive me—I was going to use it.
I punched the keys; the rhythm flowing back like it had never left. Eight numbers, three Runes, two toggles. The console whined as if it hadn’t been touched in years. Then the world lurched alive. Sirens shrieked down the corridors, a banshee wail that rattled the gears until dust rained from the ceiling. Red lights bled across every surface, transforming the whitewashed Bunker into something raw and exposed.
I slammed my palm against the final lever.
The gates answered.
A hiss of pressure thundered through the halls as locks disengaged. One by one, I heard the echoes—the groan of steel doors yawning open, the shudder of reinforced cells unlocking. Every chamber. Every holding room. Every bolt of control undone in a single moment.
My chest heaved. I gripped the edge of the panel to keep from collapsing as the enormity of it hit me. For years, these walls had been a prison. Now they were unspooling.
I turned to Walton.
He stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling in heavy pulls, blood streaking down his arms like war paint. His blade hung loose at his side, dripping, his whole body vibrating with barely restrained fury. The red emergency lights painted his scars into something otherworldly—half demon, half deliverance.
