‘At this point, defeating him in battle is likely the only way he’ll ever feel pride for me,’ Adam
replies, adding weakly, ‘not that I care.’
I shake my head. ‘You guys are so screwed up.’
We fall silent as the entrance to Ashwood Estates comes into view. The Mogadorian in front of the
gates spots us and shields his eyes from the sun, trying to get a better look. We keep up a steady pace and don’t make any attempt to conceal ourselves. We’re separated from the gates by about fifty yards
and closing fast, but to the Mog we might look like just a couple of joggers. He won’t notice the guns strapped to Adam just yet.
‘Wait until we’re a little closer,’ I say through gritted teeth, and Adam nods.
At thirty yards, the Mog turns his head, saying something to his two buddies in the gatehouse.
Warning them that something might be up. I see them stand up, silhouetted in the window, peering out
at us. The Mog in front edges back a bit, his fingers inching towards the blaster surely hidden under
his coat. But he hesitates, probably still thinks he’s being paranoid.
They really never thought we’d come for them. They aren’t prepared.
With twenty yards to go, I fire up my Lumen, flames roaring across my hands. Next to me, in stride,
Adam draws both his guns and takes aim.
The closest Mog tries to pull his blaster, but he’s way too slow. Adam fires two shots, one from
each gun, both of them muffled by silencers. Struck twice in the chest, the Mog teeters for a moment
and then explodes into a cloud of ash.
I launch a fireball at the gatehouse. The Mogadorians inside are scrambling around but, like their
friend, are also too slow. The fireball explodes through the window, sending glass everywhere, and
causing one of the Mogs to go up in flames. The other one manages to throw himself out the door,
flames dancing up his back. He’s standing right in front of Ashwood’s locked entrance, so I reach out
with my telekinesis and tear the wrought-iron gate off its hinges, crushing the Mog.
‘Think the others heard us?’ I ask Adam, as we step around the bent metal gate and into Ashwood
Estates.
‘Our entrance did lack subtlety,’ Adam observes.
Sam’s voice crackles in my ear.
‘Four of them running up the access road,’ he warns. ‘Blasters ready.’
The access road is uphill with a slight bend at the top after which we’ll be at the housing
development. There isn’t a whole lot of cover on the way.
‘Stay behind me,’ I tell Adam.
Just then, the Mogs come around the bend. They don’t ask any questions before unleashing a volley
of blaster fire. Adam leaps behind me just as my shield deploys – it’s like a parachute exploding out
of my arm, the rippling crimson material spreading to absorb the blasts. Adam grabs hold of the back
of my shirt.
‘Go forward,’ he says.
I do, the shield absorbing more blaster fire as I press towards the Mogs. The bracelet is now a
steady, numbingly painful buzz against my wrist. Carefully following my steps to keep from getting
shot, Adam pops around the edge of the shield, gunning down two of the Mogs in one go. Realizing
they’re not making any progress, the other two try to retreat. I lower my shield and launch a fireball that explodes between them, knocking them both to the ground. Adam finishes them off with some
well-aimed gunfire. Out of danger for now, my shield retracts back into my bracelet.
‘Not bad,’ I tell him.
‘We’re just getting started,’ he replies.
We run down the access road around the bend, and the opulent homes of Ashwood Estates finally
come into view. There’s no one out and all the windows are dark; the whole place feels like a ghost
town. To our right, I see Adam’s old house, and a few houses down from that is the trash truck and the high-tech chair the engineer was inspecting. The salvage teams, the engineer and the General are
nowhere to be seen.
‘They’re coming from the backyard!’ Sam yells.
Both Adam and I spin around in time to see a squadron of Mog warriors sneaking towards us
between two of the houses. It would’ve been a pretty good ambush if we didn’t have scouts perched
in their trees. As they raise their blasters, Adam is ready. He stomps the ground and a concussive
wave of force rolls in their direction, pavement and chunks of grass rippling upward. The closest
Mogs are completely thrown off their feet, others stagger and one of them accidentally discharges his
blaster into another’s back.
‘I’ll finish them off!’ I tell Adam. ‘You go make sure they aren’t calling reinforcements.’
Adam nods, then sprints across the lawn towards his old house. Meanwhile, next to the stunned
Mogadorians, I notice a metal tank that had come unmoored from where it was attached to a house.
With my hearing focused, I can hear a faint hiss emanating from the tank. I almost laugh at my luck.
It’s a gas line.
I launch a fireball at the Mogs before they can collect themselves. It whizzes right by the lead Mog,
who I think actually smirks at me, thinking that I’ve missed in those two seconds before the propane
tank explodes, incinerating the lot of them. The windows of the two adjacent houses are all blown
inward from the force, large black singe marks forming on the outside, grass burning. I have to stop
myself from appreciating the destruction – it feels almost cathartic to destroy this place, to tear down what the Mogs have built, after how many times they’ve torn down my attempts at a normal life.
‘Damn, dude,’ Sam says in my ear. ‘We felt that over here.’
I yank my walkie-talkie off the back of my jeans. ‘What’s it look like, Sam?’
‘You’re clear,’ he says. ‘It’s weird. I thought there’d be more of them.’
‘They could be down in the tunnels,’ I reply, starting towards the house Adam rushed into. I scan
the empty windows as I go, wary of any Mogs who might be lying in wait. It’s just too damn quiet.
‘And that huge-ass general guy,’ Sam says. ‘He wasn’t with the ones you blew up.’
I’m crossing the lawn towards Adam’s house when the front window shatters and Adam’s body
comes flying out. His legs smack hard against the porch railing and he’s turned head over heels,
flipped like a rag doll into the front yard. I run to him as he shakily tries to pick himself up.
‘What happened?’ I shout.
‘Father … isn’t happy,’ he groans, looking up at me as I crouch down over him. There’s a huge
piece of glass sticking out of his cheek, a trickle of dark blood running down his neck. He yanks it out and tosses it aside.
‘Can you get up?’ I ask, grabbing his shoulder.
Before Adam can answer, a booming voice interrupts. ‘Number Four!’
The General strides confidently through the front door, looking down at me from the porch. He’s
huge and muscular. The tattoos splashed across his pale skull are way more intricate than any Mog
I’ve seen outside of Setrákus Ra. I sense motion behind him – other Mogadorians, I can’t be sure how
many. They don’t come out of the house. It’s almost like the General wants to do this alone.
I stand up and face him, my hands glowing and hot, a fireball floating in my palm.
‘You know who I am, huh?’ I ask him.
‘Indeed. I have long hoped we would meet.’
‘Uh-huh. If you know me, then you know you don’t stand a chance against me.’ I crane my neck to
look past him. ‘None of you do.’
The General actually smiles. ‘Very good. Bravado. A welcome change of pace. The last Loric I
encountered ran. I had to stab him in the back.’
I decide I’ve had enough talk and whip the fireball at him. The General sees it coming, hunkers low