COVENANT BASE — TRAINING ROOM — SOME WEEKS AGO
Jonathan hit the floor for the fourth time.
Eloghosa stood over him, not breathing hard, not even sweating. His pink doves perched on the rafters, watching with their tiny, judgmental eyes.
"I win again," Eloghosa said.
Jonathan pushed himself up. His gauntlets flickered. His ribs ached.
"Let's go one more time."
"You're training because you feel David is lapping you." It wasn't a question.
Jonathan didn't answer. That was the answer.
Eloghosa sat on the floor, crossing his legs. The doves flew down and settled on his shoulders.
"Nathan," he said. Jonathan flinched at the name. No one called him that nickname anymore. "You're strong. But real strength doesn't come alone."
"That can't hold much weight coming from you."
Eloghosa laughed—genuine, warm, unbothered.
"Fair. But listen." He leaned forward. "You're always isolating yourself. Trying to be the bulwark alone. Your gift is literally a fist clenched. Don't forget there's strength in numbers."
Jonathan looked at his hands. The gauntlets were steady.
"At the end of the day," Eloghosa finished, "even walls need other walls to hold up the roof."
Jonathan didn't reply.
But he didn't say no.
CALABAR— STREETS — PRESENT
David swung through the city, Jonathan's unconscious body cradled against his chest.
The web-shooters fired again. Another building. Another arc. He spotted a garage—abandoned, open, dry. He dropped inside, laid Jonathan on the concrete floor, and stepped back.
"Page 309."
Three small vials manifested in his hand. Green liquid, glowing faintly, warm to the touch. He put two in his pocket, uncapped the third, and lifted Jonathan's head.
"Come on. Drink."
Jonathan's throat moved. The vial emptied. Color returned to his face. His breathing steadied.
David stood, turned to check the area—
A fist met his face.
The explosion was instant. Not from the punch—from her. Boom materialized out of the smoke, her orange eyes blazing, her pale grey skin fracturing with light.
David reinforced. Barely. Blood sprayed from his mouth. His eye bruised shut instantly. He staggered back, swinging blindly.
"There you are," Boom said. Her voice was a low, throaty rumble—the vibration before the blast. "I've been looking for you."
She kicked off the ground, explosions propelling her legs, chasing him as he fired a web line and swung away.
David's mind raced.
One page left. Page 309 is already summoned — three vials used, one for Jonathan, one for himself, one for Praise. I can't summon another.
She has a Dead Zone. I can't get close.
I have to run.
He swung through the city—over cars, around buildings, through alleys. Boom chased him, her explosions leaving craters in the streets, her laughter echoing off the walls.
"Are you tired of running yet?"
David landed on top of a water tank. Industrial. Massive. Fifty thousand gallons at least.
He turned.
"Hope this works."
Then he fired—not at Boom, past her. The web wrapped around her ankle. He yanked.
She crashed into the water tank. The metal dented, split, and she fell inside.
David jumped in after her.
The water was cold. Dark. He couldn't see. But he didn't need to. His hand was already spinning.
Spiral.
Not the small one. Not the medium one. Bigger than usual. The size of a globe, spinning in his palm, green light bleeding through the water like a underwater sun.
He found her. Pressed the Spiral against her soaked chest.
Detonate.
The tank exploded.
Water geysered into the sky. David flew backward, landed twenty feet away, skidding across the pavement. His ears rang. His vision blurred.
The area where Boom had been began to charge—white, orange, red light pulsing from the wreckage, building toward something catastrophic.
David swung away.
The explosion behind him was huge. When the smoke cleared, Boom stepped out. Her body was regenerating—fractures sealing, limbs re-forming, red light blinking in her sternum.
She smiled.
"Let me blow you up."
"Can we be professional at least?" David asked. "Since we're trying to kill each other?"
"I want to blow you up."
"That's not professional."
She flicked her finger.
The car beside David detonated. He was already swinging—felt the heat at his back, the shrapnel spinning past his head. A piece lodged in his leg. He grunted, kept swinging.
Boom pulled her arm back and threw it.
Not the arm—the bomb. It sailed through the air, struck the building beside him, and detonated. The shockwave sent him spinning. He crashed into a storefront, rolled across broken glass.
She was already there.
Her Dead Zone pulsed around her—Faith becoming volatile, unstable. David's web-shooters flickered.
Page 67.
One clone. He manifested it, shoved it toward her, and ran. The clone exploded. Boom laughed.
David crashed headfirst into a building.
He was bleeding. His leg was torn. His eye was swollen shut. His web-shooters were cracked.
Boom dropped to the ground in front of the building's entrance. She walked toward him slowly, her orange eyes glowing, her sternum light blinking faster.
"Dead Zone," she said. "Can you feel it? Your Faith is screaming."
She raised her fingers to flick.
Then a water tank crashed into the back of her head.
Not the tank—Jonathan. He rode the wave of water, his Tremor Mauls glowing, his body battered but standing. He landed behind her, spun, and drove his fist into her spine.
"SHATTERING IMPACT."
The shockwave cracked the pavement. Boom flew forward.
"DOUBLE IMPACT."
A second detonation erupted from the same spot, sending her tumbling across the street.
"COMMUNION."
Jonathan's fist—still raised, still glowing—cracked with cobalt-blue light. Not a technique. Not a combination. Something else. The perfect alignment of body, Faith, and intent.
He brought it down on her chest.
The impact was catastrophic. Boom flew through three buildings, through walls, through steel, before coming to rest in a crater of rubble and dust.
David stared at Jonathan.
"Never have I ever wanted help more than today."
"What about Axum?"
David laughed—a wet, bloody, exhausted sound.
"That was different."
He reached into his pocket. The green vial. He uncapped it and drank.
Immediately, his eye cleared. His leg knitted. His Faith surged back—full, steady, ready.
"Would have come sooner," Jonathan said, "but you two were moving too fast."
Boom rose from the crater.
Her body was cracked. Her sternum light flickered. But she was smiling.
"This is unfair," she said. "Two boys against one girl. Give me a time out."
David looked at Jonathan.
"Do we give her one?"
"No."
They moved.
Jonathan took point—gauntlets heavy, Mass Addition already stacking. David flanked—web-shooters firing, keeping Boom pinned, forcing her to split her attention.
"You're not running," Boom observed. "Good. Running is boring."
She flicked her hand. A projectile shot toward Jonathan. He didn't dodge. He punched it.
The explosion washed over his gauntlets. He stepped through it.
"Is that all?"
Boom's eyes narrowed.
She stopped playing.
David fired webs—not at Boom, around her. Creating a cage, limiting her movement. Jonathan advanced, each step heavier than the last, his gauntlets humming with stored mass.
Boom flicked her fingers. Explosions cleared the webs. She launched herself at Jonathan, her fist—charged, glowing—aimed at his chest.
He caught it.
"Double Impact."
His gauntlet detonated against her palm. She recoiled. David was behind her, web line around her ankle, pulling.
She fell. Jonathan stomped.
She rolled, came up firing—not bullets, bombs. Tiny spheres that scattered across the ground, each one primed, each one deadly.
David swung up, out of range. Jonathan wasn't fast enough.
The bombs detonated. He flew backward, smoking, bleeding.
"Jonathan!"
"I'm fine."
He wasn't fine. But he stood.
Boom was learning.
She stopped flicking. Started shaping—her explosions becoming spears, walls, cages. She was trying to separate them. David saw it.
"Jonathan, stay close—"
Too late. A wall of fire erupted between them.
David found himself alone with Boom. Her Dead Zone pulsed. His Faith sputtered.
"Now," she said, "where were we?"
She threw a punch. He blocked—felt his arm crack. She threw another. He ducked. She kicked. He jumped.
She was faster than him. Stronger. More experienced with her power.
But she was angry.
And anger made her predictable.
David fired a web at her face—not to trap, to blind. She swatted it away. He was already behind her, Spiral spinning.
She turned. He pressed it into her stomach.
"Now, Jonathan—"
Jonathan burst through the fire wall, gauntlets blazing, his faith still burning in his chest. He hit Boom from the other side—Shattering Impact, Double Impact— twostrikes in one heartbeat.
She screamed.
David didn't stop. Another Spiral. Another web. He yanked her toward Jonathan.
Jonathan caught her with an uppercut that lifted her off the ground.
David swung around her, web line looping her neck, pulling her down.
She hit the pavement.
They hit her together.
Fists. Webs. Spiral. Gauntlets. Explosions from her body—wild, uncontrolled, desperate. They didn't let up. They didn't give her room to breathe.
She was losing.
Boom staggered back, her body fracturing, her sternum light darkening.
"This is—this is not—"
"It's over," David said.
"No." She looked at the sky. At the smoke. At the two boys who had beaten her. "No, no, no—"
"Boom."
She started crying.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just tears streaming down her pale grey face, cutting tracks through the soot.
"I don't want to die," she whispered. "Hero. Hero, please—"
Jonathan stepped forward.
"I'm sorry."
His fist connected with her chest. A double impact —the last of it—detonated inside her.
She fell.
Her body didn't explode. It just... stopped. The fractures sealed. The light died. The red light in her sternum went dark.
She was still.
Jonathan turned to David. His face was pale. His lips were green.
"Jonathan—"
He vomited. Green fluid—the same green as Praise, but worse, sick—poured from his mouth. He collapsed.
David caught him.
"Jonathan! Jonathan—"
"Told you," Jonathan mumbled, "I'm fine."
He wasn't fine.
But he was alive.
SOMEWHERE ELSEWHERE
The Lord sat at a table, a glass of whisky in his hand. Sonia sat beside him, legs crossed, whistling softly.
Hero lay on the floor.
Not unconscious. Paralyzed. His body shook. His fists clenched. His eyes were wide, staring at nothing.
"She's gone," he said. "My sister—she's gone."
The Lord took a sip of whisky.
"I know."
Hero tried to move. Tried to stand. The Lord rang his bell.
The room shifted—not teleportation, not relocation, just... different. The pool bar in Benin. Familiar. Safe.
Hero collapsed again.
"Why won't you let me go?"
The Lord set down his glass.
"Because you're not ready."
Sonia kept whistling.
Hero's fists shook.
Somewhere in Calabar, his sister's body was already cold.