Extraction Point
Mission:
- Survive Again
- Again
- Again
- And Again
- And Again
“What has you so surprised, Connor?” she asked, her voice a low, venomous murmur as she approached, each step deliberate, crunching over debris like bones underfoot. “Guilt finally knocking at your door?”
I couldn’t speak. The words lodged in my throat, a tangled knot of shock. How? How? How? Mr. Drails had never mentioned Rocke had a daughter. But then, how could anyone predict she'd unleash this whirlwind of vengeance? He probably didn't know.
“You know, I took this mission solely to confront the monster who stole everything from me,” she continued, her eyes—still raw and weeping blood—locked on mine with unyielding intensity. “And I knew then, as I know now, that I won’t rest until you feel my pain a thousand times over. When you die, I’ll be the last face you see before you plunge into that eternal blaze.”
I swallowed hard, the gulp echoing in my ears like a final verdict.
She charged, a heart-wrenching roar tearing from her chest, raw and primal. Her strike came like thunder—but I raised my wand just in time, absorbing the blow with a resonant clang that vibrated through my bones.
From there, the battle ignited. Yet her every swing carried a ferocious edge I couldn’t comprehend, a storm of grief-fueled fury. Suddenly, she dropped low, striking my knee with brutal precision. I crumpled, pain exploding like shattered glass. She followed with a vicious smack to my face, the wand's orb cracking against my cheek.
Blood sprayed from my mouth in a warm arc, coppery and thick.
But through the haze, my peripheral vision caught her wand spinning for the kill. Instinct surged—I thrust the sharp end of mine into her rib, sinking it deep. She grunted, staggering back as I shoved harder, forcing her retreat. Pulling free, I unleashed a barrage, blood erupting from her face with each impact—nose, cheek, jaw—splattering like rain on parched earth.
She adapted quickly, though, reading my rhythm like a predator. Catching my next swing mid-arc, she yanked me forward, flipping me over her back in a seamless throw. I hit the ground hard. She pounced, raining blows with devastating force; it was only by sheer grace I rolled aside, each evasion a narrow escape from oblivion.
One connected—hard—with my hip. I yelped, fire lancing through my side. She seized my collar, hauling me up only to slam my head down. The impact bounced my skull off the pavement, stars bursting in my vision. Then she clotheslined me, her arm like a steel beam, flattening me utterly.
I screamed, the sound ragged and desperate. She wobbled, balance faltering from her wounds. Seizing the moment, I swept my leg in a low arc, toppling her to the ground with a thud.
I scrambled atop her, hand clamping her neck, channeling my Perk to amplify the pressure. Her face flushed tomato-red, veins bulging, eyes threatening to burst from their sockets like overripe fruit. But she countered—a powered jab to my face, agony blooming like a supernova.
She rolled us over, reversing positions. Now I was the one under siege, her grip a vice, my chest compressing like a balloon in a hydraulic press. Air grew scarce, black spots dancing at the edges.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Glancing down, I spotted my knife that probably fell out glinting nearby. I snatched it, slashing wildly at her chest—once, twice, thrice—blood spilling in warm torrents, soaking what remained of my shirt. She shrieked with each cut, high and piercing.
Yet she didn’t release. If anything, her hold tightened, fueled by some inexhaustible rage.
Desperation clawed at me. I needed escape—now. Channeling what remained, I fired lasers from my eyes, twin beams searing into hers. A blood-curdling cry erupted from her, soul-shaking in its raw torment. She recoiled, hands flying to her face, fingers digging in so fiercely her veins writhed like serpents.
I staggered to my feet, aiming for the kill. But she spun her legs in a whirlwind, clobbering me down to all fours with expert precision.
It bought her seconds—enough to rise unsteadily. I pushed up too, but not fast enough; her attack blurred in, a whirlwind of strikes rocking me from the first impact. I crawled backward, defending clumsily as blows rained from every angle, sparks flying with each clash, ripples distorting the air.
Through the frenzy, one constant pierced the chaos: her eyes—bleeding, crimson, utterly devoid of humanity. Hollow voids where a soul once resided.
But her legs dangled exposed, unguarded in her fury. I maneuvered swiftly, grabbing them to hoist myself up, positioning for a chokehold that would end this.
Yet she moved like feathers on the wind—lunging forward, dragging me down, then flipping behind in a fluid twist. Now she held the advantage, her arm snaking around my neck in a vise of doom.
“No—no—” I wheezed, panic surging. I hammered my wand against her face—smack, smack, crack—before it vanished from my grip, yanked away by some unseen force.
I froze.
Her fist caved in my skull with a Perk-powered blow, the world tilting into vertigo. I collapsed, body splaying flat. She loomed above, then seized my collar once more, dragging me toward whatever grim fate awaited.
Up a mound of splintered wood and smoldering ruin we went, smoke claiming the sky like a shroud, flames licking the edges in hungry tongues. The sun ascended over the mountains, indifferent to our struggle.
“Sometimes I wonder—what’s the point of existence if it all culminates in a blood-soaked end?” she mused, her voice distant, almost philosophical. Then her gaze dropped to me, those eyes instilling terror deep in my core. “You tell me.”
I’m telling you, gazing into them was revolting—a abyss of pain and void.
“Your father planned to weaponize the Armonk, unleashing havoc on the world. I couldn’t allow it. He’d have ended me too, given the chance,” I rasped, words tumbling out in a desperate plea.
“It was your mission to stop him. Not your choice,” Mari retorted. “Save your breath for something worthwhile. It’s all just politics.”
“So why pursue this? The stadium attack, stealing YMPA intel for the TSA, hunting me—if it’s all political?” I pressed, as she positioned me at the hill's summit, the world sprawling below like a judgment.
Mari stared down, expression unreadable. She discarded the wands with a casual flick. “I have my reasons, Connor.”
Her arms ignited, electricity crackling like a storm brewing. Fists clenched, she unleashed—one, two, three—each blow expelling blood from my body in crimson sprays. Pain gnawed at her features, twisting her jaw into a grimace. Life receded, a retreating hand, as death approached with measured steps.
It knocked softly at the door.
I couldn’t rise to answer, trapped in a whirlwind of thoughts—seeking escape while bound by hopelessness and dread. My gaze drifted to the discarded wands nearby.
With the scant remnants of clarity—four flickering brain cells—I seized mine, channeling every ounce into it. I swung, connecting with Mari’s head in a resounding crack. She hurtled a thousand feet rightward, crashing in a plume of dust and timber, the ground quaking from the impact.
The mallet always works.
But my body resembled a shattered jar of jam, blood pooling beneath, soaking the wood in sticky warmth.
I had to act—now—or death would claim me for certain.
Summoning my Perk's final reserves, I rose: foot by foot, leg bracing, arm pushing until I stood—precariously, mallet in hand, toes gripping for balance. Stumbling toward Mari, each step a Herculean feat.
She rose too, dragging herself forward, movements labored even with her copied Perk. We crab-walked toward each other, two broken titans in a ruined arena. I spun my wand, the motion fueled solely by Perk-enhanced strength; without it, I'd collapse. God knows what awaited when the power ebbed.
That gnawed at me: Would I die regardless? Could I hold out for transport? And if they arrived—would it even matter?
Truth be told, terror gripped me. Facing Mari head-on, blood draining by the second, flames encircling us like a pyre. September—Lord knows where—wounded, perhaps gone. And this beast before me, hell-bent on my capture... or end.
It chilled my soul to the marrow.
Yet this was my reality, forged by every choice, regret, and blunder I'd stumbled through.
“You’ve got some fight left,” Mari hissed, her voice a ragged whisper. “Bring it all, then. Because I won’t hold back. You didn’t spare him.”
“He didn’t want mercy.”
We charged— a thousand feet closing to five hundred, three hundred, two, one, fifty—then contact.