Day in the story: 11th December (Thursday)

Teleporting out would leave Peter here, so we'd still need to come back for him, which meant the hole in the wall was still our better option for moving out.

Malik was blocking another set of swipes when Nick tried, again and again, to punch his way through the giant's terracotta shell. His fists, salt-encrusted, were stripped raw with each strike, the mineral armor crumbling and reforming with each hit like waves crashing against a cliff.

Meanwhile, I finished the last curve of the black hole and pressed my palm against it, pouring my will into the spell.

Another opposition.

Wait. That wasn't right. It was identity, so why was it stopped?

Could it be—his indestructibility also extended to dimensional breaches? Preventing any hole, any passage, from forming through him or near him?

Maybe.

A theory as good as any.

But still, a failure. No hole. No escape. Just defiance baked into the terracotta.

I punched the wall. Hard. For the satisfaction. It did the expected amount of nothing, which is to say, absolutely nothing.

So I ran toward the boys again, desperation nipping at my heels. I grabbed Malik by the shoulder and tried to will him to my Domain. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing.

He ignored me, threw another punch and made another block, golden-purple echoes flickering with every motion.

Teleportation was blocked too.

Fuck.

"Guys," I said as I circled the giant's right leg, stripping the fire Authority off the mural, more danger to us than to him anyway, "I can't get us out. Nothing works."

"I'm running low too!" Malik shouted. His voice cracked, not from pain, but from the knowledge of it coming.

His echoes stuttered in and out of form, blinking like dying stars. He was burning through shadowlight fast. Guys like him and Nick, transformers, manifesters, they bled power just to stay dangerous. Me? I just infused and when I removed, I got most of it back. My suit still hummed, but that was barely a comfort when I realized the only reason I wasn't drained yet was because I was about to be the last one standing.

Watching them die.

Then me, crushed beneath a slab of shadow-soaked terracotta.

And finally, the dome would drop. The giant would lumber toward Peter. And that idiot in his now-useless suit would never know what hit him.

"Malik!" I yelled. "Take its attention!"

He nodded once, cracked his knuckles and screamed, something wild, primal, then ran straight at the thing, arms glowing with his last golden echoes.

"Nick, brace me," I said. "It's Noxy's time."

No hesitation. He was beside me in a flash, armor of salt and bone reinforcing the grip. His back pressed against the dome's curve. My arms locked into his.

I raised Noxy, the gun that should never be used lightly and let it become Equinox.

My shadowlight surged toward it in silver, blue and black, her colors. Colors of balance. Of reckoning. Of the tipping point.

Static fizzled over the barrel like coiled lightning.

I took a breath.

Echo dove away, timed perfectly.

I pulled the trigger.

A shockwave ripped through me like a scream through steel. Nick caught most of it, his grunt was deep, low, almost swallowed. The dome—I swear to Reality if it was still listening—moved. Cracked? No. But wavered.

Then the thunder hit.

The bullet screamed across the space and hit.

The terracotta giant flew. It slammed backward onto the dome floor, a momentary corpse in motion. Dust rose like smoke. Stillness. Hope.

Then, nothing. No cracks. No craters. Just the sound of my heart trying to claw out of my chest.

"What?" Nick muttered.

"Again!" I shouted, forcing myself to aim again, head this time. "Nick, brace!"

He didn't answer. Just grabbed me tighter.

Second shot.

The sound of a world breaking, but not ours.

Nick hit the ground. The salt cracked and fell off in flakes. His breath left in a whoosh like he'd been kicked in the gut by a bull. Everything that made him monstrous flickered off. Human. Soft. Wounded.

I dropped to my knees, caught his head before it hit stone.

Malik rushed over, scooping him up, holding him steady as his body knit itself back together, flesh regrown, bruises flushed out like paint in water. He was alive. Just not ready to move again. Not soon.

And the giant?

It stirred.

First a twitch.

Then an arm to the floor.

Then a push.

And the bastard stood up again, slowly. Impossibly.

Unkillable.

Its forehead wasn't even cracked.

Malik sobbed. Just a short, dry gasp that cracked open something deep. Then a tear. Then another.

"I can't…" he choked. "I can't keep much longer, Alexa, please… think of something. I don't want to die."

His voice broke on the last word like it was too fragile for even that to finish cleanly.

And me?

I stared at that walking apocalypse and felt something I hadn't felt since the night I first woke up with shadowlight in my veins.

Hopeless.

But I wasn't the type to sit down and let the world fuck me over.

I wasn't the type to die trapped.

And I sure as hell wasn't about to watch my boys get buried under a statue.

Not today.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, clenched my jaw and stood.

I am the Sourceress of the Domain of Artistic Creation. And even if all I had left were a few half-baked ideas rattling around my skull, I was damn well going to use them, right up until the moment I got splattered like a bug on a windshield. Even if none of them worked.

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I saw the truth about this giant now: he was invincible, indestructible, immovable like the ancient Chinese dynasties and the empire he embodied. But that was his truth. And I would do anything in my power to change it.

"Malik, stay on Nick. Watch him 'til he wakes up," I barked, wheeling around. "If there's anything left in you, anything at all, you use it to keep him alive. Got me? Everything you've got. Because if he dies and you could've stopped it… I'll kill you myself."

He gulped. I didn't wait for a reply.

"Now! Get it together!" I shouted.

And then I bolted, straight for the far side of the dome, flinging my eye-cards like throwing stars, embedding them into the ground near the walls as I went, extending my line of sight like scattered mirrors. I needed angles. I needed eyes. I needed every damn edge I could get.

"Alright, you overgrown bastard," I muttered under my breath. "If I can't burn you, break you, teleport you, or even budge you—"

I yanked two spray cans from my belt. One in each hand. They hissed, ready.

"—Then I'll make you feel something instead," I growled. Maybe at him. Maybe at myself. Probably both. I needed that edge of defiance to keep my hands steady.

The ground was my canvas again. And I ran.

Paint sprayed in violent reds and volatile oranges behind me, jagged streaks slicing the air like angry lightning. He didn't bother drawing his sword. No, he tried to flatten me like a fly. Every swing of his massive arms sent shockwaves crashing through the dome like Echo's afterimages. But I ducked. I rolled. I kept moving. Kept painting.

Through the scattered eyes of my cards, I could see it all: him, me, the chaos we danced through and the work I was leaving behind in fire-bright streaks.

Thanks for the backup, Anansi. You're a damn good girl.

The words slipped through my mind like a prayer.

[I'm trying.] she said, her voice sounded soft but steady, threading through the storm in my head.

Another point of view blinked into focus just in time: the giant, leaping, arms raised like a hammer above its head. Thanks to the eyes I'd scattered and the quiet grace of my invisible guardian, I stopped just short of the spot I would've instinctively run to. The ground where I should've been exploded with the force of his landing, but I was already moving, peeling off to the side, still dragging color across the earth.

Then came the kick.

I ducked low, barely sliding under it, the breeze from his foot like a pressure wave across my spine. He was getting faster, sharper, like his clumsy bulk was just the warm-up act. Like the stiffness had been borrowed and now he was giving it back. Or maybe… maybe he was leeching the flexibility right out of the concrete beneath us.

I hurled the orange can right at his face, smack into his stone-dead expression. Didn't even chip the bastard. But it felt good. Really good. Sometimes satisfaction was a kind of power.

"Be careful!" Malik yelled, about two seconds too late.

Didn't need it. I'd already seen the way his mouth started to shape the words. Already caught the glint of movement from the giant before Malik even drew a breath. I ducked the swing, hit the floor in a roll and snatched another can on the way up.

Still running. Still painting.

The core design was set now. The skeleton of it sprawled across the dome like a blueprint scrawled in rage. But now came the finesse. Time to thread the needle. I shook the pink can and went to work, etching fine lines through the chaos, details that sprouted out like fractals, spreading with purpose.

Another jump. Another dodge.

A heartbeat away from being hit again.

A cartwheel, a spray of color mid-motion, then another burst of paint before my feet even landed.

I tore forward, slipped between the monster's legs like a shadow, then launched myself toward the Dome's curved wall. The momentum carried me up, one step, two and I kicked off hard, flipping onto the giant's head. He swung at me, wild and slow, like trying to swat a fly. I slid across his scalp, boots scraping, then sprang off the back like a spring-loaded pinball, hitting the ground in a low crouch as he spun around in confusion, looking for me.

Too late. I was already back to my floor mural, splashing a huge pink blob across the space I'd carved out earlier. But I needed time, more time than this brute was giving me. So I grabbed the grey and red cans, dragging shadows and highlights over the paint like quick, urgent breaths.

Then came the quake.

He leapt, crashed down feet-first, then dropped to all fours like a rabid gorilla. His fists pounded the ground in rapid-fire tantrums, dirt and broken concrete spraying in all directions as he raged. He swiped, kicked, slammed, utter chaos.

Nick was awake by now. But all he did was stare, stunned, mouth slightly open like his brain hadn't caught up yet. Honestly? I couldn't blame him. I was watching myself in mild disbelief too. Was this really working?

I stashed the cans again, hands moving on instinct now. Fingers flicked cards out like playing a rigged deck, light and sound, a storm of them. Then, one by one, they burst to life. Bright flashes. Screeching tones. A dozen distractions howling at once.

And it worked.

While he swung and stomped at the effects, I slipped between his legs, sliding past fists and feet, weaving through the chaos like a thread through a needle's eye. I sprinted back to the center of the dome, back to the heart of my painting.

Just a few more strokes. A few last details.

I could feel it now, the shape, the intention, the rightness of it all. Not flawless. But honest. Raw. Real.

It was done. Ready and good enough.

All it needed now was intent, my will, my authority, poured straight into the design. That final piece that would shift its identity and bend it to my rules. But for that? I had to touch it. Physically touch it.

Stupid damn restriction. Might get me killed one of these days. I really needed to figure out how to use my aura better, if I lived long enough to care.

Still, if I was right, if everything worked the way I was about to authorize, then at least the boys would make it out. Maybe, with some absurd stroke of luck, they'd even find Jason. Maybe help him escape too.

"Oi! You wanker!" I yelled, nailing the British accent like I'd been born in Brixton. "Yeah, you! Come get some!"

He turned fast, catching the bait and I pulled the plug on the light and sound cards. All distractions vanished in a blink, like ghosts dismissed.

And then he charged.

No more man. He was full beast now, feral grace wrapped in a giant's body. Quick. Jerky. Wild. Like a chimpanzee hopped up on godhood, a Monkey King tearing across his imaginary cloud.

The first swipe cut the air inches above my head, I ducked. The second came low and fast, but I slid in under it, body scraping across the painted floor, aiming straight for his leg.

And then, contact.

My hand hit his surface.

My other hand pressed flat against my mural.

I became the bridge. Just for a moment. One heartbeat of a connection.

And I pushed the thought into the canvas like a loaded spell:

Become his nervous system.

My painting, this sprawling web of nerves twisting through limbs, stomach, torso, neck and finally the brain, burst to life. Shadowlight spilled over it like a tide, pouring out from my will as it wrestled control away from the giant's own authority with surprising ease. This wasn't about being unbreakable or unmoving anymore. No, this was identity, his identity rewritten by mine. And my authority had claimed victory.

I snapped the connection after just a second, had to. The ground shuddered as he tried to stomp me flat. I rolled away, sliding behind him, but it was already done.

The giant crashed headlong into the glowing web beneath him. He twisted, tried to pivot, but every movement screamed with pain. His foot crushed down on his own nervous system painted beneath his bulk. Each step sent shocks ripping through him. Every stumble slammed more of his body onto the electric mesh, jolting nerves that weren't meant to be stepped on.

His movements faltered. Slowed. Finally, he couldn't keep standing. He collapsed face-first, right onto the part of the painting that marked his brain.

I hit the ground hard, too.

The dome crumbled away, fading to nothing like ashes in the wind.

Peter dropped from above, hitting the ground with a grunt. I'd seen him trying to climb it earlier, desperate to break us out. But of course, he couldn't. The Dome had been just as unbreakable as the statue inside it. Still, he looked oddly relieved as his boots finally touched solid earth again.

And the creature, well, it stopped moving. Completely.

Peter sprinted toward me. I lay there, unmoving, flat on my back and barely breathing. Not from injury, no blood, no broken bones, just completely drained. My body was a hollow shell, calories long gone, muscles trembling from pure depletion. I still had authority inside me, more than enough, but the kind of energy that burns sugar and breath was gone. I was running on fumes. It seemed that adrenaline had me going long past what is humanly possible and now exhaustion came to collect what I was due.

So I shut my eyes and reached inward, pulling my aura tight. One by one, I stripped back the authority I'd spread through my tools, every card, every bit of borrowed will, until nothing remained but the suits and mask, Boys' lifeline cards and of course the floor mural. That one, I left alone. Just for now. Just in fucking case.

The last of my eye-cards blinked out, taking my enhanced sight with it.

And then Peter was there.

He dropped to his knees and pulled me up gently, wrapping me in his arms. His voice cracked as he held me close, shaking. "Alexa, please… don't die on me."

He held me like I was something fragile, like a baby again, the way he used to when we were small and the world felt too big. He used to cradle me like this when I cried, whispering that it was okay, that he'd protect me. And back then, I pretended to believe him. Even though I saw him later, alone in the hallway, crying into his sleeves when he thought no one noticed.

I felt that same ache in him now. It pulsed from his chest to mine, heavy and sharp. It hurt. And because it hurt, I forced my eyes open.

Nick was there too, suddenly at my side, kneeling close. Had he moved that fast, or had I drifted longer than I realized?

Behind him stood Malik, arms folded, posture quiet. But there was a smile on his face, a small, soft one. Nothing smug, nothing forced. Just… kind. And it looked so strange on him, but it fit better than anything I'd seen him wear before.

I liked him in that moment, I liked him for the first time, since I met him.

Nick reached behind him and pulled out one of Ariana's crackers, handmade survival fuel, humble but damn full of magic. He crumbled it gently, careful with the pieces, then brought a bite to my mouth like it was something sacred.

I took it. Just a small bite.

But oh, the warmth. A little jolt of life zipped through my veins like someone jump-started my soul. Another bite. Then another. Nick didn't say anything, just kept feeding me like I was the most important thing in the world to get running again.

By the time I was halfway through the third cracker, I could sit up on my own. Shoulders aching, hands shaking, but sitting. Eating. Breathing.

Alive.

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