Page 114 of Gods' Battleground

I smiled at him. “I know, honey. You’re a badass. But right now you’re in a borrowed body with unfamiliar magic. And besides, you’re carrying Sierra. So how about just this once, you let me charge in first, guns blazing?”

“As though I could stop you from charging in recklessly,” he said, sighing. “Very well. Take the lead.”

I nodded, reaching into my jacket to grab one of the boxes of crayons Mordon had given Sierra. It was a big box too, with over a hundred different crayons. I sank my magic into them, shifting them into something more bouncy than brittle. Then I threw them at the soldiers.

The crayons bounced off the soldiers, the walls, everything.

Bounce.

Bounce.

Bounce.

So many times they bounced. The soldiers were being pommeled. The crayons just kept snapping back to them, attracted to their undeniable stench of evil.

My enchanted crayons hit them so many times, bombarding them. The soldiers waved their hands wildly, blindly, like they were batting at a swarm of bees. One zap, one slap, one sting at a time—the crayons took them down.

Then I clapped my hands. The crayons zeroed in for one final assault. Their tips turned sharp, like darts, burrowing into their targets. The soldiers all collapsed to the floor.

The hallway fell totally silent. So silent I could hear the soft, cardboard crayon box hit the floor. I turned. Nero and Sierra were gawking at me, wide-eyed, shocked.

“I’ve never seen anyone use crayons like that,” Nero said quietly.

“Stick with me, Windstriker, and I’ll show you all kinds of crazy new things.” I winked at him.

Sierra clapped her hands. “Again, Mommy! Do it again!” She held out a fresh box of crayons to me, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

“Not right now, little warrior,” I said gently. “I’d like you to hold on to those crayons in case we need them later. Can you do that for me?”

Sierra nodded—and, mission accepted, solemnly tucked the box of crayons into the bag slung across her chest. Nero resettled her on his back, then opened the door to the power room.

I went in first, scanning for enemies. There weren’t any soldiers inside the room, just a pair of technicians. Their eyes darted from me, to the crayon-drawn battlefield masterpiece in the hall. Sierra waved at them from Nero’s back, grinning.

The two technicians jumped up from their chairs and bolted out of the power room.

Nero glided into the room, locking the door behind him. He set Sierra down, then joined me at the big control panel that stretched the whole width of the back wall.

“Any idea which button turns off the shield?” I asked him.

Unfortunately for us, the bad guys had neglected to stick a big, bright label on it.

Nero studied the control panel. “That one.” He pointed at a boring white button inside a sea of boring white buttons.

“How do you know?” I wondered.

“I just know.”

I didn’t question him further. Nero had an intuitive sense of order. If I was the Angel of Chaos, then he was the Angel of Order. These things just came naturally to him.

I pressed the button he’d indicated. There was a muted click, and then, sure enough, the humming around the castle stopped. The air didn’t feel supercharged with static electricity anymore either. I went over to the window and looked outside.

“The shield is down,” I reported.

“Of course it is,” he said smugly.

I inhaled, licking my lips. “I love the taste of your confidence, Windstriker.”

“Of course you do.”

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