The "Restricted Wing" of the Rama Palace was submerged in a silence heavy enough to crush bone. This was not the peaceful quiet of rest; it was the suffocating stillness that hangs in the air before a hurricane strikes.
Qaduel, the King's personal advisor and High Commander, shattered the protocol. He slammed the double doors open, storming into the chamber. His golden helmet was tucked haphazardly under one arm. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the wings on his back twitched involuntarily—a betrayal of the exhaustion and terror gripping the usually stoic warrior.
"My King!" Qaduel didn't wait to kneel. His breath came in ragged gasps. "Forgive the intrusion. But time has run out."
Saruel stood with his back to the room, facing the high balcony window. The twin suns of Rama burned behind him, casting his silhouette in a long, dark shadow that seemed to swallow the room's light.
"I felt it, Qaduel," Saruel said. His voice was cold, but beneath the ice, it sounded fractured, like cracked glass. "The outer barrier. It's trembling, isn't it?"
"It's not just trembling, my Lord." Qaduel closed the distance between them with urgent strides. "Scouts confirm it. Daruel himself is coming. He has fully consumed Ratuel's essence. He isn't just darkness anymore; he is a walking cataclysm. The barrier might hold him for hours, but it will not give us days."
The muscles in Saruel's jaw bunched tight. His hands balled into fists, faint arcs of blue static dancing dangerously between his knuckles. "He's coming for the Time Machine. He wants Toram."
"Exactly," Qaduel confirmed. "That woman... the Doctor... she is in grave danger. But, my King, there is a worse threat. If Daruel reaches here and seizes the machine or her, he won't just rewrite history. He will erase existence itself."
"What do you expect me to do?" Saruel turned. A fire raged in his eyes, contrasting the weakness of his stance. "You've seen my condition. I am a broken King. Facing Daruel in this state is simply suicide."
"Not you, my King." Qaduel pointed a trembling finger toward the guest quarters. "Her. That armor she wears... those twin blades fused to her back... those aren't mere steel. They are 'God-Slayers.' Ancient artifacts. Even you and I cannot wield them. But she... she wears them as if they chose her."
Saruel furrowed his brow. "You suggest a mortal scientist face Daruel?"
"We have no choice!" Qaduel shouted, desperation cracking his voice. "We must train her. Now! The swords have merged with her flesh, but she doesn't know how to command them. We must force her to use her scientific mind to master their power. If we don't, when Daruel breaches the walls, he will walk over our corpses."
Saruel studied Qaduel for a long moment. The decision weighed on him like a mountain. Finally, he inhaled sharply.
"Go," Saruel commanded. "Drag her to the training grounds. Tell her there is no time. This isn't preparation for a tournament; it is a desperate clawing for survival. Whether through her science or her survival instinct... she must awaken the monster within. If she wants to save Rama, she must first save herself."
"As you command, my Lord!"
Qaduel turned and shot out of the room like an arrow released from a bow. Saruel remained alone. He looked up at the sky. The heavens of Rama were dimming, the approaching shadow of Daruel already swallowing the palace's light.
The corridors of Rama vibrated under the impact of heavy metal. Qaduel wasn't running; he was practically flying. His steel boots struck the marble floor with the rhythm of machine-gun fire. He didn't stop at Toram's door; he hammered it with a mailed fist.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
"Doctor! Out! Now!"
Toram yanked the door open. Sleep still clung to her puffy eyes, but that cursed, flesh-like armor remained fused to her body like a second skin. Confusion washed over her face. "Qaduel? What's wrong? It's barely..."
Qaduel had no time for answers. He clamped his gauntleted hand around her arm and hauled her into the hallway as if she weighed nothing.
"Hey, wait! What are you doing?" Toram planted her feet, the soles of her boots screeching against the marble. But Qaduel's strength was absolute. She stumbled after him, struggling to keep her balance. "Qaduel! Let go! Where are you taking me?"
Qaduel remained silent. He only increased his pace, his wings slicing the air behind him.
"I am asking you a question!" Toram's temper flared. Summoning every ounce of her strength, she wrenched her arm free from his grip. She stopped dead. Her voice echoed through the vast hall. "What is happening? Stop dragging me like a prisoner! Talk to me!"
Qaduel stopped. His shoulders heaved with heavy breaths. Slowly, he turned to face her. When Toram saw the raw mixture of fury and profound grief swirling in his blue eyes, her anger evaporated instantly.
"You want to see?" His voice grated like shards of broken glass. He stepped closer to her. "Do you want to see how Earth has been transformed into Hell?"
Toram froze. The words died in her throat.
"Follow me."
This time, he didn't drag her. And she didn't argue. Her heart hammering against her ribs, she followed him. They entered a massive, seemingly roofless chamber cloaked in shadow. It was empty, save for a pool of ink-black water in the center. The water was unnaturally still, a dark mirror reflecting nothing.
Qaduel extended his hand. Blue light sparked from his fingertips and struck the surface.
"Look!"
The water defied gravity. It rose into the air, coalescing into a shimmering sphere. The image was crystal clear. A globe floated before them. But it wasn't the blue and green marble Toram knew. It was a gray, festering sore, choked by ash and black clouds, groaning in pain.
"Look closer!" Qaduel twisted his hand.
The image zoomed in, piercing the thick smog. It focused on the skies of East Africa. Then, it plummeted down to Addis Ababa.
Toram's eyes went wide. Her hands began to tremble uncontrollably. She clamped them over her mouth to stifle a scream.
Addis Ababa was no longer a city; it was a mass grave.
Skyscrapers stood like broken, rotten teeth against a burning sky. The roads were gone, replaced by fissures spewing flames from the earth's core. Magma flowed like rivers where asphalt used to be. The human race... gone. There was no movement. No life. Just the skeletal remains of burnt-out cars and the hollow shells of collapsed buildings. Around the 4 Kilo Palace, the earth had cracked open, swallowing the heart of the city.
"I don't know..." Qaduel's voice was hollow, his eyes fixed on the horrific display. "I don't know if a single soul is left alive."
Toram's knees gave way. Her body shook violently as she stumbled back, leaning against the cold stone wall for support. The image was branded onto her retinas. All that destruction... all that death... the ruins of her lab.
"Oh, God..." She gasped, her voice thinning into a whimper. She pressed her hand harder against her mouth, trying to hold back the wail rising in her throat. "What have I done? Oh, God! All of this... because of me..."
Her titles, her theories, her mathematical formulas—they all felt like ash in the face of this fire. Tears blurred her vision, washing over her face.
"Doctor!"
Qaduel's voice cracked like a whip, cold and unyielding. There was no pity in his tone. He was a soldier now, not a friend.
"The solution to this lies within you."
Toram looked up through her tears.
Qaduel pointed a finger at her chest. At the red leather armor. At the burden on her back.
"That suit you wear... those two swords..." Qaduel lowered his voice, the intensity vibrating in the air. "They are not ordinary metal. They are 'God-Slayers.' Ancient weapons capable of killing deities. Daruel is coming. The only thing in existence that can kill him is what you are carrying. If you master them... death cannot touch you."
Qaduel turned away, walking to the exit. He stopped at the door, waiting.
"We have no time for tears. Daruel is marching on Rama. If you want to stop him, if you want to save your world, you must command those swords. To the arena. Now."
Toram wiped the tears from her cheeks with her palms. The moisture felt cold on her skin. She clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. The crushing guilt in her heart began to harden, calcifying into something sharper. Vengeance. Resolve.
She had no choice. Crying would not bring the world back.
"Okay..." she whispered, her voice trembling but her eyes igniting with a new, dangerous light. "Okay... let's go."