Page 50 of Revenge of the Forgotten

The trip back to Ardor was quiet and lonesome. Bridger chose to ride by himself, despite his general’s never-ending warnings—what if you’re attacked? He didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to be around anyone.

Bridger wanted silence to think about the decision he’d made.

His boots echoed through the halls as he descended further underground, taking only enough time to himself to slip into a tidy uniform.

Marlena’s order had been clear: find Vega.

Bridger didn’t plan on wasting any more time, spending the hours it took to get back to Vincere cursing himself for letting Arlet get inside his head in the first place—all letting Vega go did was make more work for himself. Fucking idiot. He needed to prepare for the inevitable pushback that was going to come from the people of Tolevarre with the new army presence in their lands, not spend his time tracking down his ex-girlfriend.

Bridger was running off little to no sleep, the dreams starting to take a toll on him while he was awake. Seeing Vega today hadn’t helped with the emotions he’d been trying to smother. She looked so alive. Until she was on the brink of death—what would have happened if she’d died on Earth?

Ardor’s temperatures sometimes dropped below freezing when the sun set, forcing Vincere to keep hearths burning with fires around the clock to chase away the brittle cold.

Bridger felt nothing as he pushed his way into the large room packed with some of the most dangerous soldiers in Tolevarre. The ceilings here were the highest in the underground bunker, giving plenty of room for powers to be used when sparring. In the center, there were five rings for hand-to-hand combat with soldiers lazing around them until they felt the mood their commander was in. Bridger’s mood swings were flagrant, sending his men into a perfectly erect formation without the need for a direct order.

He stood in front of his soldiers, their attention focused solely on him. “Thank you for coming to meet with me on such short notice,” he said as if they’d had a choice and he hadn’t given them ten minutes to drop whatever they were doing to get here.

Over the years, he’d gained a reputation of his own. One of ruthlessness and unwavering loyalty to a world that had taken so much from him, but the men and women under him, they trusted him.

He was aware that most of them joined the army knowing Bridger might be the only protection they had from Marlena, blindly choosing to join without knowing if he was truly the man people said he was.

As he settled into the role of commander, his eyes grew darker, the room’s temperature plummeting despite the roaring fire on the other side of the training center.

“I’ve called you here tonight because I need fifteen level tens for a highly important mission.” Bridger liked to give his men and women the choice of stepping forward, but not before he told them the stakes.

If there was one promise Bridger kept himself, it was ensuring his soldiers’ well-being and happiness… though he made it abundantly clear not to mistake his kindness for weakness. Some had made that miscalculation before and were no longer around to tell the tale.

Meyer stood in the crowd, raising his hand to volunteer.

Whenever Bridger took his place in front of his army, he did so alone—ripping a page out of Marlena’s book to remind those under him he didn’t need anyone to protect him, that he would always be the strongest warrior their world knew.

He shook his head. “General Ignis and a group of his choosing will be relocating to Solum to keep watch on the uprisings there since they’re growing in number rapidly. I believe Praefectus Urban will be the next to fall to the rebellion’s propaganda. I will need fifteen others to volunteer, or I’ll be forced to pick you myself.” At least fifty hands shot up. “I will allow the general to pick the group who will join me in the search for Vega.”

Whispers began to break out through the group of soldiers at the drop of Vega’s name.

“Tomorrow, my group leaves for Imber,” Bridger continued, the boom of his voice drowning out the chatter.

Imber had been crushed to nothing by Marlena in the early days of her rule. Emil and his people were always clear allies of her parents, faltering at nothing. When she killed them, Marlena knew Imber and its people had to be the first to go. It wasn’t until she found out they were home to the rising rebellion that she flattened it to a pancake.

“I have reason to believe that somehow these rebels are hiding in plain sight.” Bridger scanned the crowd, the mumbles getting louder. “Marlena doesn’t want Vega out there imparting the rebels with hope, manipulating our innocent people to join a rebellion that will turn out to be nothing more than a suicide operation.” Bridger didn’t think about the words coming out of his mouth. “And they are going to feel like they’ve won after she and Arlet escaped from us on Earth.”

Bridger’s mouth opened to continue with his speech, but a grainy voice caught his attention as soon as the statement was out in the open.

“Yeah, I’m sure she just somehow escaped. Seems likely without any powers.” Someone else chuckled, giving the boy courage to continue speaking. “Think she’s still as good-looking as she was in her last life?” The words weren’t meant to be heard, but there wasn’t much Bridger missed with his increased sense of hearing—a warrior must hear all to stay one step ahead of their opponent.

Within the blink of an eye, Bridger was on him, hand fisting the training suit he wore. “What did you say?” he growled.

The boy stammered, trying to find his words. His face turned white, his breath coming out in short bursts. Bridger hoped he didn’t piss himself. “I-it’s—I-I’m sorry, sir. I just mean that it—it would be easy to find myself under her spell too.”

Too.

The words made Bridger question what was going on behind his back—what his soldiers were muttering when he wasn’t around.

It was time to remind those in this room what happened when they spoke out against the commander of Tolevarre.

The rumble of Bridger’s power traveled through the young soldier's body. His face twisted in pain before his head caved in on itself. Bridger dropped the body. Blood sprinkled his cheeks, and when he flicked his wrist, brain matter splattered to the floor.

He wiped the remnants of the young boy off of his shoulder, his gaze returning to the crowd. Their eyes were wide with terror as Bridger scanned the room. His height made it easy to look over his people without many meeting his gaze straight on or from above.

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