The world outside the inner sanctum was a nightmare of ash, screaming steel, and thick purple fog.
While the strike team fought the deep rot inside the temple, the outside had turned into a desperate fight for survival. The remaining candidates weren't fighting for points anymore. They were fighting to take another breath.
The air was thick with the smell of burned flesh, ozone, and the sharp, copper taste of blood.
Riven Ashford stepped in front of a tall, many-limbed monster crawling out of the mist. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ground together. A vein bulged in his temple against his pale skin. He hated this. He hated every second of it.
When are they going to kill in there? Riven thought, his mind a storm of irritation and tiredness. Why aren't they doing it faster? What is taking those bastards so long?
From his very childhood, Riven had loathed taking commands.
