The sky trembled.
The red horizon pulsed once, then stilled—as though the world was holding its breath. The construct, Bael's vessel, stood motionless in the valley below, its molten skin cooling to a dull black sheen. The soldiers that had poured from its chest stopped mid-step, their bodies seizing in eerie synchronization.
Cain knew better than to trust silence.
"Down!" he barked.
They hit the ground an instant before a sphere of scarlet energy erupted from the creature's chest. It expanded outward in a perfect wave, vaporizing everything in its path. Rock, ash, bodies—the ridge itself disintegrated beneath the blast.
When the light faded, Cain pushed himself up through the haze, ears ringing. The ridge was half gone, the air thick with powdered stone. Roselle coughed nearby, half-buried in rubble. Steve groaned somewhere to the left, trying to reload a gun that no longer existed.
"Status!" Cain shouted.
"Alive," Roselle rasped, spitting blood. "For now."
"Steve?"
