Page 89 of Brawler
For a moment, the darkness wavered.
The beach dissolved. The jungle slipped away. The surf went still.
Dagger whispered one final command.See the men who cleared the way. See where we began.
The Pacific blurred into surf again. But this time the men crawling through the waves weren’t Marines. They were bare-chested, lean, carrying nothing but explosives and courage. They swam under cover of night, slipping into the black water like phantoms.
The Underwater Demolition Teams. There they were again. His teammates.
His bloodline. His lineage. His truth.
He was lifted again, higher, broader, until he saw the world at war not as a soldier but as if he stood in the mind of God.
The shadow of Chaos swelled, vast enough to stretch across continents. Europe bled under its weight, cities cracked like broken bones. The Pacific churned with flame and steel. The world teetered, balance straining at the seams.
Then…light.
It began as tiny, scattered lights. Then the sparks grew into shapes. The allies rose like titans.
The British lion stood bloodied but unbowed, mane scorched, teeth bared in defiance. It limped from the Blitz, ribs broken, eyes burning, but its roar still shook the shadow.
The Russian bear rose from the east, scarred, frost clinging to its fur, claws red from Stalingrad. It had lost millions, but it lumbered forward, relentless, unyielding, driving the shadow back with sheer, brutal endurance.
The French griffin unfurled torn wings, its eagle’s head fierce, its lion’s body still bleeding. Betrayed, occupied, but not broken. Its talons struck from the underground, every claw a resistance fighter, every beak a whispered act of defiance.
The Canadian moose rose from the snowbound silence, its antlers vast as a cathedral, each tine etched with frost and memory. Broad-shouldered, scarred by centuries of cold, it carried the patience of deep forests and the quiet endurance of rivers frozen and thawed a hundred times over. Lumbering, yes,but never weak. Its hooves could trample invaders, its bulk could withstand any storm. In its dark eyes burned a steady flame, not of conquest, but of survival and guardianship. A sentinel of the North, steadfast, watchful, and resolute.
The Australian kangaroo coiled on red earth, sinew and power bound in taut muscle, tail striking the dust like a drumbeat of war. Its ears twitched toward the horizon, sharp and unyielding, as if it could hear every approach across the burning plains. From its pouch, life sprang forward, generations shielded, the future carried close. It did not fight with armor or fangs but with raw, explosive force, kicks that could shatter bone, leaps that spanned gulfs others feared to cross. Sun-scorched, storm-tested, it was a creature born of extremes, hardened to thrive where others perished. Defiant. Untamed. An island continent’s beating heart.
He no longer resisted the pull. The Veil’s current surged around him, wild and inexorable, but this time he did not fight to wake. He leaned into it, willed himself to change, to shed the skin of the man and become something more. Muscles stretched into feathers, bone into hollow strength, his back blazing with stars as wings erupted from his shoulders. Not a victim of the vision, not a prisoner of fate. He embraced it, claimed it, became it. With deliberate breath and unflinching will, Jae “Flash” Shaw surrendered to the call of the Veil and rose, transformed, taking flight.
From the smoke of battle and the blood of centuries, the star-spangled eagle unfurled its wings. They stretched vast and dazzling, every feather lit with constellations, every pinion streaked with fire. His cry split the heavens, fierce and unrelenting, the sound of freedom demanded rather than begged. Talons clenched, it bore the scars of revolution, civil war, oceans crossed, and deserts burned, yet still it rose, higher, brighter, unstoppable.
His gaze was sharp as justice, fixed not only on the enemy at its gates but on the horizon beyond, daring any darkness to challenge its flight. Beneath those wings, allies gathered in its shadow, finding shelter in the sheer force of its defiance.
Where the British lion roared from battered isles, mane singed by fire yet jaws locked in unyielding resistance; where the Russian bear rose from ice and shadow, wounded, staggering, yet striking back with claws that could not be dulled; where the French griffin bled but endured, talons striking from the underground; where the moose stood sentinel in snowbound silence, unbroken and steadfast; where the kangaroo fought from the scorched earth with explosive opposition; the star-spangled eagle blazed above them all. Its wings spanned continents, its cry shattered chains, an impossible beacon burning against tyranny, fierce light against the endless dark, a promise that, no matter the cost, freedom would not fall.
At its heart, Flash. Boyish grin gone solemn, eyes fierce, spirit transfigured into something vast and uncontainable. He had become the impossible bird, every feather a vow, every beat of his wings a promise.We will not fall. Not while I draw breath. Not while I burn with the stars of my flag.
Together, they massed against the shadow.
Below that celestial struggle, he saw men. Thousands. Tens of thousands. The greatest undertaking humankind had ever dared.
The beaches of France stretched wide, gray sand under gray skies. The sea boiled with ships, more than he could count, destroyers, transports, landing craft packed tight. The air was thick with planes, their engines a deafening chorus.
He saw the scale, the impossible weight of it. The grind of war machines, of logistics, of human will bent toward one singular moment. The shadow pressed heavily on the coast, waiting, feeding on fear, daring men to step into fire.
The whisper shook him. This was not only men against men. This was the hinge of reality. The line between dissolution and survival.
His gut clenched. He knew where this was going. He could feel the pull, narrowing. Not the generals, not the nations, not the armies.
The water.
The men in khaki, impossibly short trunks, with masks and knives, swimming through the surf with satchels of explosives to clear the way.
The Underwater Demolition Team.
His Navy.
