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Garret raised his sword.
Antonio swooped in with a curved, four-foot blade and parried Garret’s blow reflecting the blade as it flew dangerously close to Torin’s neck.
Torin fled, the clang of steel on steel ringing in his head. Within the Circle of Fire, which occupied a half acre or more, he lay Anna down and ripped at his shirt. He bound her neck tightly to abate the blood loss, his heart pounding mercilessly. She looked pale, her eyes glazed, her body limp. “Antonio, you need to bite, her, she’s dying!” Torin wailed. “Antonio!” he shouted, then jumped to his feet as one of Garret’s minions raced for Anna. He ducked, then swung his blade all but hidden in the swirling snow and beheaded the Affiliate. The Midewiwin’s moved away, chanting as another African flashed in and seized Anna. Torin was on him in the blink of an eye and sent his head flying.
Hearing the urgency of Midewiwins chants, Torin knew Zaroc was coming. He dropped to Anna’s side and tightened the blood-soaked bandages around her neck, then leapt to his feet, coiled muscles gripping his sword. He surveyed the falling snow then glanced back to Anna, adrenaline surging in his veins. Hearing a growl, Torin spun, acting on instinct, his sword high. He saw Zaroc walking toward them with hell’s fury in his eyes, decimating their allied forces. Edging closer, Zaroc crossed over the stone barrier, into the Circle of Fire. He paused, sniffing the air, scanning for danger. Seeing none, he inched forward, within fifty feet of Miguel and Larkspur, who rose to their feet. They faced off.
“Zaroc!” Garret’s voice shattered the still.
Zaroc spun, fist balled, obliterating Affiliates and saw Antonio who was bleeding profusely, straddling his father, a blade to his neck.
“Stop him, son, save me,” Garret cried out.
“Zaroc!” Larkspur screamed. “Don’t listen to him. Come to us, son, Miguel and I need you, help us, please,” she begged.
Zaroc glanced to her while pulverizing Affiliates, body parts flying, blood droplets staining the wind driven snow. The Affiliates backed off, a heap of bodies at Zaroc’s feet. Zaroc trudged through the blood and gore, then focused on Miguel. They locked eyes, unspoken words flowing between them.
“Zaroc, get over here…now!” Garret bellowed. “Hurry, help me!”
Zaroc pulled his eyes from Miguel, his body trembling. He spun, the sound of Garret’s voice awakening years of abuse. From every direction Affiliate’s swarmed Zaroc and he spun, with fist of steel, arms wide like the blades of a fan, severing heads. He stopped, blood dripping from his arms and watched as Garret’s forces, seeing Antonio get the better of their master, bunched tight backing away.
Antonio straddled Garret’s body with a blade to his throat. Plagued by unbidden images, he snarled, “You ordered the murder of my daughter, you worthless bastard.”
“It wasn’t me,” Garret pleaded. “It was Scarface, the Seventh Miigis.”
“It matters not, you harbored the bastard and never once told me of his existence.”
“I couldn’t, he would have killed Zaroc!”
Zaroc swatted at incoming Affiliates, then cocked his head, eyes locked on Antonio.
“Not a good answer, fucker,” Antonio growled, pressing the silver blade tighter to his throat. Garret fought back with a swing of his fist but undeterred, Antonio wailed, “Marie!” The serrated blade sliced deep, severing the windpipe. He pressed harder, blood spraying as Garret gurgled and thrashed. Antonio stood up, covered in blood, Garret’s head in his hands. He faced off with Garret’s army, holding the severed head high. They backed farther away, stumbling upon each other, then turned and fled. Antonio rocked his head, cast the head aside and set his eyes on Zaroc who looked stunned.
From nowhere, Milos lunged for Zaroc and slugged his jaw with enough force to shatter concrete. Unscathed, Zaroc retaliated with a bone-breaking blow that sent Milos flying, then focused his attention on Gage who was pummeling his chest. He backhanded him, blood splattering his face then seized two Affiliates, one in each hand and slammed their heads together. Antonio sized him up searching for weakness, but none existed. He moved in from the side, then slid to a stop as Zaroc’s body began to blink in and out of visualization. Antonio stared with eyes that didn’t believe, yet as he watched, Zaroc’s dark skin evanesced and in the blink of an eye, he was gone, replaced by a hulking figure with a blonde mane sporting a scar from cheek to ear.
“Scarface in the flesh…it worked,” Antonio mumbled to himself.
Scarface beat his chest. “I am the creator,” he bellowed, “the Seventh Miigis. I made each one of you lesser beings and now, I’m going to destroy you.”
Like a streak of light, Antonio closed the gap between them. He slammed into Scarface and sank his fangs deep in his neck, fluorescent green eyes illuminating the gust and eddies. Scarface plucked Antonio from his back. He shook him like a rag doll, then slugged him, sending him head over heels in the falling snow.
Gage and Milos attacked, Scarface swatting them away like flies. He threw his head back with a throaty growl, pounding his chest.
“He’s too powerful!” an Affiliate roared as the French Sirun, tall and lanky with torrents of red hair, marched forward. He raised a double-barreled shotgun to his shoulder. He fired silver slugs, embedded with tranquilizer, riddling Scarface’s body head to toe. He lowered the gun in disbelief and as he watched the bloody wounds instantly healed.
Scarface rocked his body back, coughing, then shrieked like a hawk. He leaned forward then opened his mouth spewing a barrage of silver bullets back at the Affiliates. His eyes blazed red and his skin began to sizzle.
From within the Circle of Fire, the Midewiwins, with smoking smudge sticks in hand, began a mystical incantation. The fires blazed higher, the core of red embers consuming the snow.
Scarface curled his lips like a rabid dog, his eyes on the Midewiwins. He tightened his fist into weapons, ready for blood then took a step forward. “How dare you summon the six!” He stomped his foot, rock shattering beneath him as he jerked his head, fiery red eyes penetrating the sky. “Hear me, six! I am the seventh, all powerful!” He raised his fist to the sky. “Come here and I will destroy you!” He roared with such intensity that all cowered, hands to their ears, the pain unbearable. He lunged forward, his face contorted, veins popping his neck, straight toward the Midewiwins.
Antonio, Gage and Milos attacked, desperately trying to buy time as the Midewiwin’s haunting chant intensified. Gun shots rang, bullets ricocheting off his chest. Hundreds of Affiliates attacked him, blades bouncing as he swatted them with such force that blood fell like rain.
Torin, flanked by two Midewiwins, crouched at the knee with his sword high. He dropped his eyes to Anna, lying at his feet.
Damn it, she’s lost too much blood.
He exhaled, then hearing a growl, leapt to a defensive stance. He saw Antonio who was scarcely visible in the blowing snow, sink his teeth in to Scarface’s back only to be slapped away. He gripped his sword tight.