False Gods | The Prime Archives #3 ✓

nineteen

Atlas had found them.

Oscar couldn't help but think Father Vincent or one of the other nuns gave him up. At the moment, it didn't matter who snitched. He needed to find Xiomara and get the hell out of there.

The church was in a frenzy, though. Finding the girl wasn't going to be easy.

Bullets whizzed by his head, cracking the wood pillar holding up the ceiling above him. Cursing loudly, he dove behind a wall and covered his head. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he squeezed his eyes shut. Short and choppy breaths left his lips as he urged himself to calm down.

He wasn't good to anyone if he was panicking.

Once his breathing steadied and his brain slowed down, he took a peek around the wall.

Atlas agents were pouring into the church, their weapons raised. Their flashlight and laser dot attachments were activated, filling the lobby with lights like a disco club. He hadn't seen any Jaegers.

That was a positive. Regular Atlas agents wouldn't be a match for him.

But fighting them in an enclosed space like the church wasn't ideal. Any attack of his that didn't hit its mark could risk sending the entire structure up in flames. Most of it was made out of wood—as it had been built decades ago.

He was going to have to be careful.

His hand fished into his pocket for his silver lighter. The cool metal soothed his frazzled nerves as he ran his thumb along the initials engraved into the metal. Releasing a deep, steadying breath, he nodded to himself.

Game time.

Rolling on his shoulder, he sprung out from behind the wall and into the open. About four Atlas agents were in his direct vicinity.

"Target found!" one of them shouted.

Another round of bullets was aimed his way. He conjured up a wave of fire, reducing the shells into subatomic particles of lead. Before they could shoot again, he dove behind a pew. Bullets thudded into the wood, splintering off in a million directions.

Gritting his teeth, Oscar held his position and waited for them to run out of ammo.

The shots continued ringing throughout the air for a few more seconds. Then they stopped, quickly being replaced by faint clicking noises.

He grinned.

Springing up from his hiding place, he launched two fireballs at the agents to his left and right. They both slammed into their chests and sent them flying across the nave of the church. The remaining two agents removed the electrified nightsticks from the holsters attached to their waists. The weapons crackled in the air, buzzing like live wires.

They approached him methodically, circling like sharks as they attempted to flank him. They had closed off both sides of the pew and were closing in on him fast.

He let them get close.

One of the agents swung their baton at him, narrowly missing his head. Sidestepping the strike, he coated his fist with red-hot flames and punched them in their helmet. Their visor cracked as they dropped to the ground.

The other agent unleashed a guttural battle cry as they rushed him. Oscar gulped. Their charged nightstick struck him in the back. Shocks raced up his spine. He cried out, his entire body going limp for a split second.

He toppled over the pew before landing on the ground between another row of seats. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as he laid there. The inside of his mouth tasted like burnt toast.