Wolfen's voice was different. Sharper. Urgent.
"Derek."
Derek looked at him. Wolfen's golden eyes were fixed on something Derek couldn't see, his jaw tight, his hands clenched.
"Where's Zoey?"
Derek opened his mouth. Closed it. He didn't know. He hadn't seen her since the chaos started, since the facility fell, since Eva lost control.
"I don't know."
The ground rumbled. A section of rubble shifted, then exploded outward. Wrong Eva—uncontrolled, monstrous, her form a twisted echo of the real Eva's transformation—roared as she burst through the debris. Her tentacles lashed, her claws scraped against stone, her dark eyes scanning for something to destroy.
Shit.
Wolfen tried to transform. His body seized. Nothing. His Pulse was still failing, sputtering, refusing to answer.
Derek's body hardened, stone spreading across his skin.
They finally heard voices coming from under the debris .
Wolfen looked at him. "Get the survivors out. Now."
Derek clenched his fists. He wanted to argue. Wolfen was in no condition to fight. But the voices were already coming from beneath the rubble—cries for help, screams, children calling for their parents.
Derek ran.
---
Under the rubble, a boy pressed himself against his mother. His hands were over his ears, his face buried in her chest. The darkness was thick, the dust thick, the weight above them creaking and groaning.
"Are we going to die?" His voice was muffled, small.
His mother held him tighter. Around them, the few hybrids who had survived the collapse were trying to lift the massive slab above them—struggling, failing, their strength not enough.
"No," she said, her voice cracking. "We're going to be okay."
The stone above them groaned. Dust rained down. The weight shifted.
She pulled her son tighter. Closed her eyes.
The slab didn't fall.
Instead, it started to rise.
---
Derek's hand pressed against the underside of the massive slab. It weighed tons—concrete and rebar and stone, a piece of the facility's ceiling that had collapsed and trapped dozens beneath it.
His muscles screamed. His veins bulged. His skin was hard, harder than it had ever been, and he lifted.
The survivors below watched in silence. The boy peeked through his fingers. His mother's eyes went wide.
The slab rose. Slowly at first, then faster, as Derek's strength found its rhythm. He threw it aside—one clean motion—and reached down into the darkness.
"Come on," he said. "Quickly."
They came. One by one. The boy, his mother, the hybrids who had been trying to lift the slab themselves. Derek pulled them out, set them on solid ground, and pointed toward a safe area.
Lena was already there, her clothes torn, her body bloodied but healing. She had been pulling survivors out too.
"Get them to safety," Derek said.
Lena nodded. Her eyes met his—just for a moment—and then she turned away, leading the survivors toward the treeline.
Derek turned back.
---
Wolfen was on the ground. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading through the cracks in the stone. His body was broken—ribs, arms, something in his chest that made every breath a knife. He couldn't move.
His vision was darkening. The edges of his sight were going grey, closing in.
Is this what death feels like?
It was peaceful. Quiet. The sounds of the battle—the roars, the screams, the explosions—seemed distant now. Muffled. Almost comforting.
Wolfen liked it. The peace. The comfort. The weight lifting off his shoulders.
GET UP.
His eyes snapped open.
He was on his feet before he knew he'd moved, blood spilling faster, his body screaming in protest. Wrong Eva charged at him, her claws extended, her jaws open wide.
Wolfen's hand moved. Umbralite flowed over his fingers, forming a gauntlet, and he punched her in the face.
Too weak. Too slow. Her jaws were inches from his neck—
Derek hit her from the side.
The impact sent her flying, tumbling across the rubble, carving a trench in the stone.
Derek stood over Wolfen, his body hardened, his fists raised. "You alright?"
"Yep." Wolfen was barely standing. "Sure doesn't look like it."
Derek didn't argue. He didn't have time.
---
The rubble started to float.
Not pieces—all of it. The shattered remains of the facility, the massive chunks of concrete, the debris that had been scattered for miles—it all rose into the air, suspended by something invisible and immense.
Zoey emerged from the chaos.
Her body was covered in blue energy, crackling and pulsing, her eyes glowing bright. Her hair moved like she was underwater. Her left arm was gone—severed, blood still dripping—but she didn't seem to notice. Didn't seem to feel it.
She was coursing with power.
Wrong Eva's attention snapped to her. Her dark eyes locked onto Zoey, and for the first time, something like hesitation flickered across her twisted face.
The floating debris merged. All of it—the rubble, the stone, the earth itself—came together in a single massive sphere in the sky. It was enormous, larger than anything Wolfen had ever made, larger than his largest sun attacks.
Wrong Eva charged.
Zoey raised her hand.
Wrong Eva's limbs exploded.
Her arms, her legs, her tentacles—all of them burst apart in sprays of black blood. She collapsed to the ground, a writhing, broken thing, unable to move.
Zoey's hand waved once.
Wrong Eva's entire body exploded. Nothing was left but blood and dust.
Zoey turned.
She looked at Wolfen and Derek. Her expression was caught between anger and fear, her glowing eyes searching for something, finding it.
Then the shockwave hit.
The explosion from Eva and Sasha's fight—a thousand miles away—reached them at last. The ground split. The sky cracked. The force of it nearly sent Wolfen and Derek flying.
But Zoey didn't fall.
She turned toward the distant battle. The massive sphere of debris above her shattered into thousands of pieces, each one streaking toward the fight like a meteor shower, covering the distance in seconds.
She flew after them.
Wolfen watched her go.
His body was broken. His Pulse was failing. His vision was darkening again.
But he was still standing.