Brynn’s voice sharpened in his ear.“Peter.Weapon team incoming.”
Peter tightened his stance, prepared for the worst.He pivoted just enough to put his body between the Dioscuri and the nearest crowd cluster.The variant recovered fast, slamming a fist toward Peter’s jaw with enough force to pulp concrete.Peter met the strike head-on, catching the wrist midair.The resulting shockwave rippled out in a low boom that knocked dust from the store’s collapsing façade.
“Come on,” Peter murmured, tightening his grip.“Let’s settle this.”
The Dioscuri snarled, muscles rippling with that eerie Protogenus luminance as he twisted, trying to drive a knee into Peter’s ribs.Peter shifted his weight, absorbing the hit with a grunt.He’d taken worse.Hell, he’d trained through worse.
From above, Brynn’s voice crackled through the comms.“Third floor cleared.One more level.”
Her speed hummed inside him—a subtle charge traveling along their bond.The sensation sharpened the edges of his focus.Brynn moving fast meant civilians were getting out.That was what mattered.
Another black van skidded into the square, this one larger, its armored plating gleaming under the flickering streetlights.A half-dozen operatives jumped out, dragging a cylindrical device toward the fight.Even from across the plaza, Peter saw the sickly green glow building in its core.
The power-stripping weapon.
He’d seen the aftermath of its use.The tremors that wracked a variant’s body.The way the lights went out behind their eyes.The fear that followed.
“Brynn,” he said, low and steady.“They’re deploying it.”
“I see it.”
Peter didn’t need to look up.He sensed the shift in her energy.
The Dioscuri variant lunged again, this time straining with enough force to crack the asphalt under their feet.Peter braced, letting the momentum meet his immovable stance.He twisted, knocking the variant off balance, then slammed him to the ground with a controlled, brutal efficiency.
“I’m not your enemy,” Peter said through clenched teeth.“Protogenus sent you for a show.”
The variant growled, rage warring with trapped understanding in his eyes.
He tried to wrench free just as the weapon powered up with a rising whine.They were seconds away from firing.
“Brynn,” he said, “now.”
A blur streaked past the nearest van.Brynn moved like she’d been shot from a cannon.One moment she was at the building entrance, the next she was weaving through operatives.Her footwork was an elegant flicker of motion, each strike disarming or disabling in seamless, economical bursts.
One operative raised his gun; she swept it aside with a twist, dropped him with the heel of her palm, then dove toward the weapon.
The green light turned on.
Peter’s stomach clenched.“Brynn, watch out!”
She reached the device and ripped out the glowing core with both hands.Sparks exploded across her palms, electricity arcing in violent flashes.She gritted her teeth through the impact shock, absorbing it with a hiss of pain but never slowing.
The weapon sputtered, whined, then went dark.
The Dioscuri variant beneath Peter stilled, his breath catching as realization flickered through his eyes.The mission had failed.
He pushed upward with desperate strength, trying to break away.Peter caught him again, pinning him with both hands, forcing him to meet his gaze.
The variant’s mouth curled—not with defiance, but with bitter resignation."You think you've won.But this is just the beginning."
And then his body convulsed.
Peter barely had time to shout before foam frothed at the man’s lips.
Brynn’s feet hit the pavement beside him, breath quick and sharp.“He’s gone?”
Peter lowered the man's slack weight, jaw tightening.“Suicide.”He rose slowly, looking at the still-filming cameras, at the smoke curling upward, at the faint tremors rattling through the city.
