John set the thermal charges on the Idol which stuck into place. Rhea’s hands moved fast beside him, her face drawn in focus, as she sorted through the readings on her wristband’s holo projection. There was a glint of hope in her eyes as she sorted through the system data and tried to determine if their plan would work or if they were just about to waste several charges and possibly alert another horde of Braccari. There was hope in her eyes, and that gave John and the others hope, too.

  The Idol loomed before them. They had one final attempt. If they failed, they would have to hunt down Thariel and find his ring just to disable the Idol—and he could have been anywhere on Eurynome amongst the millions of caverns.

  John stood back, breathing hard. “We light it up,” he said. His voice cracked from exhaustion. “On my mark.”

  Rhea disabled the diagnostic projection and stepped back. She turned to John and nodded, silently. She was ready. Samantha patrolled the perimeter. Samantha stood nearby, eyes on the caverns around the perimeter.

  “Three. Two. One—”

  Rhea activated the detonator. The thermal charges on the Idol flared white causing John and Rhea to look away briefly. When the light died, they faced the idol and John’s expression fell grim.

  The Idol remained standing and untouched.

  John staggered back a step. “What—”

  Rhea cursed under her breath. “No effect.”

  John unslung his Scorcher and fired. Plasma bolts punched into the Idol’s surface—but dissipated like water on glass. No cracks. No change. Rhea joined in. Samantha tossed a fragmentation grenade. BOOM. Nothing.

  John’s breath quickened. “That’s not possible.”

  Behind them, a faint sound popped like a coin dropping.

  Then they heard a voice. It was smooth, sated, and familiar.

  “You poor creatures,” a man said, whose voice was distant.

  John spun.

  Thariel stood at the archway of a distant cavern. He stood regal and composed. His white armor shimmered faintly in the low light. He held a small silver device. He tossed it lazily into the chamber like a child skipping a stone across a pond. John realized what it was too late—a grenade.

  “No!” John shouted. He grabbed Rhea’s arm and together they dove out of the way and fell face first onto the dusty bone floor.

  The grenade struck the ground with a soft thud and blossomed like a flower of smoke and light. The chamber twisted. Light bent around them. Colors warped, then solidified into a horrifying scene.

  John didn’t feel the pain of shrapnel. Instead, he saw New York. It was as if he was there in person again, like he never left Earth. New York’s skyline was in flames. He heard screams of the dying in every direction. Buildings crumbled…but they fell in slow motion—which was impossible. Ash rained like snow on the bones of the burning city. John felt it all again.

  He swore he felt Emily’s breath against his cheek. He even smelled her perfume—but she wasn’t there. His gaze fell on the rising fire on the horizon which moved toward him like a rogue wave; it swallowed Manhattan inch by inch.

  He stood on the broken street, but then his knees buckled and he fell.

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  “No…” he whispered.

  Samantha screamed nearby. John looked over and saw her staggering inside the burning building beside him, her arms flailing. She was on fire. Rhea dropped to a crouch beside John, flames trickling up her feet and legs. She covered her face with her hands and writhed in pain. This was real. It was too real.

  John tried to move. He wanted to save Sam from the raging inferno, but his limbs were like boots in heavy mud. And the world was on fire with the heat washing against his eyes.

  Then he saw something which was entirely out of place. A boot materialized in front of him and kicked him in the ribs, hard. John fell, coughing, the pain was very real.

  “You are blind,” Thariel whispered, as he also materialized. Now he stood in front of John. The fire flickered off his cerulean blue skin, but didn’t burn him. Was it real? Thariel stepped forward with a blade in his hand. “That’s always been humanity’s greatest sin. Your species is blind to your fate. Blind to your betters. In the end, pride will be your downfall.”

  Thariel slashed his blade across John’s arm. It tore through his combat armor, which appeared invisible amidst Thariel’s illusion, but the blood was real and so was the cut on his arm. It burned. The suit hissed from the torn plating. John’s adrenaline surged. He felt powerless, unable to respond. Lights danced around in his vision and he felt like chains were binding him to the ground.

  Thariel kicked him again.

  Rhea Morgan was beside him, no longer on fire, but she was clearly in pain, too, because she grunted and collapsed on the ground beside him. Samantha had fallen, too.

  Thariel dragged Samantha from the rubble and threw her on the ground beside Rhea and John. He pulled Rhea and Sam to their feet, who managed to stand on their own like helpless marionette puppets. That’s when Thariel tossed his knife back and forth in his hands, paced between them, and slashed their arms and chest as if he wanted to kill them via death by a thousand cuts. He would laugh, slash, chuckle, and slash again. Each time John felt the cruel blade, he cried out in pain. Rhea grunted in agony. Samantha winced with every cut.

  “You will make a deal in the end,” Thariel said, smiling. “You will beg for order. The Elysians already understand. Obedience brings purpose. Humanity will learn this truth, even if it must crawl to it through the path of blood, first.”

  Samantha screamed as a gash opened across her shoulder. Her suit flared with a warning alarm. Thariel cut John again, and he fell to the ground. He reached out toward Rhea who was on her back. But she was too far away to grab. However, he felt something cold and metallic which wasn’t a part of the twisted illusion. He grabbed it and his palm closed around it. He soon realized it was his Scorcher. He lifted his gun and aimed it at Thariel’s chest—and although he couldn’t see it—he pulled the trigger. The chamber cracked like thunder. The illusion died instantly. New York vanished.

  The Idol returned.

  The room reeled back into reality, but the pain remained.

  Blood ran down John’s arms and legs. Rhea lay slumped, armor dented. Samantha was still breathing, just barely. She lay on the ground, panting and moaning from the agony.

  Thariel looked down at his chest and felt the bleeding wound with his fingers. He held his bloody hand up and examined it, as if unsure whether it was real blood or merely an illusion.

  John didn’t hesitate. He fired again.

  Plasma slugs hammered Thariel’s chest. Sparks erupted. His perfect white armor cracked where the slugs penetrated. Thariel stumbled. He dropped his blade which clattered on the ground at his feet.

  John unloaded the rest of his magazine.

  Thariel dropped onto the floor and lay there, motionless and bleeding.

  The silence that followed was not from peace, but pure disbelief.

  Smoke hissed from Thariel’s broken body. The platinum ring on his finger rolled free and spiraled across the ground, stopping at John’s boot.

  John stared at it.

  His heart was still racing. His body screamed in agony. He crawled over to the platinum ring and picked it up.

  Did he do it?

  Was the monster finally dead?

  He looked back at the Idol. It was still untouched. And yet…Thariel was gone.

  John’s throat tightened. The chamber flickered with fading heat.

  The war wasn’t over.

  But maybe—just maybe—the nightmare had lost its master. And now, as a cherry on the cupcake, he had the ring which could disable the Idol and stop the raging Braccari for good.