in the left elbow. She stumbled back and for a moment there was empty air beneath her, before her flailing hand caught hold of the safety cable again. She dangled from the rafters, her right hand on the cable, one knee looped over the thick bars.
She exhaled in relief.
The Sentinel was not so lucky. The projectile struck him square in the chest, magnetizing itself to his suit, before releasing a powerful electroshock. Nova, dazed from her own hit, barely registered his yelp of pain. Then he was falling.
She heard the impact as he landed on the field below, along with startled cries from those around him.
Nova grunted. Her left arm had gone numb from the blast. She cursed, sweat beading on her neck as she struggled to haul herself up one-handed.
“That jerk,” she muttered, with a few curses, before she finally had both knees securely planted on the truss again. A quick survey of the scene below showed her the Sentinel’s prone body splayed out on the ground. She wondered briefly if the shock had killed him. She hadn’t had time to test its effectiveness.
No matter. It was clear that she had lost the element of surprise. Multiple sets of eyes turned her way. Thunderbird’s burning glare fixed on Nova. She prepared to launch herself into the air, a lightning bolt crackling in her fist, when Cyanide appeared from the fog and jabbed something into her back. Thunderbird howled in pain and swiveled to face him. Within seconds, the bolt in her hand sputtered, flashing brightly, just once, before dissolving in the air.
She dove at Cyanide with all the fury of an enraged thunderstorm.
Nova tore her attention away, searching for Ace. No longer standing stoically beside the platform, he had slumped to his knees, his head bowed and one hand clutching his heart. Debris was scattered around his feet in a perfect circle, and Nova could tell he’d been using what little ability he still had to protect himself from flying objects and shrapnel.
His powers were enough, just enough, to keep him safe amid the carnage. But his strength wouldn’t last. She could only guess at what it had cost him to deflect whatever weapons and projectiles had been flung his way since the onset of the battle.
It was only a matter of time before he was targeted, despite his frailness and the shackles.
Nova had hoped to lower herself as close to him as possible, but as she considered the trusses stretching out before her, she knew it would take her too long to traverse the rest of the way with her injured arm. She’d be faster on her feet, even if there were more obstacles below.
Adjusting the backpack, she fumbled for the clip at her belt and hooked it around the safety cable. Her lips contorted as she measured the distance. She’d never rappelled one-handed before and she didn’t relish the opportunity to try it now.
Opening a pouch on her tool belt, she wriggled out one of her gloves and used her teeth to pull it onto her hand. She shook loose the nylon rope, watching it cascade to the ground, then secured her ankles around it. Her hand took hold, she sucked in a deep breath, and dropped.
The rope hissed between her boots. Despite the protective glove, she could feel the friction burning hot in her palm. Her left arm began to tingle.
A few seconds later, she let go, landing in a crouch in the midst of a battlefield. She peeled off the glove and shoved it back into the pouch, then started in Ace’s direction. She weaved through the melees and wrestling matches, the glinting weapons and projectiles and blasts and screams. She saw Locksmith moving down the line of prisoners as sneakily as he could, undoing their shackles one by one. She saw Leroy pinned to the ground by a dark-haired woman who was trying her best to strangle him, even while he pressed his acid-oozing fingers into her face. His expression was wild and manic, almost as if he was enjoying the brawl, and it occurred to Nova with a shock of surprise that it was Thunderbird who had him by the throat. Thunderbird … without wings.
He had neutralized a member of the Council.
A whip lashed around Nova’s ankle, yanking her to the ground. She grunted from the impact. A second later she was being dragged through the dirt. She flipped onto her back, facing the Renegade—Whiplash—with a snarl. She snatched a throwing star from