I dove sideways, my white robes billowing around me as Watcher whipped his hand out of the bag. In his grip was a Thundercrown F8, its long, laser-scoped barrel spitting bolts of blue-white energy that blasted across Chester’s kiosk.
Rounding the corner, I lost my grip on Lilith as I caught myself with both hands, scrambling to my feet. The black gladius slid back into its sheath and bounced against my hip. Behind me, the whirring roar of a spinning minigun filled the air, followed by the sharp staccato of bullets peppering the floor around me. The Threezens had joined the hunt.
I ducked behind Chester’s kiosk, momentarily shielded from the incoming fire.
“What the blazes?!” I yelled, chest heaving as adrenaline coursed through me. My silver eyes flicked across the room. No hunters on this side of my cover, thank the gods, but up two levels, I caught a flash of white. A sniper. A Kheerzu. Watcher’s backup.
The xeno popped up over the railing, the long, gray barrel of a sniper rifle trained on me.
I pushed off the kiosk and sprinted forward, a crackling bolt of energy hissing past my shoulder. The Kheerzu adjusted its aim, cool and deliberate, tracking me. I dropped to my back and slid behind one of Chester’s couches, a white-hot bolt smacking into the other side with a soft hiss.
Lilith dug into my side, but I resisted the urge to draw her. As powerful as she was, a demon-blade wasn’t much use in a firefight. Instead, I reached for my hip, fingers closing around the Colt. The antique revolver was heavy and familiar in my hand.
My heart pounded in my chest and temples, the chaotic firefight throwing my thoughts into disarray.
Why in the stars do I have a bounty on my head?
I forced the thought aside. Escape first. Questions later.
My breath came in sharp pants as I scanned for an exit. Behind me, the elevator shaft could take me back up to Dock E, where my ship was waiting.
No good.
Not only would I have to fight through at least two teams of bounty hunters, but my ship was almost certainly covered. A sinking realization hit me.
The ships docked at the Clarion—they were here for me.
That left the circular tunnels branching off the main deck. Directly ahead, opposite the kiosk, was a round door, roughly fifteen feet in diameter. It was closed.
Better.
Even as the thought formed, the door hissed open.
A half-dozen figures in dark green military fatigues sprinted through. Camouflaged armor plating covered their bodies, black rifles raised and sweeping the room.
One of them spotted me and barked an order—literally barked—and six guns swung in my direction.
My Colt snapped up and cracked, the revolver’s bullet splitting a facemask and punching through the skull behind it. The soldier jerked once, then crumpled, his finger clamping down on the trigger just long enough to send a spray of projectiles into the air.
People often asked why I carried an “antique” revolver instead of a “modern weapon.” I rarely answered, but here was one reason: modern body armor, designed to deflect energy bolts, didn’t fare so well against lead projectiles traveling at 700 feet per second.
The other five soldiers returned fire, forcing me to dash sideways and dive behind one of Chester’s scraggly trees.
Of course, this wasn’t my usual kind of fight. Gods don’t usually carry lasweapons.
I sprinted again, breath rasping in my throat, scanning for another exit. The nearest unoccupied tunnel was fifty yards ahead. Above it, another white Kheerzu head popped up, leveling a sniper rifle.
Blasted Kheerzu.
The tall, emaciated xenos might be sightless, but Watcher was known for his tactical brilliance. Odds were, most of my exits were already covered.
I jinked left, forcing the sniper to adjust. Behind me, I heard the heavy whirring of the Threezens’ miniguns spinning up.
A glance over my shoulder confirmed it: the trio of hulking blue-skinned bounty hunters had rounded the kiosk and formed a firing line. Five hundred rounds per minute rained down as they tried to mow me under.
I tripped over a couch but turned the fall into a roll, spinning over the barrier and landing on my hands. I shoved forward in a desperate dash as the potted plant beside me exploded in a shower of shredded leaves and ceramic shards.
Another glance back. Watcher was coming around the other side of the kiosk, his Thundercrown pistol raised in both elongated arms. Its slim barrel tracked me with precision. Unlike the Threezens’ heavy spray, the Thundercrown was a sniper’s weapon, designed to punch through armor. The spells woven into my robes might absorb rifle fire, but a shot from that thing would rip straight through to the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath.
Damn it.
I pounded ahead, racing through a storm of fire. I glanced up, snapping off a wild shot that made the Kheerzu sniper duck, and bounded toward the tunnel entrance. Even without Lilith’s strength, I was faster and more agile than an ordinary man. I suspected it was throwing off the hunters’ aim, but it was only a matter of time before they adjusted and—
I skidded to a halt.
The Kheerzu sniper’s thin, black-armored body fell soundlessly through the air in front of me. Its round, black mouth opened in a silent scream as it flipped head over heels, landing on its neck with a gruesome snap.
A black rope dropped to the ground beside the splayed xeno corpse.
What in the blazes—?
I glanced up.
Sliding down the rope was another hunter—a woman. Her athletic figure was wrapped in red leather, with a brace of modified Tribute H52 laspistols strapped to her thighs. One gloved hand gripped the rope, the other clutched the Kheerzu’s sniper rifle.
She landed in a crouch, flipping a crimson braid over her shoulder, and dropped the rifle as she drew her pistols. I barely had time to register the modifications—one had an under-barrel grenade launcher, the other ended in a silver sphere the size of a billiard ball—before I realized standing still was a mistake.
Too late.
A sizzling bolt smashed into my upper back.
I yelled hoarsely as my vision swam and I pitched to the floor. The spells woven into my robe kept the shot from being fatal, but that was the best they could do.
Pain blazed across my shoulder, sharp and white-hot. My revolver tumbled from my hand, skittering to the woman’s feet. She stamped on it with a heavy, black-booted foot.
The Tributes in her hands were small and sleek, designed for close quarters. She raised them in an instant.
I braced for death.
Only… she wasn’t firing at me.
With a snarling grin on her porcelain face, she stepped over me, unleashing a barrage of fire at the bounty hunters twenty yards behind. Looking back, I saw her nail two soldiers in the chest. The rest scattered for cover behind low couches.
Despite myself, I stared.
There are two kinds of rounds in modern projectile weaponry: blue-white bursts of condensed particles—standard for most hunters—and hellfire green plasma, hot enough to ignite like a miniature sun.
Her Tribute laspistols? They fired blood-red projectiles that seared through armor like a blowtorch through paper. Each shot left black, charred circles where soldiers had been standing.
The woman glanced back at me, my wide silver eyes meeting hers.
“Well?” she demanded, her arm whipping sideways to send a red bolt scorching past Watcher’s head. The xeno ducked behind the kiosk. “Are you going to sit there gawking, or are you getting through the damn door?”