Page 15

Run

Sinrik stilled, the moment Beth finished speaking.

He angled his ear, listening, focusing his senses on the air, right as the stone beneath his feet lightly vibrated.

Beth looked at him and the sight of her fear sent a wave of panic through him right as a tremor rocked the room. “What is that?” Sinrik demanded to the Kings.

They all exchanged frantic glances, looking up and around.

The room jolted and Sinrik lunged for Beth. He scooped her up and cradled her in his arms, running for the exit. Before he cleared it, another tremor hit, the stone groaning and torches flickering. Everybody ran for the main doors even the Keepers.

Nexus slammed his hand into the external control panel at the stone slab as relics and statues toppled around them. “The gears jammed,” he yelled.

Volken hurried to the door. “Push!”

Sinrik set Beth on her feet. “Don’t move!”

He ran to the doors, slamming his weight against the frozen stone with the rest of the Kings and apprentices, every ounce of strength thrown into the slabs.

The floor beneath their feet shuddered and they pushed harder. The doors shifted a couple inches allowing ice cold wind to scream through the gap.

“More,” Sinrik yelled.

They pressed forward, getting a grinding, metallic groan. Another inch. Then another.

A sudden jolt hit the mountain, widening the crack in the door and dropping the floor beneath their feet.

Sinrik’s heart stopped at Beth’s scream. He spun and ran to her, pulling her to the opening now a foot higher.

“Go!” Nexus ordered, helping everybody pass through.

The second he cleared the door with her, he lifted her in his arms again, hurrying to the bridge at the end of the tapered tunnel.

The cold hit like a war hammer at the bridge, wind roaring across the cliffs, brutal cold burning right through their clothes.

Beth gasped against his chest, and he fought to pull her closer as he navigated the ice-coated stone bridge. Everybody ran across, slipping and stumbling as they went while Sinrik pushed into the force of the wind, crushing Beth against him as the bridge trembled.

Don’t you fucking break.

They finally reached the other side and continued to run. Several hundred feet later, they finally stopped and turned. Snow and dust swirled around the trembling pillars as fractures widened across the carved walls.

A deep, boom rocked the air, splitting the mountain. “Holy fuck,” Sinrik marveled watching the stronghold slowly sink. The front pillars crumbled, the walls caved inward then folded into itself. The bridge was the last to get devoured as a thunderous roar filled the air. And then it was gone. The entire mountain, gone from the surface of the desert.

The wind howled through the sudden emptiness as Beth’s body trembled violently against him. He turned, searching for the black jet in the whipping white air. His panic hit as he turned around.

“There!” an apprentice yelled.

Sinrik spun, catching sight of a dark spot and hurried with her toward it with the rest of them. They finally made it to the black hull, and he adjusted Beth in his arms, his limbs aching from the cold. His breath came fast, misting in the frozen air as he reached the entry panel.

He pressed his wristband against the scanner. Fuck. The cold had locked the system.

Teeth clenched, he yanked his coat sleeve back, exposing the thin metal band embedded beneath his skin. He tapped it twice. A sharp pulse vibrated against his wrist, bringing flickering lights and engines whining before giving way to a deep, shuddering thrum as all systems engaged.

The hatch unsealed and Sinrik moved first, stepping onto the ramp, carrying Beth inside. The air inside was warmer, but not by much.

Once they were piled in, he shut the door. “I need to get her warm,” he said, pushing through toward the private cabin. “I can only carry twelve,” he announced, as he went. “I’ll call my Riftborn to come for whoever remains. Are there caves nearby that would serve as shelter till they arrive?”

“The Black Throat Caves,” one of the Rift Monks said. “Deep enough to trap heat. Two miles east of here.”

“Good,” he hurried, as the panel door slid open with a hiss and he hurried into the small room. The air was warmer. Not by much. He lowered Beth onto the narrow bed, assessing her condition. She barely reacted and her body wasn’t shivering as much. Not good.

He moved fast, stripping off her frozen outer layers—coat first, then boots. Her clothes beneath seemed dry. She whimpered softly as the blankets covered her, barely shifting under them. Fear crawled up his spine and he tore his own jacket off. His boots. His shirt. The cold air bit into his skin as he climbed in beside her and pulled her against him.

Beth barely moved as he sealed his body against hers, skin to skin, heat sinking into frozen limbs. He fought to get the covers around both of them tightly as her bare shoulders trembled against his chest. Her arms curled into her body tightly, her fingers barely twitching. Fuck, her legs were ice, tangled awkwardly with his.

She was so damn cold. And too small. Like he could crush her just by holding too tight.

His arms wrapped around her completely, one hand on the curve of her belly, the other over her arms pressed into her chest, his body flush against her back.

He moved his hands quickly over her legs then arms, trying to force warmth back into her body.

She made a soft sound—not a word, just a breath.

His jaw clenched with the wrong needs. Not the fucking time.

His body didn’t care.

She shifted slightly, her back arching just enough to press closer with a violent shiver.

“I got you,” he whispered, as heat curled low in his stomach, a sharp contrast to the cold. Sinrik swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. She needed warmth. That was all. That was the only reason he was wrapped around her like she belonged to him.

Her voice from earlier slipped through his head, unwelcome, too raw:

“I think love is sacrifice. Love is choosing something or someone even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts. It’s giving everything, even if you don’t get anything back.”

His fingers dug into her hip and she sighed softly, pressing her face into his arm.

His pulse roared.

She shook and shifted again, one leg slipping between his.

His entire body went tight. Fucking hell. He squeezed his eyes shut, his forehead pressing against the back of her neck.

She was finally warming up.

But he was gone.

And he was never coming back.

****

Before Spook could make it with Maggie through the front door, his phone alarm went off, along with his panic. He’d just ignored five texts and whoever it was had an emergency. He dropped everything near the entry and pulled his phone from his pocket, fingers trembling as he hit the group line. “What’s happening?”

“Something’s wrong with Eveque,” 8-Bit hurried. “I tried to reach you.”

“What? I was just there!”

Spook grabbed Maggie’s hand, pulling her with him.

She yanked from his grip. “You go,” she ordered. “I’ll find you!”

Spook took off with the phone on his ear. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, I’m patched into his monitor feeds and they’re all going off. I got no answer from anybody!”

“I’m almost there. Fuck,” he gasped, dread making him numb. “What are the monitors saying? Can you see?”

“Something about it not having enough of something critical or he’s in critical danger, I don’t fucking know.”

He made it to the final hallway, the alarms blaring as he raced in finding Harlow and Quantum moving fast between the monitors. “What’s happening!” he demanded.

“He’s gonna crash bruh,” Harlow warned Quantum, indirectly answering him.

“We don’t have these fucking materials!” Quantum yelled back at him.

“Wait!” Harlow shot out. “It’s giving alternative synthesis!”

Quantum hurried back to Harlow, looking at the screen as the Neuromancer’s lights pulsed rapidly. Harlow frowned. “Is that a new formula?”

Quantum’s gaze remained fixed on the data. “Input it,” he ordered. “Carbon from our reserves combined with those exact amounts of silicon deposits.”

Harlow keyed in the command. “Where is this stuff coming from?” he cried, incredulous.

“From him. The machine is tapping into his new biology, giving it creative workarounds via its adaptive evolution. Don’t have this, then use that. Don’t have that, then create it. Don’t know how? Here’s the formula.”

“Is he okay?” Spook dared as the machine whirred, its lights steady.

Harlow answered with a slow shake of his head, eyes wide on the screen. “Not until these alarms shut the fuck up,” he said. “We got another request. Crystalline lattice structure for bioceramic reinforcement. What the hell is he making?”

Quantum barely shook his head, lifting his golden gaze. “This is high-density material, designed to handle extreme force.”

“No shit,” Harlow said, eyes moving quickly from one monitor to the other as he typed. “No reserves on hand,” Harlow warned, shaking his head, pacing before the monitor.

The Neuromancer’s lights pulsed again, and Harlow jumped back to the keyboard. “We got our workaround,” he called, typing quickly. “Calcium oxide, silicon carbide, plasma base.”

Spook looked at Quantum now, his expression perplexed. “It’s not simply adapting to available resources, it’s synthesizing compounds to suit a very specific blueprint.” He stepped over, fingers flying over the screen next to Harlow’s. “It’s not just repairing, it’s rebuilding him to accommodate a specific objective.”

Harlow didn’t take his eyes from the screen. “And what is that objective?”

Spook’s pulse sped up at the hard look of awe Quantum leveled on Harlow. “Take a wild guess.”

“One very mean motherfucker?” Harlow let out a low giggle, shaking his head. “I understood his adaptive evolution on a theoretical level, but… seeing it guide the Neuromancer’s own calculations?” He grinned right at Spook now. “Ball-tingles.”

Another alert flashed on the monitor, demanding their attention. “Plasma-infused calcium for unbreakable bone density,” Harlow shrilled, his whole face locked in shock. “Bruh, we don’t have anything close to that.”

“And now we do,” Quantum muttered, pointing at the screen. “Magnesium, ion-bonded graphene, and synthetic plasma,” he said in quiet astonishment. “Of course.”

The monitors suddenly blared, the shrill noise jerking all heads to the vitals screen where Bishop’s hear beat was now a flat line. “Fuck!” Harlow yelled, grabbing his head while looking from one screen to the other.

Spook focused on Quantum’s tight, unfaltering expression on the controls. “The Neuromancer is forcing a cellular shutdown,” he announced.

“Do what?” Harlow cried.

“Just like with Kaphas,” he announced. “Only faster.”

“How much faster?”

Quantum straightened from the computer looking like a doctor who had done all he could. “One hour.”

“What the fuck is going on,” Spook called, trying not to lose his shit.

Quantum looked up at him, as if just realizing he was there. “This method is designed to push his cells to their limit, recalibrate, then reboot. Every phase will require a full reset. Bishop’s adaptive evolution can’t advance without these shutdowns. We call it the rapid regeneration protocol.”

Spook’s knees weakened, while the fucking heart monitor blared dead .

“He’ll come back,” Harlow said forcefully as Spook paced, not missing the huge should he’d left out. His phone buzzed in his hand, and he answered without even looking, numb with shock as his eyes never left that constant, flat green line on the screen.

“We’re all on our way, brother. I heard everything. Hold tight.”

Harlow strangled the console with both hands, his eyes locked on the wall clock on his right. “One minute,” he announced, shaking his head, pacing before his station now, eyes moving from the clock to the monitors. “This is some kind of edging, bruh.” He looked at Spook now, his frazzled, nearly crazy appearance telling just how long they’d been at it. “Your Bishop’s got some kind of—” A bleep lit up the screen, bringing three collective gasps and a buckle to Spook’s knees.

“That’s it, buddy,” Harlow encouraged, holding his head while eyeballing several monitors like a man on a ledge. He suddenly let out a gasp and braced the edge of the station with both hands, head hanging, whispering, “Vitals restored.”

Spook was no better off, hands on his knees, barely catching his shit. He finally straightened and scrubbed both hands over his face, making his way back to them. “So, he’s okay now? Does this mean he’ll wake up sooner?”

Spook eyed Quantum who took a deep breath, golden gaze on the monitor before him.

“What’s wrong?”

“According to his upgraded biogenetic blueprint…” He shook his head. “He’s not done resetting.”

Spook stared at him, then watched Harlow step over to his station, looking at the readout. He let out a single breath of, “What the fuck ?”

“Now what?” Spook demanded, sick of being the last person to know. “He’s not done, what does that mean? He has to die again?”

Quantum aimed his stare at the monitor while Harlow paced, while holding his head. “Yes, he has to die again. Five more times. Every hour.”

Shock had Spook immobile for nearly a full minute before he finally asked. “Why? Why is this happening?”

Harlow made his way to the far wall and began throwing a tennis ball at it. “Good fucking question,” he called, winding up and fast pitching the ball at the wall and catching it. “What the fuck does he know that we don’t?” he wondered with another throw.

****

Fetch looked around at the empty city park. A few scattered tents remained, their fabric flapping against a wind that seemed to only exist within a perimeter. Streetlights flickered unnaturally, their glow struggling against a strange atmospheric pressure that pressed down on the scene. The air smelled sharp—like static before a lightning strike, but there had been no storms in the forecast.

Fathom, and Fin stood next to him, eyes locked on the unnatural figure before them. A human form, twisted into hardened matter, veins of black threading through the structure like a corruption frozen mid-spread.

Fetch reached out, brushing his fingers over the surface. The material was rough but brittle, flaking under his touch. A fine layer of grit crumbled between his fingertips. He rubbed it, testing the texture. It broke down easily, dissolving slightly at the moisture on his skin, leaving a distinct dry, sharp residue. The taste in the air—faint but unmistakable—confirmed it.

“Salt,” he said. “Not pure. Something else in it.”

Fathom crouched for a closer look, his electric field extending slightly as he ran a gloved hand over the hardened exterior. “No natural weathering. This was shaped deliberately. Etched.”

Fetch stood back and pressed his fingers to his temple. His electromagnetic field synced with the small drone near his shoulder, sending a live feed, back to Bart. “You getting this?”

Bart’s voice came through the encrypted comm. “Yeah, seein’ it clear. Y’all ever seen somethin’ like this before?”

“No,” Fetch answered simply.

“No burn marks, no real external trauma,” Fathom noted. “But—” He pointed to the forehead of the figure. Just above the brow, a circular mark, barely darker than the salt itself, sat like a brand. “Point of contact. Whatever did this? It started here.”

Bart exhaled. “Means it wasn’t random. Someone did this on purpose.”

Fetch scanned the area, eyes moving over the abandoned tents and empty fire pits. The park was eerily vacant, but it had been occupied recently—too recently for the place to feel this deserted. His gaze landed on a figure slumped under a streetlamp, whiskey bottle clutched loosely in one hand. An old man, huddled there, muttering to himself. His eyes were unfocused, his lips moving in quiet conversation with someone who wasn’t there.

Fetch approached, crouching beside him. “You saw what happened.”

The man gave a wheezing chuckle, lifting the bottle in a mock toast. “Saw it all, boy.”

Fetch nodded. “Tell me.”

The drunk squinted, lips working around words his brain hadn’t fully decided on yet. “A man—naw, more like...nothin’. Ain’t nobody saw him. He walk’d up, all quiet-like, while ever’body was talkin’, standin’ ‘round the fire. Look like he just stroll’d up, all easy.” He took another swig, then smacked his lips. “But nobody paid no mind. Nobody but me.”

Fathom narrowed his eyes. “And what’d he do?”

The old man’s voice dropped, turning conspiratorial. “Put his hand righ’ ‘ere—” He tapped his forehead clumsily, mirroring the mark on the salt figure. “Like he was blessin’ him or somethin’. But then...” He shuddered, his slur thickening as his nerves got the better of him. “Then that fella, he lit up, like...like he swallowed lightnin’. From the inside. Bright—like the damn sun, but white, white like it wasn’t real. Folks saw that part. Ever’body turned ‘round then. But by then it was too late. Man was...like that.” He pointed a shaking finger at the crystallized form.

Fetch and Fathom exchanged a look. Fin spoke first. “Nobody saw the killer?”

The old man hiccupped. “Nothin’. Jus’...gone. Like he wasn’t never there.”

Bart’s voice cut back in, more serious now. “Y’all better get some samples. This ain’t somethin’ we ignore.”

Fetch flexed his fingers. “Agreed.”

Fathom stood, brushing the salt dust off his gloves. “One person did this.”

Fetch turned back to the figure, watching as the unnatural weather still hung just at the edge of perception, reality fighting against whatever force had carved this man into stone. He exhaled slowly. “How’d that drunk see it when no one else did?”

Fathom crossed his arms. “Either he was looking at the right place at the right time, has sharper instincts than the rest, or something let him see it.”

“Or there’s more to the drunk than we think,” Fin finished. He glanced back toward the old man, who was now humming to himself, lost in whatever haze kept him tethered to the moment.