Page 132 of Descent

A diminutive figure steps out from behind Artemis, shifting with staggering speed. Another two soldiers crumple, falling short of reaching the duo. “Haru!”

“Thanks, Short King,” Artemis hollers and Haru flicks his blade free of blood as she bends over to kiss him. Go, Haru.

Circe is already running, glancing back with a grin. With those two as backup…

“End this! Then find me!” I shout, backing into a run.

“I always do!” she roars, leaping up the stairs.

Tucking any worry for my deadly lover’s safety away for later, I sprint after my brothers and Dom. Tracking them in the dark would be difficult normally, but none of them bothered to be any kind of subtle in their mad dash. Just past the stone wall, a string of bodies and a shotgun-sprayed barrier lay in ruins. A short way off, shouts alert me to another confrontation.

An engine roars, a sizzling whistle screeches in the night, and a plume of fire mushrooms above the trees. Taking the field between me and the blast at a dead sprint, I check my gun for ammo.

Shit.

Should have grabbed a clip.

A low gust of breath to my left pivots me in mid-step, popping off a shot just in time. Some Triad thug nosedives, clutching his neck. Well, shit.

There goes my last bullet.

Rifling through his clothes, I snag a couple of knives and move on.

Clashing metal and the cries of battle echo from my right, my left. The violence spilled out, it’s spreading as desperate mobsters and the elite fight toward the vehicles and their only means of escape.

We mapped this place out when we figured out where she was going to host the demonstration. It’s remote. An archeological site that she must have paid a pretty penny to access.

Or she just took it.

Avoiding roving soldiers, I stay low as I skirt a minor skirmish between a handful of Brits and several men I’m certain I’ve seen before. Sitting in a cell in South Africa.

Any one of the encounters would slow me down or target me.

As if on cue, a machete whizzes down at me, a tatted, gold-toothed scream catching me off guard.

Zip-pop and he goes down. The entire gaggle of gangsters follows suit.

“Watch out,chernyy volk,we almost shoot you too!”A gruff female Russian accent barks.

“Spasibo, Vanya!” I holler over my shoulder, pressing on.

“Go make sure thezmeyadoes not kill myShakal. Or escape.”

“Lo giuro, sorella,” I snap back at her in Italian, only getting a snide grunt in response.

Reaching the summit of a small hill, I notice light near the tree line. A huge catering tent stretches out along the edge of low foundations—the uniform remains of the temple and the town that once hosted the amphitheater.

A silhouette steps into the outline of the doorway, a second behind. Aless. Ciro.

“Dom!” one of them shouts.

“Thought I saw him slither in here…” They disappear inside.

The lights cut out.

Running again, I veer off, down the side of the structure.

Slashing the fabric, I slip inside, taking stock of my position. A back room of sorts, serving equipment. My eyes flick to the side at the sound of a gasp.

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