Page 26 of Guarded By the Bigfoot
“Visibility’s almost zero,” Garris shouted over the roar of the storm, his tone strained. “This close to the fracture, the turbulence is off the charts. We’re not sticking around long!”
“Just get me close,” I yelled back, my grip tightening as the helicopter bucked again.
The fracture came into view, glowing like a jagged, infected wound carved into the earth. Its edges twisted and pulsed with green light, the air rippling and warping as though reality itself were breaking apart.
Brock was somewhere near it. I couldn’t see him yet, but I knew he was fighting and still alive.
The chopper dipped suddenly, jarring me out of my thoughts.
“This is as close as we can get!” the captain called out. His voice was sharp, urgent. “If you’re going, go now!”
I didn’t hesitate. The second the helicopter leveled out, I launched myself into the chaos below. The impact sent a shockwave up my legs as I hit the uneven ground, rolling to absorb the force before springing back to my feet.
The storm screamed around me, ash and light swirling in a distorted haze. The roar of the chopper faded into the background as I locked my gaze on the fracture ahead.
“Hold on, Brock,” I yelled, setting off toward the pulsing tear in the Veil.
The ground beneath my boots cracked and shifted with each step. The closer I got, the heavier the air became, thick with the sour stench of decay and the metallic bite of magic. The storm roared, drowning out all other sounds, but my focus never wavered.
And then I saw him.
“Brock!” I ran to his side, my hands trembling as I reached for his arm. The Guardian, who had once towered over me with effortless strength, looked fragile now. His fur was scorched and matted, his breath barely stirring the air.
His eyes flickered open, their golden light dim but still present. “Parker...” His voice was cracked, broken, but the emotion behind it was sharp enough to cut glass. “Stay back.”
“I can’t,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. “I won’t leave you up here alone.”
The rift pulsed again, sending a wave of bilious green energy rolling across the ground. Brock flinched, his body bowing under the pressure. He fell to his knees, the golden light surrounding him flickering as the strain of holding the corruption back carved lines of pain into his face.
“Get up,” I muttered, pressing my hands against his chest. His heartbeat was still there, but weak, its rhythm faltering. I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Brock, get up. You’re the only one who can stop this.”
He grimaced, the effort of even that small movement sending a shudder through his frame. “I can’t. Not enough left.”
The words sent ice through my veins, not just fear, but anger. Raw, bright, and consuming, it cut through the despair threatening to swallow me whole. I grabbed his fur, pulling his face closer to mine.
“No,” I said, my voice trembling but fierce. “You can do this.”
Tears blurred my vision, hot and relentless, spilling down my cheeks as I shook him. “Brock! Get up!” My voice cracked as Ipressed my forehead to his, my hands trembling as they cradled his face.
He stirred, his lips parting, but his voice was barely audible. “I’m sorry…” His breath hitched, his chest struggling with the effort, and something inside me shattered.
“You don’t get to do this!” I shouted, shaking him again, harder this time, as if I could force him to stay with me. “Do you hear me? You don’t get to leave me. Not now. Not ever!”
The words tumbled out in a rush, raw and broken, as I clutched him closer. The air seemed to change around us, something warm and unrelenting pulling at me, twisting through my chest until it felt like I might collapse under the weight of it.
“I love you!” I screamed, the words tearing free from me. “Do you hear me, Brock? I love you!”
A rumble built in his chest, low and steady. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt solid. Unshakable. Slowly, Brock pushed himself upright, every movement deliberate, every second a statement of defiance against the corruption clawing at the world around him.
Golden light surged, rolling outward in rippling waves, colliding with the rift’s malevolence. The sickly green energy recoiled, writhing and twisting as Brock’s power burned through it.
He thrust his hands toward the fracture, a torrent of golden energy exploding from him. The rift howled in protest, its jagged edges thrashing like a wounded beast, but Brock didn’t falter. Step by step, he advanced, his light searing away the corruption until, with a deafening crack, the fracture slammed shut.
The silence that followed was staggering. The storm fell away, leaving only clean, still air. The ground was quiet, the green glow gone as the mountain seemed to breathe again.
Brock swayed on his feet, his legs trembling, and I caught him before he could fall.
“You’re an idiot,” I muttered, half-laughing, half-sobbing as I wrapped my arms around him. “A reckless, overdramatic idiot.”
