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Sure, she didn’t want the world wiped clean of innocents any more than the gods of Olympus did, but there was no way they could all be saved. Most of the Order argued to save as many as possible, but Kyana saw the folly in such emotionally driven suicide. Augustine and neighboring cities had flocked to the old fort. The night Tartarus opened and unleashed masses of Dark Breeds onto Earth, the residents of St. Sentinels walked the bastions, ready to fight to the death at any sign of trouble, and in the old storerooms beneath the sentinels’ patrol, Mystics had opened a portal to Below where the Chosen were taken for safety. That it had held up against so many attacks over the years had made it the best choice for the Order to set up headquarters in the southeastern United States the moment the war between Hell and Earth had begun seven days ago. The Castillo was the oldest piece of stonework in North America. Like tiny puffs of smoke, the name Kyana slowly formed in the night sky, and the newly working drawbridge lowered in recognition. When they neared what had been the Castillo de San Marcos’s pay station only a week ago, she fired the flare gun and waited for the fiery burst to explode overhead and dissolve into a flurry of white dust that would alert the sentinels manning the gate. One look would shut them up, but she was in too much of a hurry to bother. Every Vamp within the Order of Ancients had minions to assist with the grunt work.
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Behind her, Farrel and Crag grunted and whined about the burden they carried. Kyana slipped her daggers back into the she aths at her back and boot and reached for the flare gun tucked in its holster on her hip. One of the most crucial finds on the Ancients’ list of Chosen. But what had her feeling as smug as a pig in dog shit was not the number she’d managed to find and save, but the who. The one her minions, Farrel and Crag, now carried was the last of the living on her list. Most of the Chosen were safely tucked Below. It had been a long night, but a successful one. She had an irresistible urge to flex her muscles, or strut, or. Of course, we had become I as she’d twisted it to fit her mood for the night. Thank you for showing me what a true hero is.ĭespite the chaos of war around her, she couldn’t help but hum Queen’s “We Are the Champions” in her head. To Kyle, for never once saying I couldn’t,