The world became a deafening roar of twisting metal and shattering glass. Riven was thrown against the harness, the straps digging into his shoulders like claws. He saw Mira slammed against the opposite wall, her head snapping back with a sickening crack before she went limp. Alarms screamed a frantic, dying chorus. Through the cracked viewport, the city spun—a dizzying carousel of gleaming spires and the violent, weeping violet of the rift.
Jake. His brother. The words echoed in the chaos, a truth so terrible it short-circuited thought.
The skimmer hit something with the force of a meteor strike. The sound was apocalyptic. Riven's world went black for a moment, punctuated by brilliant white stars of pain. When his vision swam back, the world was tilted at a forty-five-degree angle. Smoke, thick and acrid, filled the cabin. The alarms had been replaced by the hiss of ruptured conduits and the moans of injured soldiers.
He fumbled with his harness, his fingers numb and clumsy. His arm screamed in protest, the bandage already soaked through with fresh blood. He had to get out. He had to move.
He stumbled over to Mira. A gash on her temple bled freely, matting her silver-white hair, but her chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm. She was alive. For now. He unclipped her harness, pulling her limp form from the wrecked seat.
"Hey! You! Stop!" a dazed soldier slurred, trying to raise his rifle.
Riven ignored him. Survival was the only imperative. He half-dragged, half-carried Mira toward a jagged tear in the skimmer's hull, where daylight—filtered through the unnatural violet haze—poured in.
They emerged into chaos. They had crashed in a central plaza, a place once dedicated to commerce and peace, now a tomb of mangled metal and shattered glass. Civilians screamed and ran in every direction. But the demons weren't mindlessly slaughtering. They were searching. The hulking, armored beasts moved with purpose, overturning wreckage, their burning gazes scanning the panicked crowds.
They're looking for me.
The realization was an ice-cold dagger in his gut. Jake's words weren't a threat; they were a statement of fact. This destruction, this terror, was all because of him.
He pulled Mira into the relative cover of a collapsed news kiosk, its holographic displays flickering erratically. He propped her against a wall, his mind racing. The DPF was compromised. Marrow's truth was a death sentence. He was utterly alone.
A shadow fell over them.
Riven looked up, his heart seizing. One of the armored demons, its skin like cooled magma, was standing over their hiding spot. It hadn't seen them yet, its head swiveling, sniffing the air. Its gaze swept past their position, then stopped. It slowly turned its head back, its glowing eyes focusing directly on the faint crimson glow emanating from beneath Riven's shirt.
The pendant. It was leading them right to him.
A low, guttural growl of triumph rumbled in the demon's chest. It took a step forward, a massive, clawed hand reaching for the kiosk to tear it away.
Riven's fear vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. He couldn't run. He couldn't hide. The pendant had made him a target, but maybe, just maybe, it could also be a weapon.
He didn't think. He didn't try to command it. He simply stopped fighting it.
He reached for the crystal, his bloody fingers closing around it. Instead of resisting the warm, alien power that surged to meet his touch, he embraced it. He let it flood him.
A wave of heat, not painful but intensely powerful, washed through him. The world sharpened into impossible focus. He could see the individual stress fractures in the demon's armor, could hear the hum of its infernal energy core. Time seemed to slow. The demon's claw moved through the air with languid, predictable slowness.
Riven moved.
He was a blur of motion he didn't understand. He ducked under the sweeping claw, came up inside the demon's guard, and instead of his relic-hunter's blade, he simply pushed. He didn't punch. He channeled the raw, crimson energy coursing through him.
A concussive wave of force, visible as a ripple of distorted red light, erupted from his palm. It struck the demon square in the chest. The creature didn't cry out. It was lifted off its feet and thrown backward as if hit by a freight train, crashing through the facade of a nearby building in an explosion of dust and debris.
Riven stood panting, his hand smoking slightly. The power receded as quickly as it came, leaving him trembling, drained, and more terrified than ever. He had done that. He had.
A low groan came from behind him. Mira was stirring, her eyes fluttering open. They were dazed, unfocused, but they saw him. They saw the faint red aura fading from his skin, the smoking hand, and the demolished building where the demon had been.
Her gaze cleared instantly, sharpening from confusion into horrified comprehension. She had seen the power. She had seen what he was.
Before she could speak, a new sound cut through the chaos—the familiar, welcome whine of DPF reinforcements. A squadron of heavy assault skimmers descended on the plaza, their cannons blazing, driving the demonic forces back.
Salvation had arrived.
But as Riven looked from the advancing DPF soldiers to Mira's shocked and wary face, he knew the truth. He wasn't saved. He had just swapped one cage for another. The DPF would now see him as Marrow did—as a thing to be studied, a weapon to be controlled. And Jake… Jake would never stop.
He was a prize caught between two armies, and the only thing he knew for certain was that the life he thought he had was gone forever. The war for the worlds had begun, and he was standing at its bloody, unwilling center.