Page 11 of The First Spark (Dynasty of Fire #1)

He righted himself and wiped the muck out of his eyes. Green goop dripped from his hair. His stolen pulser bobbed in the sewage a few feet away, but as he reached for it, pain exploded through his left arm. He spat a curse. Black spots swam in his vision.

He’d been shot.

A legionnaire landed in the lake behind him, spraying sewage everywhere. He squeezed the trigger.

Zane dove for his pulser.

Red bolts soared overhead. Zane gripped the stock and tapped the trigger twice. His pulser recoiled, knocking him into the muck. A shrill scream warbled through the sewage. As Zane popped up, the legionnaire fell into the green lake.

He stared at the body sinking into the sludge. Crimson blood seeped into the grime. Blood he’d spilled. An oath he’d broken .

Shouts rang out above. As Zane rushed through the grime, his head swam with exhaustion.

His heart pulsed, and though the burn had cauterized the wound, he could’ve sworn he felt blood pumping out of him.

He needed to look at it, but if he paused, they’d catch up and kill him.

Adrenaline thrummed through his veins, propelling him forward.

Another legionnaire dropped into the lake. Zane fired at him before he had the chance to come up for air. A muffled cry rang out.

The body floated in the grime. Something in Zane’s chest twisted, but kill or be killed was second nature after so many cycles of war.

He stumbled forward, sweating, shaking. His arm burned mercilessly. Sewage splashed behind him. Gasping for air, he darted around a corner and sagged against the wall.

His knuckles whitened on the pulser’s grip. Rallying his courage, he whipped around the corner.

He squeezed the trigger three times, and the legionnaires sank into the lake. The pulser’s charge indicator flashed red.

Low power. Damn it all.

Shouts echoed behind him. Zane ducked around the corner, and as his eyelids crashed down, he considered giving up. He could throw his pulser down, sink into the sewage. He was nobody to Carik. The legionnaires would make it quick and shoot him. Even if he made it out of this, his life was over.

But then he saw it, the island of twenty cycles of dreams and hazy, glittering memories.

Avington.

Zane dragged himself to his feet, forcing his eyelids to open.

Clenching his teeth, he trudged forward, pushing his strained muscles to the limit. His arm had gone numb. Slippery sludge was dripping, moving on his skin.

Sewage sploshed behind him, growing louder and louder. He glanced over his shoulder. Legionnaire, a few yards away.

His pulse thumped in his ears as he rounded another corner, half-swimming, half-running.

Shouts echoed in the tunnel, and waste lapped around him.

Hannover was up ahead, and he plowed towards her as fast as he could.

She spun, flailed, and sank into the lake.

Brandishing a shard of glass at him, she stumbled to her feet.

“Stay back!”

“Run!” he roared, swimming past her. “Run, run, they’re coming!”

Pulser shots screeched through the tunnels as he rounded another corner, pushing his arm to propel him despite the blinding, white-hot pain.

After the next turn, there was supposed to be an access ladder to the hangar bay.

Muck splashed around him as he picked up speed, swimming faster. The last corner was a few yards away. He raised his head to suck in a heaving breath. Sewage splashed into his mouth, choking him.

A barrage of blue stunners raced over his head, and he dove into the sludge.

Bits of waste and streams of muck crashed against his face. The stench was pervasive, all consuming. It took all his strength not to gag.

Vibrations shot through the sewage as the blasts struck the wall. Zane waited another second to make sure it was over, then lunged to his feet. Holding down the trigger, he blindly sprayed pulserfire at the legionnaires.

“Go!” he roared, wiping the muck from his eyes. “Ladder!”

But Hannover wasn’t beside him.

Zane whirled around, scanning the tunnel.

Three legionnaires floated beyond him. Between them, with an arm around her neck and a pulser rammed into her skull, was Hannover.

He’d seen fear before. He’d felt it dozens of times.

But nothing could compare to the sheer terror on Hannover’s sewage-caked face, the desperation in her eyes as she clawed at the arm around her neck. Please , she mouthed, as the legionnaire jabbed the pulser against her skull. She stopped clawing. Please .

Their pulsers whipped towards him.

Red flashed.

Zane plunged into the sewage and swam away, parting the river of green gunk before him. Faster, faster. Every twitch of his wounded arm threatened to make him scream.

There was nothing he could do.

He repeated it as he thrashed through the muck. Red blasts streaked after him. There was nothing he could do. Staying would only get him killed, and no amount of money was worth that.

He didn’t stop until he reached the ladder. Floating in the sewage, he craned his neck to take in the impossible distance to the hangar bay.

Zane grimaced. There was no way he’d make it, but he had to try.

He braced his arm on the ladder.

Burning pain blazed through his collarbone, and the searing heat of blasts grazed his side. His arm. His neck.

Grunting, Zane let go of the ladder and dropped into the sewage. He held down the trigger, and an arc of lasers sprayed towards the legionnaires, pushing them back. Someone shrieked.

A blinking light flashed. A warning trilled, but he didn’t let go of the trigger. His pulser sputtered, and as the charge meter faded, its red lasers weakened.

His pulser clicked. Nothing came out.

He went utterly still.

His pulse thundered and his muscles locked up, but in the split second of stillness, he couldn’t believe this was the end. There was so much he had left to do, so much he had left to be .

Legionnaires rounded the corner, raising their weapons.

Zane stared down the barrel that would end him.

Pulsers shrieked.

But when he blinked, the legionnaires floated in the sewage. Steam blew from smoking craters in their heads. They’d never seen it coming.

As his heart thudded in his ears, Zane looked up at the open hatch above the ladder.

His jaw fell open.

“You know, playboy,” Mira said, peering down at him with a smirk that whisked him back to the old days, “if I have to save your ass again, you could’ve at least bought me a drink.”