Chapter 8 - The Falling Spark
The heavy steel wrench struck Julian squarely on the collarbone with a sickening, hollow crack. Julian wailed in agony, his shoulder collapsing as his arm went limp. The marine flare slipped from his fingers, tumbling through the air in a spinning trail of brilliant crimson fire.
Victor moved with a burst of explosive power. He lunged across the concrete floor, diving shoulder-first across the slick grating, his palms catching the sizzling metal casing just three inches above the fuel-soaked drain.
The phosphorus burned instantly through the flesh of Victor’s left palm, filling the enclosed room with the harsh stench of scorched skin. Victor clenched his jaw, not allowing a single sound to escape his lips. With his right hand, he jammed the glowing tip into an industrial bucket of sand bolted beside the ladder, smothering the flame until only a thin wisp of grey smoke hissed into the dark.
Up on the gantry, Julian lay whimpering, clutching his shattered shoulder against the iron railing. ""My arm... you broke my arm...""
Victor rose slowly to his feet. He looked down at his left palm; the skin was blackened and blistered, the Vance family signet ring scorched deep into the flesh of his ring finger. He didn't even look at the wound. He began climbing the metal stairs, his boots clanging rhythmically against the steel treads.
Julian scrambled backward along the gantry, dragging his useless arm, but hit the dead end of the safety railing. He looked up, sobbing, as Victor’s towering shadow engulfed him.
""Please, Victor,"" Julian begged, tears carving pale tracks through the soot on his face. ""Send me to prison. Call the feds. I’ll plead guilty to everything. Just don't kill me.""
Victor stopped two paces away. He looked down at the man who had slept under his roof, eaten at his table, and plotted to slaughter his bloodline.
""Prison is for citizens, Julian,"" Victor said, his voice dropping to a gravelly, terrifying whisper. ""You gave up your citizenship the moment you walked into that hospital room with a hitman.""
Victor reached down, grabbed Julian by his bloody lapels with his uninjured right hand, and hoisted him effortlessly over the four-foot safety rail, dangling him over the open machinery pits below.
""Victor! No! Please!"" Julian screamed, his legs kicking wildly in the empty air.
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""You wanted to see what happens when the foundation breaks?"" Victor murmured. ""Look down.""
From the shadows of the floor below, three men in unmarked black tactical uniforms stepped forward. At their head stood Marcus, holding a satellite phone displaying a live video feed of an isolated private airfield in northern Maine.
