Mark's resistance was crumbling. Each strike I landed met less defense. Each time he tried to stand, his legs shook more violently. The System Disabler had reduced him to baseline human capabilities, and those capabilities were failing under sustained assault.
But I felt something unexpected rising in my chest as I fought.
Not satisfaction. Not vengeance. Something closer to… relief.
This was ending. Actually, genuinely ending.
All of it. The eight months of hiding. The guilt over Anthony's death. The weight of being hunted by ninety-one percent of the world. The fear that Mark's tyranny would be permanent. That the policies crushing millions would never be reversed.
I could hear it now—through the walls, filtering up from lower floors. The sounds of combat were changing. Less chaotic. More controlled. Samuel's forces moving through the building systematically rather than fighting for every inch.
We'd won. Were winning. The fortress was falling.
