The central spire swallowed them.
Carol burst through the inner sanctum's blast door, her coat torn, her hair wild, her red eyes wide with something she hadn't felt in years. Fear. Her boots echoed on the black marble floor as she ran, past the crimson banners, past the kneeling soldiers, past the statues of Eclipse's fallen heroes.
The Reapers followed, but they were slower, wounded, diminished.
Carol didn't wait for them.
She reached the throne room at the spire's heart. A vast circular chamber, domed ceiling painted with scenes of Darwin's victories. At its center, Darwin sat in his black iron chair, one leg crossed over the other, his gray eyes fixed on the massive screen that showed the courtyard below.
He had watched everything.
Carol stopped ten meters from the throne, her chest heaving. Behind her, the remaining Reapers filed in and took their positions along the walls, silent, wounded, waiting.
