Page 24 of Retribution

“She’s expecting the flames and magic,” I mused out loud. “How will we defeat her if she is predicting our moves?”

“She is smart. She has studied what you can do, so you must be smarter,” Lenin responded.

“So what can’t I do? What haven’t I tried?” I was nearly begging him to give me the answer, to provide me with the key, to help me.

“I did not see what was done, only the possible outcomes.”

Damn it! I needed to think, figure out what I could use to defeat it because as hard as my loves were trying, as much as my family was working, they were growing exhausted—falling behind. Not strong enough as a whole to defeat something created solely to defeat me.

Oak made it to the top, Ellis close behind. His hand was grappling to hold on when the beast’s movement and the secretion covering its body made it close to impossible. Oak’s knife glinted against the sunlight as he pulled his arm back before swinging it forward. He jammed it into the worm, near the mouth, where the hearts should be. But nothing happened. He tried again, still no effect.

“I do not believe the blade is long enough to strike the correct location,” Lenin observed.

Well yeah, I see that now.

The worm made a high-pitched squeal, a sound so piercing I was forced to my knees. I covered my ears as I wished desperately for a reprieve. When the sound stopped, blood trailed down my neck. I looked up, searching for my men, friends, and people I cared about, all in different stages of recovery. Oak held on to the hilt of his knife, dangling in the air while Ellis took his turn, slinking upward.

“I need to think of something,” I mumbled as I wiped at the blood.

The worm flailed about, his body thrashing from the pain and injuries. Its mouth opened, sharp teeth hissed and snarled as more goop shot from his mouth. But the stream was weak. The damages caused by Justice were blocking the goop’s pathway through his body, suppressing its flow.

The worm's body dipped down before its head swung from side to side, its teeth snapping as it shook Oak loose. His body plummeted downward, falling from fifteen feet in the air and landing hard onto the pavement, causing chunks of asphalt to dislodge and scatter under his body's impact. It didn’t stop him. I didn’t think it would.

Another spray of acid nearly missed Maggie and Michelle, causing them to scatter. Each one went on either side of the worm, moving from their position in front of him.

“It is almost time. They are almost in position,” Lenin muttered, and I don’t think the words were meant for me, but I panicked.

“What do I need to do?” I begged.

“I cannot tell you, Little Kitten. The fates will not permit it.” His eyes spoke the truth.

“I need Oak’s book.” I took a step toward the house, and his hand grabbed my arm., stopping me.

“I am Oak’s book, Liberty. Did we not make that clear? It is tied to my blood, to my visions, and when the outcome falls into place, the knowledge writes itself onto the pages as permanent history. What you find will be blank until the final moments, the last possible seconds, and all possibilities weigh in; then the quill will write. You do not have the time to search for a useless book.”

I was a little stunned. Lenin had never talked to me that way, had never held any sternness in his voice. He was gentle, kind. Not to say he wasn’t kind now, but he had never raised his voice past the octave suited for soothing. It startled me, scared me into the reality that I didn’t have time to question my actions or ponder the consequences. That I needed to think on my feet and do what I had to in order to save those I loved.

“You do not have time. It’s now. The time is now for you to act. Trust your instincts,” he added gently, and when I turned back to the sight behind me, I knew he spoke the truth. They were weakening, tired, injured. But so was the beast.

I stepped forward slowly; each step felt heavy as I inched my way toward the worm. It stopped moving, its attention locking onto me, sensing I was its mission. My family shouted at me to stop, my friends begged me not to get closer, but they were finished. They didn’t have much more to give, and I couldn’t ask them to do more than they had already.

I ignored the sounds around me as I stopped a few feet away from the beast. I ignored the flaring and the hisses as I used my ice to build a protective bubble around me. The ice obscured my view, but I needed the protection.

It hissed again, spatting goo at me, and my men went wild, frantic, trying to get to me, but I stopped them. I blocked them in with a wall of ice to buy myself time. The acidic slime that it spat hit the ice shield and slid down, unable to burn through or latch onto the slick surface. Then, I closed my eyes and called the energy of the earth toward me.

There was a moment when nothing happened. A moment when the whole world froze, and everything went silent—until the sound of rustling branches and vines began to creep in. First softly, then it grew, the roar and fury of leaves moving across the pavement, ready to do my bidding.

I didn’t know what or why I had called forth the greenery of the earth, but it was instinct as Lenin has told me to trust. I trusted that the earth knew what I needed, trusted in the power that the fates had given me—trusted myself to know what needed to be done. And it worked. The earth came to me willingly, begging me to use it, to honor it.

I pushed my hands forward, and the vines followed my movement, racing past my bubble of ice to wrap around the worm. It thrashed against the restraints as they wrapped solidly around its body. But the vines combined were stronger, holding it down and steady, covering its whole lower half until all you could see was green.

Without realizing it, words were falling from my mouth. Instructions. Suggestions. Wishes I wanted obeyed. I searched out a weakness to prey on, my eyes latching onto the hole my wolf created. I sent the vines there, letting them pierce through the open flesh.

The worm wailed.

But I didn’t stop.

My chest heaved.

---