Maelstrom

Seventeen

[miserabile visu]

Reese had never run faster, fought harder, or prayed stronger in his entire twenty-two years of life than in these minutes of battle.

The second he had leapt out from Kassie's portal, he had sprinted into the smoking building, firing arrows at any of Menoetious' henchmen that dared to cross him. He left a trail of bodies and bronze in his wake as he fought his way up to Imogen's floor. One after another, his enemies went down, and he was one floor closer to Imogen.

It became a mantra in the son of Apollo's mind as he raced up the seemingly endless flights of stairs. Nock, draw, fire, run. Nock, draw, fire, run. Imogen. Imogen. Imogen.

Finally, Reese burst through the stairwell door onto Imogen's floor. Fire alarms were blaring, but Reese ignored them, along with the plumes of sizzling smoke streaming out the windows. He probably should have worried about asphyxiation, but the only thing on his mind was finding Imogen and getting her out of here.

Arrow drawn, Rees crept down the aisles of the office, peering into cubicle after cubicle to ensure there were no enemy soldiers waiting for him. He trampled fallen papers, discarded weapons, and broken glass on his quest, his heart racing with each step he took.

Finally, he saw her.

Reese dashed towards Imogen, sprawled on the carpeted floor of the office. Her blonde hair was caked with ash, debris, and blood from an ugly scar on her temple. She seemed lifeless, and Reese choked back a sob.

Please, gods, please don't take her away from me, Reese thought to himself as he shouldered his bow. He reached for Imogen's neck with trembling hands, pressing two fingers to the soft patch of skin between her jaw and ear.

Please...

He felt it. It took a few moments, but Imogen's pulse was still there, fluttering like a butterfly with a broken wing, trying to lift off. She was still alive.

If he wasn't in the middle of a war, Reese would have burst into tears. He hung his head in relief, sniffed back the onslaught of tears, and released a shaky breath. He pulled Imogen into his arms, carrying her bridal style, and got to his feet.

That's when he saw them.

Bodies littered the floor like grotesque roadblocks, fanning out from behind Imogen, towards the pinnacle of the explosion. What must have been the mailing room was now a charred husk of its former self, still steaming and glowing with embers. Imogen had gotten the tail end of the blast, knocking her unconscious, but some of her fellow Romans hadn't been so lucky. Scarlet blood stained their violet t-shirts, their golden armor. Ash covered their faces. Some didn't have much of a face left to cover.

Reese watched this silent scene, sorrow feuding with rage in his heart. He'd been lucky; Imogen had been spared. How many of these half-bloods' families would be able to say the same thing? How many of them had half-siblings, parents, friends that were agonizing over their loved ones' return?

War was a greedy entity. It could take lives without remorse, wreak devastation upon the innocent and the guilty, until even the survivors weren't sure what side they were on to begin with.

But this war had only just begun. There were still countless lives left to be lost if he didn't move now. Flynn was the medic, the one with the power to heal these people as best he could. Reese? He was the fighter, the defender of those who needed to be saved.