He vaulted over the coffin’s rim, only to feel a rush of horror as his feet met nothing. He fell, but only for a second before he crashed into a heap. Armored men fell around him, torches pinwheeling as they were knocked askew.

A stairway lay in front of him, carved into the very rock itself. The coffin had not been empty after all.

“Action prohibited. Individuals are not remnants. They do not originate from Earth,” the Codex intoned, descending from the opening above.

Cade staggered to his feet, backing away as more legionaries scrambled down the steps, pushing into the antechamber he had fallen into, massing at the stairs’ bottom.

Already, Quintus was shoving men into line. Atticus stood behind them, his torch held aloft, as they stared into the gloom above.

They could hear the rush of feet and the echoing battle cries of men coming to kill. Cade, still dazed, pulled his blade free, looking in dizzy confusion at the room they were defending.

It was no bigger than a tennis court, with another coffin at its center. This one was far smaller, but Cade’s eyes were drawn elsewhere. Rather, he was staring at the crumpled figures scattered about the room. Four of them, wearing dark clothing, in stark contrast to the yellow-white skulls atop their bodies.

And then he saw it. A pistol. It was holstered at the nearest body’s hip. And beside it, tucked into a tight pocket loop … was a grenade.

Cade did not hesitate. He stumbled to the corpse’s side and yanked both free, turning as the first slavers vaulted down the steps.

He lifted the gun, pulled the trigger, and cursed as it did not fire. More men filled the stairway with axes lifted, preparing to charge.

Cade yanked the pin from the grenade and hurled it over the legionaries’ heads. It was a poor throw, one that bounced off the wall before disappearing behind the advancing men.

One second passed.

Two seconds.

Boom.

CHAPTER

47

Dust billowed in the wake of the thunderclap, pulverized rock pelting Cade’s face before the cloud of white blinded him.

Rocks rumbled, and men screamed in agony, fear, and shock. There was the crash and crack of stone upon stone. Then … silence.

Torches glowed sickly orange in the light, fallen from nerveless fingers and sputtering on the ground. Men groaned, coughing dust from their lungs.

Cade had fallen, though he did not remember doing so, and blood filled his mouth with its metallic taste where his face had hit the floor.

He struggled to his knees, watching dazed figures wander the room, zombielike in their movements. His ears rang, a constant whine and static like a TV with a bad signal.

His hand found his blade, and he crawled to the stairwell, ready to fight the men who would soon follow. But he found only rubble, the stairs hardly visible beneath the mass of rock.

The ceiling had collapsed entirely, and the high walls on either side of the stairs had caved in.