Archenemies (Renegades, #2)(126)

“Smokescreen?” he said. “Red Assassin?”

“H-here,” Oscar responded, coughing.

A furious roar drew Adrian’s attention upward.

Ace Anarchy was no longer levitating. His simple, loose-fitting robes were splattered with white dust, and the fabric fluttered as he held his arms outstretched to either side. He stood in the center of the catacombs, his face contorted with a rage that had been nonexistent moments ago. His mouth curled, almost grotesque in its anger.

Adrian braced himself for an attack. He expected the sharp bloodstone to fly up and try to stab him, or Oscar’s cane to try to club one of them over the head, or even to be pummeled by a thousand bones.

He heard the sound of stone grating on stone.

Adrian scrambled to his feet, unsure where the noise was coming from—until he witnessed the heavy lid of one of the coffins. It slid off the sarcophagus and crashed to the ground, driving a crack through the stone.

Adrian’s jaw fell. His heart pummeled against his chest as the entire coffin turned first onto its side, the weight of it shaking the compromised cathedral foundation around them. The bones of a centuries-old corpse were flung from its shell.

Adrian stumbled back a step. He had heard stories of Ace Anarchy ripping buildings off their foundations. Knocking bridges into the water. Sending tanks crashing through store windows.

But that was when he was strong. That was when he had the helmet. Before Max took some of his power.

To actually see him controlling something that must have weighed a ton or more, even now, was petrifying. He could crush them. Easily.

Except, Ace wasn’t lifting the tomb.

Adrian peered into his face again. Though hostility burned in the villain’s eyes, it was met with strain. His face contorted with concentration. His teeth grinding and his skin damp with sweat.

Perhaps he could move something as heavy as a sarcophagus, but it wasn’t easy.

With renewed courage, Adrian charged at him, his fist preparing to swing, even as his brain scrambled to formulate a plan. He and Oscar had sparred plenty in the training rooms, but it was rare that he had to use those skills in actual combat.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

Ace Anarchy glanced once in Adrian’s direction and the fallen candelabra flew up and caught him in the stomach. Adrian grunted and fell, gripping his abdomen.

He snarled and looked up in time to see the coffin roll over one more time.

Ruby and Oscar screamed and curled into each other. Adrian saw Oscar wrap his arms protectively around Ruby’s head moments before the coffin closed over them, sealing them inside. Their muffled yells continued, followed by fists pounding against the inside of the stone prison.

Ace Anarchy slumped and Adrian could see him trying to catch his breath.

“I will deal with them later,” he said, wiping his brow with his sleeve. He fixed his gaze on Adrian and cocked his head, studying him. Then his eyes glinted with something like interest, perhaps even amusement, and Adrian knew that he recognized him. He wasn’t sure how. They had never met before, and Ace Anarchy had disappeared—died, they all thought—when Adrian was just a kid.

But he had been lurking down here all this time. Hiding. Waiting. Guarded by Phobia, and maybe the rest of the Anarchists too. They could have provided him with information about Captain Chromium and the Dread Warden. They probably would have told him about how they had adopted Lady Indomitable’s orphaned son. Maybe they had even brought him tabloids and newspapers, so he could stay informed of his enemies.

“How intriguing,” Ace said, eyes narrowed in quiet contemplation. “I do believe you know my niece.”

Then he grinned, that same cruel grin, and raised his arms overhead.

Adrian clenched his fist. The cylindrical tattoo on his forearm began to glow—molten hot. His skin warmed.

The shelves behind him rattled and he imagined Ace pulling them down on top of him. Crushing him, or trying to.

Adrian held his fist toward Ace. Peeled open his fingers.

But before he could shoot, Ace Anarchy coughed and fell, crumpling to one knee. The shelves quieted.

Adrian hesitated.

With an enraged roar, Ace slammed his fist into the ground. He swiped one arm over the floor and sent a wave of bones flying toward Adrian. He ducked behind one arm, but the bones clattered against him, harmless.

Ace screamed again, reminding Adrian of a child throwing a tantrum. The villain sat back on his heels, panting and dripping. His eyes, so calculating before, now spoke of frenzied desperation. He waved both arms this time, and Adrian let himself be battered by the remains. There was little force behind them.

Ace Anarchy had exhausted himself.

The villain hissed and crumpled forward again, curling his fingers through the eye sockets of a skull. “Damn you,” he groaned. “Damn you and your Renegades and your Council. They did this to me. They turned me into this.”

Adrian allowed his arm to sink, though the tattoo continued to burn. “You did this to yourself.”

Ace chuckled. “You’re a fool.”

“What did you mean, when you said I know your niece?”

Ace became calm, his expression almost gloating. “I believe you know her as Nightmare.” His mouth stretched wide. “Among other things.”

Adrian’s jaw twitched. “Then I’m sorry for your loss.”

“No, I don’t think you are.”