Infinity Reaper (Infinity Cycle 2)

“And I third it,”

I say. “We’re all on the same page.”

We divide and conquer. Emil is in charge of phoenix research, Prudencia is looking into ghosts, and I’m on hydra duty. I’m tempted to get my phone back so I can get a selfie out there and tease my big news. But I focus for an hour straight. This reminds me of my study groups before finals, except this time the world will be grading us on how well we manage to save everyone while not causing more harm.

Once Emil finishes his tofu salad, he shares his findings on century phoenixes, beginning with the basics about how they’re rare because they only spawn every hundred years; we already knew that. He couldn’t find any record of any other specter with that breed’s power, which will make me stand out. But ultimately the problem with all phoenix specters is no one has ever come back as themselves. There’s always new identities, and in Emil’s case, he doesn’t even have the memories of his past life. Luna claimed the Reaper’s Blood would heighten those powers to operate properly, between the purity of the creatures and the Crowned Dreamer elevating the gleam, but this has remained unproven.

“I found this on the Halo Knights’ website: ‘Century phoenixes are restless, war-hungry fighters with survival instincts so fierce they will kill anyone who threatens their lives because they don’t want to be away from the world for another hundred years.’ That’s just . . .” Emil runs his hand through his hair, and his eyes glaze. “I felt Gravesend’s cries when she hatched and I could tell she was ready for a fight, but I can’t imagine her becoming a killer.”

“The wilds are different,” I say.

Prudencia is writing in Bautista’s journal. “What I’m more concerned about is if your instincts will be affected by the powers. We’ll monitor your behaviors, but you have to tell us if you feel—”

“Murdery?” I mime cutting someone’s throat. Emil shakes his head and Prudencia looks away. “I’m kidding.”

But they don’t say anything. They’re already treating me like I’ve wiped out an entire city. I keep reminding myself that I’m going to prove everyone wrong. I’m the right hero for this war.

Prudencia almost throws her phone because she’s frustrated with the lack of information on specters with ghost blood, even coming up empty in some more taboo corners of the internet. We didn’t know those specters existed until last month and the rest of the world hasn’t caught on yet either. The only information Prudencia finds are people’s accounts of being haunted, which doesn’t do anything for us. It’s a shame that I can’t call up Orton, who died in his own phoenix flames, or invite June to an exclusive Ghost Specter of New York feature for my series.

The Global Hydrus Society has a wealth of information on hydras; I should’ve turned to them sooner instead of random articles. There’s a video of a golden-strand hydra running across a beach, occasionally bursting into swift-speed, which Wesley will help me master later, but when the hydra runs through the palm trees she blends in—damn near perfectly. The Hydrus employee explains what’s happening and I almost lose my head.

“So golden-strands live on tropical beaches,” I say, so excited that I cut off Emil as he tries telling us about the diet of century phoenixes. “And they can apparently camouflage themselves against the sand, trees, and ocean. That’s an extra power I wasn’t expecting!”

“So it’s geared toward nature?” Prudencia asks.

“I don’t know, but powers work differently between creatures and humans anyway. I’m not seeing anything about golden-strands being able to regrow their limbs, only their heads, and I got my arm back obviously,” I say, admiring my handiwork. “Since I can’t walk through walls without the ghost power maybe I can still sneak up on the Blood Casters with this new power.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Emil says.

He’s not the only hero anymore and he’s going to have to get used to it.

Knowing what I know now about the camouflaging, it’s especially heroic how I prevented Luna from drinking the Reaper’s Blood. She would’ve been more than unkillable; she would’ve been lethal. I can picture Luna fading into the homes of her enemies, cloaking herself to gather intel, and incinerating them before leaving. That’s only one dangerous combination she could’ve used with all of those powers.

Once I’m caught up on everything about golden-strands, I click around the site and find links about known hydra specters. Dione is listed with a picture of her captured from a surveillance camera. Her blood comes from a hillkiller and that breed is apparently known for living in forests and multiplying their heads in minutes. I switch over to the profile of a man, Lucas Samford, who has the blood of a rockborn hydra. Rockborns are the toughest to decapitate with their boulder-like exteriors, but once successful, they need weeks before they can grow another head. It took enforcers hours before they decapitated Lucas and burned his body in phoenix fire.

I go through several of these pages before landing on the history of a specter who called himself the Blood Beast. He was among the first wave of Blood Casters, back in the glory days when Bautista was an idolized hero for fighting against them. The Blood Beast had the essence from the death-throated hydra, notoriously the most vicious breed, and in his three months of having powers he had a high body count. An anonymous acolyte got his hands on Luna’s journals, tempted to infuse himself with the death-throated powers to become as dangerous, but the trials the Blood Beast had gone through proved so demanding, like eating rotten raw meat for every meal, that the acolyte ultimately gave up on the dream of becoming a specter and published the findings online to inspire others to do the same.

The Blood Beast didn’t live long. There’s a video of his death with a warning for sensitive material. I put on my earphones and press play. It’s gory. The Blood Beast is dashing around with six legs, six arms, and three heads. He annihilates enforcers who were relatively new at the time and smaller in numbers. But eventually, just like when Orton burned out, the Blood Beast must’ve pushed himself too hard and all his body parts fall off him until he’s nothing but a chest surrounded by heads and arms and legs. He looks like a life-sized doll waiting for someone to assemble him.

If I push myself this far, would I die?

There’s a blur and wind and I jump when Wesley taps my shoulder. “What are you watching?”

I slam down the laptop. “Uh . . .”

“You watching porn while your brother and girlfriend work?” Wesley asks.

“Not his girlfriend,” Prudencia singsongs as she smiles my way.

“And not porn,” I add. “It’s just a screwed-up video of a specter who pushed his limits.” They don’t seem convinced but I know Emil and Prudencia well enough that they would hate watching that. “Wesley, we good to train?”

Wesley smirks and dashes out of the house and down toward the beach.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Break time!”

“It’s not a break. You’re about to work some more,” Emil says.

“What’s work for you is fun for me.”