The explosion of the first helicopter didn't feel like a victory. It felt like my brain was being pulled through a needle's eye.
As the titanium hull buckled under the weight of the Hollow, a sharp, metallic tang filled my mouth. Then came the warmth—a slow, steady trickle of blood leaking from my nose, staining my upper lip.
"Elara, stop!" Silas roared, but his voice sounded miles away, muffled by the roar of the rotors and the screaming in my own skull.
"I have... to finish it," I gasped.
The two remaining helicopters didn't just hover; they dived. They knew I was vulnerable. The sky opened up, not with bullets, but with Thermobaric Silver. The canisters hit the trees around us, releasing a shimmering, pressurized mist that didn't just burn skin—it sucked the oxygen right out of the
