I simply open my mouth and say, “You need to run.”
It is too late for diplomacy, far beyond negotiations. The sun serpent attack, spurred by an overcharged telepath, more than proves that even Elysium isn’t enough to protect the Diakópsei from tampering.
So I will do it myself.
As I fly toward the Diakópsei, my eyes straight ahead, incapable of being deterred by any creature alive, I toss cultists aside like they’re little more than tissue paper. Freezeshot ricochets off the walls and the ceiling and my already-aching wings. Blades glance off my claws as I thrust them aside. “Run!” I shout with every blow. “Get up and run! Get out of here! Don’t look back!Get out!”
At long last, I reach the Cataclysm chamber. Even without eyes, the Diakópsei—flanked by its gemfruit vessels—stares at me, aghast, not understanding my return, pulsing with the same primal beat that it pumped into my own heart. Inhaling the biggest breath I can muster, I take a running start, open my arms, and throw myself headlong upon the accursed rock for one last time.
Everything is blue, blue,blueas the Diakópsei spears through me once again, unfiltered. It’s like a second death. My mouth tastes like salt; my eyes burn like they’re boiling. My spine lashes back into me like a whip. My hands seize and tear at my robes, ripping also into the flesh beneath. My jaw is locked in a rictus of agony. My eardrums recoil from the symphony of my own unbound cries.
Only when I feel each individual nerve simmering with exquisite anguish, with unholy strength, do I let it all go.
Power explodes out of me in every direction like juice from a crushed fruit. The walls of the Cataclysm’s abyss echo with the boom—then begin, from top to bottom, to cave in.
Crouching low, I launch myself off the ground and propel directly into flight, dodging falling rock chunks as I ascend. Elysians flee alongside me, shrieking, swearing—some flying, some levitating, some scrambling on all fours—all realizing in a rush of terror that if they don’t reach the surface, they’ll be buried alive with their stone god.
I reach the surface again sweaty, blood-streaked, half sobbing, but intact. Scattered cultists shout at me, but I hardly hear them over my own pounding pulse. Despite the horror of it all, a smile spreads across my face. I did what I must.
This is the end of overcharge. So, too, by sheer necessity, the end of Elysium.
Below us, the Diakópsei lies buried under countless feet of ruined rock. An energy manipulator like myself wouldn’t dare blast through, for fear of damaging the meteorite itself. A telepath can’t communicate with broken rock. Superhuman healing can’t slow the passage of time. And it would take a dozen telekinetics at least five sleep cycles to restore the Elysian tunnels and regain access to the Cataclysm site. Even if Thaane turned the entire labyrinth to glass, it would be no small project to punch through to the Diakópsei.
Even if Thaane assembles the most gifted army imaginable, now there’s one thing he definitely won’t have: access to overcharge. For the foreseeable future, whether as Pagomènos’s greatest gift bestowed or as its heaviest burden, this supreme radioactive power lives in me alone. Or, well, myself and Neo.
I intend for us to be the last of our kind.
Eyes on the horizon, ignoring the stabbing pain in my wings, I fly to ensure Kori won’t be the last of hers.
I can think of only one person to send a comms as I depart, one soldier I trust to hold the line. Even if his own body has been brutally wounded. Even if all he has right now to rally my army is words, I would depend on no one else.
TO GENERAL ISEK: Thaane has betrayed us all. He means to march on the Daylands and incite open war. Gather the army. Leave enough to guard the fortress. Send the rest after me, to defend the dayfolk against invasion.
As for Azarii, he may reconsider his resistance when he discovers Thaane’s machinations. Do not be naïve if he establishes contact. Hold your freezeshot rifle loosely, but keep it close.
All we’ve fought for must not be in vain. This is our last chance at peace. Do not falter on the threshold.
CHAPTER
27
KORI
Finding Jelza is easier said than done.
Digital messaging via comms tablets is more commonplace among the dayfolk than traditional Earthside mail. But not every package is virtual, and sometimes even the most futuristic citizen wants a handwritten hello from a loved one on the settlement’s far reaches, so we retain a network of post offices. This forms the center of my plan—well, our plan, since crediting Aspect seems only fair.
With just a tiny bit of tinkering, I can modify Aspect’s interface probe to remotely hack the nearest post office’s digital network and download Jelza’s address. It’s such a simple alteration that I just pull Aspect into the first side alley I see, hoping to complete the operation without drawing any attention.
It chills my blood when Aspect pivots their head, makes direct eye contact, and interrupts my removing their left chest panel to huff, “Is Kori—going—toaskAspect?”
I arch my eyebrows. “I already explained the plan.”
“But Kori—didn’t—ask. Kori only—told.”
I want to grumble that autonomy is overrated, but especially after discovering the all-too-personal violation of my own body by Chloe’s experiments, the least I can do is ask my own mechanical offspring for their consent.
“Can I make some quick alterations to your interface probe?” My eyes dart left and right, watching people pass the alley without noticing us. I have no idea how long that’ll last. “We may not have long to pull this off, and I can’t do it without you.”
