Page 101 of Retrograde

The familiar scent of metal, burnt flesh, and gunpowder hangs in the air. As I inhale deeply through my nose, my muscle memory locks in place—a deep-buried instinct, a beast that comes out to play when my ears are ringing with shots and the taste of carnage coats the inside of my mouth.

I don’t just bring obliteration. Until the last of them is twitching on the ground with mortal throes, I am obliteration. I breathe gunfire, and I move without thinking, aiming, seeking cover behind wreckage, avoiding injuries while inflicting them on others. It’s like a dance, a set of steps so practised it’s subconscious.

Men are just men, just targets and pawns, a race different from what I am right now. I become a medium for destruction, and death becomes an art form.

Even though the mission is a success beyond my wildest imagination, a nagging, sinking feeling deep inside keeps telling me that something is horribly wrong. That intuition only gets louder as the sun traverses across the sky, shining down on the growing number of fallen soldiers. It gets so fucking loud that in the end, when the ground is covered with charred corpses and blood-soaked mustard uniforms, I cannot even hear the triumphant voices of my men, the cheers and the laughter. All I can hear is my panicked thoughts as they form from the mess of vague suspicions.

“Where is Corrado?” I keep demanding from men, shaking them and then shoving them out of the way when they fail to answer. “Where the fuck is Corrado?”

I climb back up to the crevice he was hidden in, only to find it as I had expected it to be ... empty. I rush between corpses, scanning them swiftly with my eyes, looking for any that are clothed in dark Retrograde colours. There are about ten, but even without taking their skull masks off, I can tell none of them is him.

I don’t lose another second. I leave Alex in charge, barking a rushed, confused command at him as I run past him without stopping. Rounding the corner, I hop on my bike and tear away, racing back to the caves.

Knowing it deep in my gut that it’s already too late.

RILEY

The metal cuffs bite into my wrists each time I move. Bitter tears roll down my cheeks, and I need to blow my nose. I have to pee so badly I worry I may not be able to hold it until Aron gets back.

If he gets back ...

Physical discomfort is nothing compared to my inner turmoil. The hurt and humiliation are almost too much to bear, sitting heavily on my chest.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let myself believe that anything he’s ever said or done, any seeming act of kindness, was anything more than a move in his sick game?

Because it all felt so real.

Because I wanted to believe it so damn much.

But anytime he touched me, anytime he held me, anytime he spoke to me and allowed me to get a glimpse of the man behind the mask of cruelty, it was all to lead me on. It was all because he correctly guessed that breaking my heart would be worse than breaking my bones. He gained my trust solely to betray it. All he ever wanted to do was crush me.

And like an idiot, I let him succeed.

The door creaks open, and I bite the inside of my cheek, not wanting to give that bastard the satisfaction of seeing me cry. But it’s not Aron who walks in. It’s Corrado, his mouth falling open in shock the moment he lays eyes on me, bound, dishevelled, exposed and covered in blood and cum.

“Wolfie, what the fuck has he done to you?”

“Don’t ask.” I shake my head, tears rolling down my cheeks. “The key is on the nightstand.”

He grabs it wordlessly and leans over me to unlock the cuffs on each side. He smells of warm dust and dread. My thoughts click into a terrifying place.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my heart in my throat. “I-is it o-over? Why isn’t he here?”

My insides turn to stone.

“It’s still going on,” he replies. “Going well for Retrograde, too. Last time I saw him, Krasnik was massacring Continuits left and right. That fucker is absolutely terrifying.”

The cuffs fall apart from around my wrists, and I rub the sore red marks they’ve left behind.

“What are you doing here then?”

“I’m taking you the hell away from here. The hell away from him,” he elaborates with an unmistakable “isn’t it obvious” edge in his voice.

Shame floods me when I realise that, as any sane person would, he thinks I’m here completely against my will. He must never know that before this morning’s argument, I wouldn’t have left Aron even if I had the chance.

Do I want to stay even now? That’s a complicated question. If I leave, I’ll be forever on the run from the Necromancer. He will never forgive me for escaping him. The day I see him again will be the day I die.

The difference from before I met him is that this time around, I’ll be looking forward to that day with twisted anticipation. I’ll spend the rest of my life waiting for that day.