Page 36 of Obliterated
He taunts them. I’ve never seen anyonetaunta fucking Walker before. He jabs the spear close enough for one to snap its teeth, then yanks it back, laughing under his breath like this is all just sport. All signs of his injuries are long gone, burned away by the adrenaline roaring through him, by that hunger he doesn’t bother to hide.
“This is lunacy,” I whisper, right as he slams the spear clean through the third’s skull and, in the same breath, boots another square in the chest to send it sprawling.
“This is Max,” Tass replies dryly, tossing the green tops of the strawberries into the Pit below. Then she cups a hand lazily to her mouth. “Whoo-hoo. Go team!” she cheers.
The gate groans wider, and five more pour through at once. Some shuffle, slack-jawed, slow. Others come fast,toofast, their limbs jerking like broken marionettes. My stomach lurches, and I can’t help it… I cover my face, peeking through my fingers like I did as a child, watching those stupid horror DVDs my neighbor loved.
Max barrels straight into them. The spear arcs, clean and brutal, and Walker number five drops with a split skull. Number six goes right after, the point of the spear flashing sideways in a blur.
I let out a breath, take another deep one as I try to calm myself, my chest shuddering.He’s fine. He’s got this. Three to go.
He’s not justfightingthe Walkers, he fuckingobliteratesthem.
He’s showy, sure—spinning the spear, crouching low, blood dripping red across his chest—but who wouldn’t be, with that kind of talent? That raw, vicious grace that makes slaughter look like art.
And gods help me… I can’t look away.
I don’t think I’ll ever want to.
He goes fast, too fucking fast. Max moves like the Pit is his stage and he’s the only actor worth watching. The spear whirls, thrusts, cracks bone and punches through skulls. One drops, then he’s on the next, the corpses piling up at his feet.
But the last one,shit, the last one catches him. He’s mid-spin, glaring at the eighth one he just disposed of, when it lunges.Claws rake his back, delve into his shoulder, and suddenly it’s on him, teeth sinking in his throat.
My heart seizes.
Max doesn’t panic. Doesn’t even flinch. He hurls the thing clean over his shoulder, muscles straining, then drives the spear down with a roar. The blade punches through its mouth, pinning it to the dirt, and he leans on it until the twitching stops.
Silence spreads for half a breath. The smell of blood is thick enough to choke.
Then he looks up at me.
Still hunched over the corpse, spear tight in his grip, chest heaving, bruises blooming darker by the second. I don’t know how he has the time to find me in all this chaos, but he does. His wild gaze pins me, raw and unrelenting, and something hot and vicious spikes right through my ribs.
He’s amazing. Terrifying. Fucking unforgettable. A warrior carved out of blood and grit, like he was born for this pit and everything in it.
“How many bites did he get?” Sami asks, leaning over Tass, breaking through the static in my skull.
“Two, I think,” she answers, and I tear my gaze away from my Max with effort, frowning at her.
“Yes, it’s two,” someone behind me confirms with a laugh.
Sami grins broad and wolfish, turning to the voice. “Hand over the goods, Coen. I said two.”
My eyes widen. “You placed a bet on his life? That your friend would get bitten two times?”
Sami shrugs, unbothered, counting his coins. He leans close enough I catch the twinkle in his eyes. “Max told us to bet on two before they took him. We have more coin to collect tonight.”
I can only fucking blink. They… They…They’re fuckinginsane.
But it’s finally done. The last Walker slides limp off his spear with a disgusting gurgle, and Max turns. Slowly. Deliberately. His attention finds the dais. Findsher.
Noura.
And holy shit, he’s got balls, because he doesn’t just face her. He bows. A mocking, sweeping bow.
Then he lifts his head, and the glare he pins her with is unhinged, monstrous,vile. It burns hotter than the sun itself. I can taste the hate from here, bitter as copper on my tongue.
She’d better run for her godsdamned life. Hide where he can’t find her. Because if looks could kill, she’d already be a smear on the stone.
