United as One (Lorien Legacies #7)(57)

“Easy, it’s just me,” John says.

John strides into the room, BK and Dust right on his heels looking monstrous. The two Chim?rae stand guard at the door, teeth bared, ready in case any Mogs followed John through the ship. John’s breathing pretty heavily, and he’s literally smoking. His shirt has caught on fire in places, and there are blaster burns on his shoulders, arms, chest and legs. He doesn’t even seem to notice. Adam and I exchange a look.

“John, are you—?” I shake my head, feeling like it’s moronic to ask if he’s okay. “You’re hurt.”

John pauses in front of the rack of Mogadorian weaponry. He looks down at himself, like he hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh yeah,” he says. He starts running his hands over the wounds he can see on his arms, using his healing Legacy to mend them, then pauses. He squints for a moment, and the injuries across his body all simultaneously begin to close.

“Whoa, that’s new,” I say.

“Yeah,” John replies, looking a little surprised himself. There’s a distance in his eyes, like he’s still coming down from the adrenaline of the battle. “Everything seems . . . easier since I began really using my Ximic.”

Adam creeps over to the door to check the hallway. He makes a point of scratching behind Dust’s ears when he does, which makes a sandpaper noise thanks to Dust’s bestial form. Dust’s massive tail thumps on the metal floor.

“Easier,” Adam repeats, noting John’s condition. “Did you . . . did you already kill them all?”

John crouches down in front of the weapons rack. He shoves aside blasters and battery packs, searching for something.

“No. There are a lot of them,” he says simply. “I’m regrouping. So are they. They won’t survive another round.”

“What’re you looking for?” I ask.

“Grenades or anything explosive,” he says. “Something I can throw at them.”

“There’s some fuel cans there,” I point out.

John looks over at the tanks used to refill the Skimmers. He hoists one with his telekinesis. “That’s perfect. I think.” He glances at Adam. “The ship can sustain one of these exploding, right?”

Adam purses his lips. “Probably. I wouldn’t want to fly it into outer space afterwards, but it should handle Earth’s atmosphere fine.”

“Great,” John replies. He looks over at the box filled with cloaking devices. “You guys doing good?”

“Almost finished,” I say.

Just then Dust lets out a low growl, and Adam ducks out of the doorway. BK arches his back and gets low, ready to pounce. From where I’m standing, I can hear the airlock door just outside the docking bay open.

“Got some coming in,” Adam whispers.

“They think I’m hurt,” John says, and rolls his eyes. “Figured they’d send a few to get the drop on me.”

John strides right into the doorway and, a second later when it opens, unleashes a beam of rippling silver energy from his eyes. I run to his side in time to see a dozen or so Mogs with blasters, all of them now turned to stone, crowding the hallway outside the door. John raises his hand, and the air gets cold. A barrage of railroad-spike-sized icicles fly from his palm, disintegrating the stone Mogadorians.

“You learned that one too, huh?”

“Some Legacies are clicking into place easier than others.”

With the Mogs dispatched, John turns to me. It’s like he just swatted a fly.

“I’m about to take the bridge,” he says. “I could use your help.”

Moments later, we’re following John through the segmented halls of the warship. It looks like a war zone in here. I have to cover my mouth and nose with the crook of my arm on account of how much Mogadorian ash is in the air, not to mention the acrid black smoke that pours from one section where it looks like an inferno erupted.

“You did all this?” I ask.

John nods. He brought one of the fuel tanks with him, carrying it along with his telekinesis.

“What do you need that for?” I ask, nodding to the tank. “Seems like your Lumen was working pretty well.”

He flexes his hands in answer. I notice that his skin is bright pink, like he just soaked his hands in hot water. Apparently, that didn’t heal with the rest of his wounds.

“Might have overdone it with the fire,” John says thoughtfully. “Fried some nerve endings or something.”

“So I guess you still have some limits.”

“Apparently.” John frowns at the thought. “Anyway, there’s a bunch of them barricaded in front of the bridge. It’s a bottleneck. I went toe-to-toe with them for as long as I could. Decided I needed to get creative.”

“Kill smarter, not harder,” I say dryly.

It’s just a short walk through more debris and carnage to the hallway that leads to the bridge. John stops us short with a raised hand, not letting us go around the corner.

“Figure they’re shooting anything that moves at this point,” John says.

“Logical strategy,” Adam replies.

John turns his gaze towards the fuel tank, and the air in the passageway gets cold. Slowly, a shell of ice begins to form around the metallic keg until the canister isn’t even visible anymore. When the frozen wrecking ball is complete, John forms sharp icicles across its surface. Some of these crack and break off, and John has to redo the work.