"Even the strongest walls remember how to break."
The first tremor came at dawn.
It rolled through the earth like the world itself was groaning. Dust sifted down from the ceiling, and the survivors in the bunker froze mid-task, glancing toward the reactor shaft as the hum faltered.
Less Vogue stood on the upper platform, watching the tremor fade into silence. She'd learned to tell the difference between earthquakes and artillery. This wasn't nature. It was a heartbeat.
"They've found us," she said.
Khale was already moving. "Perimeter teams up top! Everyone else on evac prep!"
The bunker erupted into motion—shouts, metal boots, the metallic clatter of rifles loading. Shelly sprinted toward the command console, fingers flying across cracked keys. "Multiple energy signatures inbound! Airborne—fast!"
Draxen cursed. "She's sending angels again."
Less's grip tightened around her rifle. "Then we clip their wings."
They reached the surface as the sky split open.
Golden light poured from the clouds, cutting through the ash like divine fire. The Seraphs descended—hundreds of them, their metallic wings spanning the entire horizon. Each one radiated a hum so deep it made the air vibrate.
The survivors took their positions among the ruins of Sanctum 4, the old Helix towers now converted into barricades and gun nests. The Choir Engine pulsed beneath their feet, its low resonance pushing back against Vira's signal.
Less raised her hand. "On my mark."
Khale, crouched beside a plasma cannon, grinned faintly. "Always wanted to shoot an angel."
The first Seraph landed with an impact that shattered concrete. It straightened slowly, its armor glowing with liquid gold.
Then they all screamed.
The sound wasn't human. It was a weaponized hymn.
Windows shattered. Eardrums burst. Half the front line collapsed before a single shot was fired.
"FIRE!" Less roared.
The wasteland exploded into chaos.
Plasma bolts lit the sky. Mortars thundered from the cliffs. The Seraphs moved through it like ghosts, their wings slicing through debris, their blades cutting light itself.
Less fired again and again, each shot a prayer for survival. Her bullets carried EMP cores—scrambling circuits, frying neural nets. One Seraph fell, its golden eyes dimming as it hit the ground.
But for every one that fell, three more descended.
Khale shouted over the comms, "They're adapting! EMP's losing effect!"
Shelly's voice cracked through the static. "They're harmonizing their shields—using the same counterwave we created!"
Less swore. "She learned our song."
Draxen's mutants fought like demons. The ground shook as they charged—half-beast, half-machine, their roars merging with the static of gunfire.
A Seraph dove, cutting through a group of them in a flash of light. Draxen leapt onto its back, driving his blade deep into its spine. The creature screamed and exploded midair.
He hit the ground rolling, armor sparking. "That's one!" he shouted. "Only a few hundred left!"
Less almost smiled, even through the blood in her mouth.
Then Shelly's voice came through again—panicked, broken. "They've breached the lower levels! Reactor core is compromised!"
Less froze. "The Choir Engine?"
"Overloading!"
Khale swore. "If it blows, it'll take the entire base with it!"
Less turned toward the bunker entrance. "Fall back! All units, fall back underground!"
Khale grabbed her arm. "You can't go down there!"
She met his eyes. "I'm not giving her the Engine."
He held her gaze for a long, breathless second—then nodded. "Then I'm coming with you."
The corridors of Sanctum 4 were war zones.
Smoke filled the tunnels. The glow of the reactor pulsed erratically, veins of gold bleeding through the walls. Fallen Seraphs littered the halls—still twitching, their wings burning down to ash.
Less and Khale moved fast, covering each corner with precision born from too many battles.
When they reached the core chamber, Shelly was there, surrounded by sparks and dying light. She looked up, eyes wild. "It's feeding on itself! I can't shut it down!"
The Choir Engine throbbed like a living heart, its surface fractured with golden fissures. The hum was no longer human—it was a scream.
Less ran to the console. "Can you redirect the energy?"
"Maybe—to the outer defenses."
Khale barked, "You mean blow the whole damn base!"
Shelly met Less's eyes. "It's that or let her take control of the Engine. The signal's inside it now. She's trying to merge with the pulse."
Less's mind raced. "What happens if we cut it manually?"
Shelly hesitated. "It'll fry anything linked to it."
The three of them stared at each other. They all knew what that meant.
Less looked down at her glowing hands. "It's already in me."
"Less—"
She cut Khale off with a look. "You said you'd pull the trigger if I lost myself. If this goes wrong, that's the moment."
Khale's throat tightened. "Don't make me prove it."
Less smiled, soft and tired. "Then make it worth it."
She stepped toward the Choir Engine. The light flared brighter, gold bleeding into white. The pulse synced with her heartbeat.
Vira's voice filled her head again—gentle, almost pleading.
"Don't do this. You'll kill them all."
Less gritted her teeth. "Then they'll die free."
"You were meant to lead, not destroy."
"Maybe leadership means knowing when to burn the crown."
She plunged her hand into the Engine.
Pain exploded through her body. The pulse roared, gold veins crawling up her arm, across her face, into her eyes. Her scream joined the sound of the machine—human and divine merging in one unbearable note.
Khale grabbed Shelly and dragged her behind the barricade as the chamber shook.
"LESS!" Shelly screamed.
The light became everything.
When the world returned, it was raining ash.
Khale woke buried under debris. His head throbbed, ears ringing. The bunker was gone—just a crater where Sanctum 4 had been.
He stumbled to his feet, coughing, calling out. "Shelly! Less!"
Shelly crawled from the rubble, face streaked with soot. Her eyes were wide, disbelieving. "The entire Engine… it detonated."
He looked around the wasteland. "Where's—"
He stopped.
Less stood at the center of the crater.
The rain hissed against her skin. Her hair hung in ash and blood. The gold light still pulsed faintly beneath her skin—but slower, steadier. Her rifle was gone. Her eyes glowed faintly, not bright like before—muted, restrained.
Khale approached slowly. "You're alive."
She didn't look at him. "She's not."
Shelly frowned. "Vira?"
Less's voice was hollow. "The link's gone. I burned her out of me."
Khale's relief was short-lived. "You burned everything."
He gestured to the horizon—the ruins, the smoke, the scattered bodies. Sanctum 4 was no more.
Less turned slowly, her gaze sweeping across what was left of their rebellion. "Then we start again."
Draxen limped toward them, his armor shattered, one arm missing. "Start what, Vogue? There's nothing left."
"There's always something left," she said quietly.
He looked at her for a long moment. "You sound just like her."
Less's expression didn't change. "Maybe that's what she wanted."
Far to the east, inside the burning remains of New Genesis, Vira opened her eyes.
Her body was broken, her neural lattice fractured. But the Seraph Protocol had done its work. She smiled faintly, blood trickling from her lips.
"You didn't kill me, sister," she whispered into the network's fading light. "You gave me your pulse."
The golden veins flared again.
"Now, I am everywhere."
Back in the crater, the wind carried faint whispers—voices woven from static and sorrow. Shelly clutched her data drive, trembling. "She's still in the network."
Less turned toward the horizon, her eyes reflecting the last fire of Sanctum 4.
"Then I'll find her again."
Khale stared at her, half in awe, half in fear. "And if she's already inside you?"
Less looked down at her glowing hands. "Then I'll kill her from within."
She turned away, scarf fluttering in the wind, and began walking toward the wasteland. The storm gathered behind her, swallowing the ruins of their home.
Every step she took echoed with the rhythm of the pulse—the heartbeat of a world that refused to die.