“Sorry,” Astrid whispered. “I’m so very sorry, Petey.”

Drake was at the door to the room. “No!” he cried again as she heaved her brother toward the sea of insects.

“Get him!” Drake cried.

He pushed past Astrid to the window as Little Pete fell.

“Don’t hurt—,” Drake shouted. His words were cut off by a weak but well-aimed punch from Astrid.

Little Pete almost hit the ground. He stopped inches from impact.

His eyes opened wide. He stared into a dozen eerie blue eyes.

“Don’t hurt him!” Drake cried. “The Darkness needs him!”

But it was too late. The bugs surged toward Little Pete. Their tongues snapped. Their mouthparts gnashed.

There was no explosion.

No flash of light.

The bugs simply disappeared.

There. Then gone.

Little Pete sank to the ground. He coughed once, with incredible violence. And then he, too, simply disappeared.

[...]

Caine walked stiffly back to town. He was burned, scraped, punctured, bruised, and might, he thought, have broken a couple of ribs.

But he had won.

The only downside—aside from the various pains that made him wince with every step—was that he hadn’t done it alone. Brianna had scored an assist. He couldn’t stand her, but man, was she good in a fight.

And some unseen, unknowable force had caused the bugs the two of them had just killed to disappear. Even their broken-off legs, their fluids and guts had disappeared.

Like they’d been wiped entirely out of existence.

Plague, Chapter 42