Page 35 of Obliterated
And I don’t believe him.
“See? Always staring,” Tass mutters, humor back in her voice.
I don’t reply to her. Don’t even hear the rest of what she says. Don’t register Noura’s sentencing speech either. Tass is right. I can only watch. Watch and pray that he’ll be okay.
And we stay like that. Him staring up at me, me clutching the rail so hard my palms burn, locked in some invisible tether that neither of us breaks.
Until Tass elbows me, muttering something sharp I don’t catch.
Until the gate starts to rattle, iron shrieking under the weight of Walkers slamming against it.
Until Max finally tears his eyes from mine.
It begins. Justice, Ibitha-style. Bloody, merciless, final.
A Watcher next to the council hefts something heavy, then hurls it down into the Pit. The weapon hits dirt with a solid thud, dust kicking up around it.
A spear.
The unhinged grin that cracks over Max’s face when he strides to it, yanks it free like it belongs in his hands, isn’t lost on me.
“He’s smiling,” I say over the roar of the crowd, heart kicking.
“Of course he is,” Tass snickers, like I’ve missed something obvious. “Figures. It’s the best thing they could’ve given him.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, for one, it’s for distance. Lets you keep the bastards at bay. Less bitey-bitey, you know? And also…” her lips twitch, “Roe used to train us with those. Max knows exactly how to use it.”
“He did?”
Tass waves toward the council seats, and I follow her gesture. Roe’s still there, the red beret stark against the crowd, and there’s the faintest grin tugging at his lips.
The gate rattles again, louder now, then slides up. My stomach lurches, focus snapping back to Max.
And Tass was right. Injuries or not, he moves smoother now, grip steady, weight shifting like he’s been waiting for this. Maybe he was exaggerating the pain he was in before. Playing them. Playing Noura.
There’s no mistaking in the way he holds the weapon, though. He definitely knows how to handle a spear.
He twirls it left, right, lets it spin once, then snaps it forward in two sharp thrusts, testing reach and weight. One last sweep arcs wide, whistling through the air as the gate rattles higher. There’s still a hitch in his step, but with steel in his grip it almost vanishes, like the weapon itself drains the pain out of him. Makes him stronger.
The first Walker scuttles through the small gap, half-crawling, half-lunging. Quick. Too quick. Its limbs jerk like broken wires, its body folding and snapping in angles no human ever should, scrambling across the dirt like a fucking spider.
I hold my breath, heart fuckingpounding, as Max pivots, smooth as a dancer, and the spear sings through the air. Onestrike, straight through its throat. The crowd erupts as the body convulses, black-red blood spraying, but Max doesn’t pause.
The second Walker bursts out right behind the first, lunging for him before the corpse even hits the ground. Max wrenches the spear free with a grunt, twists, and drives the butt of it hard into its knees. Bone cracks. It stumbles, and in the same breath he spins the shaft, builds momentum, and slams the blade through its eye socket.
The skull caves with a wet crunch. The Walker drops limp at his feet.
Two down. Fast. Clean.
“He’s a bit dramatic, isn’t he?” I say when he yanks the spear free again. Blood arcs with the pull, splattering his bare chest, and he still finds the breath to bare his teeth in a twisted grin—twirling the shaft, crouching low in that predator’s stance before beckoning the next forward.
Tass snorts beside me, finally relaxing enough to lean back again, her long legs crossing at the ankle. “Please. He’s theatrical as fuck. The first time I saw him fight, I thought he was auditioning for some stupid play. Showboating comes naturally to him.”
I can see it. It’s written in the curl of his lips, the way his shoulders loosen with every kill, the way he pivots on his boots like the dirt itself bends to him, every muscle wound tight and precise. A fucking god in its own right.
By the time the third Walker crawls out jerking on all fours, he doesn’t even look like he’s fighting, he looks like he’s playing.
