Damien crept closer to the battle, heart hammering in his chest.
His every instinct was peaked at the noises, movements, and smells around him. This was a whole different league from fighting rogues.
Was this what his father the Alpha King and his elite warriors had been constantly battling to keep out of their Packlands?
He passed through the chaos of mass cockroach destruction to the heart of the battle.
The closer he got, the more he saw Ronan the Dragon moving like a storm incarnate—blades flashing, spikes snapping, wings whipping through the air. The AAA Shilem Roach he faced was nothing like anything Damien had ever fought before. It was so fast that even with his werewolf sight, the action blurred.
For the most part, Ronan was only just a step ahead.
While the insectoid's many eyes tracked movement with terrifying precision, Ronan moved on instinct—reading, predicting, countering through sheer experience.
Damien had heard stories of warriors like that. It was even more impressive because Ronan the Dragon was just a human.
Suddenly, in a sudden blur of black and chitin, both Ronan and the roach went down almost at the same time.
Damien froze.
The roach lay upside down, just a few steps away from him.
This was his chance. It was now or never.
He lunged.
Blades met chitin. Sparks flew. For a moment, he actually believed he was going to land the final blow. But the roach's exoskeleton was rock hard. He struck again and again—but each hit barely slowed the creature. Its limbs flailed with frightening precision—spikes stabbing, claws scraping.
One swipe grazed him.
Pain exploded across his shoulder. Blood ran down his arm. He stumbled, barely keeping his balance—and in that instant, he understood just how wrong he'd been.
This was not a training exercise.
"You idiot!"
Damien had never been so glad to hear those words—especially from Angus.
From the corner of his eye, his friends leapt into the fray.
"You idiot!" Angus shouted. "Why did you run off on your own?"
"Why can't you stick to the plan?" Bastien grumbled, even as he dragged Damien away from the carnage.
Only then did Damien realize—his legs had been cut too. When did that happen?
"At least I got him," he protested weakly.
"Idiot, nothing got through!" Angus snapped.
Around them, purple flames ignited. Quintin was setting everything on fire.
"Hey, kid! This isn't a playground!" someone yelled.
"Watch the fires!"
"Get out of there!"
"It's going to cast!"
Every voice was right.
The roach—no, the roach man now—had righted itself. It staggered, but its abdomen glowed with a dangerous light.
Damien never paid attention during lectures.
But suddenly—he remembered one.
He remembered it because the lecturer had been unbearably smug.
"If it walks upright, it's Tier AA and above. Never mind what it's called—run. And if you can't…"
The man had smirked, bobbing his head in that irritating way Damien had wanted to punch.
"…never let it cast."
"Get out of the way!"
A flying hero swooped in, sending a volley of black feathers that sliced through the air like arrows, striking the glowing abdomen.
The cast was disrupted.
For a split second.
"Dammit, you're heavy!" Bastien cursed.
"Just pull!" Angus yelled.
Too late.
The black feathers exploded.
"Noooo!"
Quintin dropped to his knees.
They were the only friends he had ever had. His sworn brothers—though only in his heart, because he had never actually said it out loud.
Why had he brought them here?
Why had he dragged them into this?
His purple flames surged—erupting in a violent wave that instantly disintegrated the surrounding roaches. Even a couple of planes caught fire, explosions tearing across the tarmac.
And then—
Ronan moved.
Faster than anyone expected.
Not toward the enemy—
Toward them.
His hand slammed into Damien's chest. The force drove the air from his lungs as he was thrown backward. Bastien and Angus were shoved aside just as violently.
Out of range.
Out of death's grasp.
But Ronan—
He was still there.
And in doing so… he staggered.
The explosion that would have taken them instead struck him full-on—hurling Ronan the Dragon bodily through the portal.
Quintin snapped.
"Curse you, alien pests!"
His flames erupted in all directions—wild, uncontrolled, vengeful.
"This way," Bastien said urgently. "We need to get Damien out of here."
A couple of heroes rushed in to help evacuate them.
"The fire's worse than the roaches," one of them muttered wryly, staring at what had become an inferno across the entire airport tarmac.
There wasn't a single brow without sweat.
The heroes had no choice—shifting from alien combat to fire evacuation.
Jennifer stopped typing.
WTH.
Did she just write her boyfriend into the portal?
Worse—when she looked up at the screen, she could see it.
The flames consuming roach carcasses. Quintin kneeling near the Lord's Portal.
What the hell was she writing?
Harry was tutting at the screen, "Kids these days are full of energy."
But Jennifer was still trying to process her latest chapter. President Xel said she wanted to meet Lord Micah. She was honestly trying to work towards that outcome, but how was any of this going to bring Lord Micah here?
Jennifer felt her chest tighten.
She had been typing furiously. Trying to fix things. Trying to help.
But—
Her poor Rolly.
What had she done?
She took her MLs out of the pan and threw them into the fire. She also threw the man she loved into an alien portal.
She was a bad goddess. More defective than evil but the outcome was the same.
The thought broke something in her.
And then she cried.
Hot, angry tears.
Unlike Quintin's flames, which blamed the roaches—
Jennifer blamed herself.