The machines Lan had uncovered in the city ruins weren’t just isolated relics—they were conduit nodes, each one humming with dormant energy, all feeding into something larger and more ominous. Their true heart, the center of this hidden system, lay deep within the forested sprawl of the national park.

  There, the forest pressed close and heavy, muffling the world in a hush broken only by the distant, mournful call of unseen birds. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and moss. Underfoot, the ground was tangled with undergrowth—ferns and brambles clustering so densely they formed a living blanket, soft in places, treacherous in others. Every step was swallowed by the spongy mat of leaves, and the light that filtered through the canopy was green and uncertain, painting everything in a dreamlike haze.

  Chen led the way, his jaw set, anion rifle gripped tight as he hacked through tangled undergrowth. Every step was deliberate, his eyes narrowed, scanning for threats that might be hiding in the dappled green-gold gloom.

  Yan Qing trailed behind, nerves prickling. His hands were clammy despite the cool shade. The escort soldiers fanned out, boots crunching softly on the mossy ground, while Lan moved in silence, his golden retriever pressed close, hackles bristling and nose twitching at the air.

  They broke through the last wall of brush and stumbled into the clearing. Lanice’s arm shot out, halting the group. “Hold,” he breathed, voice taut.

  The engine core loomed at the center, half-swallowed by earth, its surface slick and dark, faint lines glimmering like veins of oil. The sight of it sent a chill up Yan Qing’s spine.

  But someone was already there.

  Chris stood beside the machine, one hand splayed on its casing. He turned as the group emerged, his face a mask—calm, but his eyes flickered with something like relief, or dread.

  “You’re here,” he said, voice thin.

  Yan Qing’s heart thudded. “Chris ? What are you doing out here?”

  No lights. No soldiers. The clearing felt abandoned, haunted.

  Chen’s gaze swept the perimeter, his body tensing, shoulders squared, every muscle ready to spring.

  Lanice’s frown deepened, his hand drifting toward his weapon. “Where’s the unit that was stationed here?”

  Chris didn’t answer. Yan Qing’s skin crawled. He noticed the snapped branches, the scuffed earth—signs of movement, too many footprints, too deliberate.

  Chen’s voice dropped, low and urgent. “Yan Qing. Step back.”

  Lan’s jaw clenched. He fumbled for his communicator, voice tight. “Xiao—?”

  Only static replied.

  Chris’s shoulders slumped. He let out a slow, defeated breath. “It’s too late for that.”

  A voice slithered from the trees, smug and cold. “It’s useless, Teleopeans. We’ve jammed the entire area. No signals in. No signals out.”

  A man stepped into the clearing, gold chains flashing, rings glinting on every finger. His smile was wide, predatory. Behind him, the forest erupted—dozens of figures pouring out, encircling the group in a tightening noose.

  Yan Qing’s pulse hammered in his ears. The air felt thin, electric. Chris’s fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

  Angelo, voice trembling but still clinging to protocol, stepped forward. “Who are you? This is a White House–authorized operation. If you interfere, you’ll—”

  A gunshot split the air. Angelo’s words died in his mouth. He looked down, eyes wide with disbelief. Blood blossomed across his chest, staining his shirt crimson.

  “ANGELO!” Yan Qing’s scream tore from his throat as he lunged forward, but Angelo crumpled to the ground, blood pooling fast, and did not move again.

  The world seemed to freeze. The scientists stared, faces drained of color, horror etched in every line. Chen’s face hardened, eyes blazing as he raised his rifle. Lan’s blades snapped open, blue light flickering. The golden retriever snarled, lips peeled back, ready to leap.

  “What the hell do you want?!” Yan Qing’s voice cracked, raw with shock and fury.

  Chen grabbed Yan Qing’s arm, yanking him behind his own body. “Yan Qing. Stay behind me.” His grip was iron, his eyes never leaving the threat.

  The jeweled man’s gaze slid past Chen, locking onto Yan Qing. “Oh,” he purred, lips curling. “So this is him.” His eyes flicked to Chris, sharp and knowing. “This is your little human friend, isn’t it?”

  Chris’s face changed in an instant. The warmth vanished, replaced by something cold and alien. His pupils narrowed, diamond-shaped, and a killing intent—long hidden—flared in his eyes.

  “Just finish it, O’Neill.” Chris spat, voice trembling with unspoken rage and shame.

  O’Neill’s laughter was wild, triumphant. “For years you hid him, Chris. From your own kind. You’re unfit to be Fenreiga’s king.”

  “Chris?” Yan Qing’s voice shook, betrayal and confusion warring in his chest. “What is going on?!”

  O’Neill’s grin widened, manic. “Because that human carries our universe’s greatest treasure.” He pointed straight at Yan Qing. “The Ultimate Weapon.”

  Yan Qing’s blood ran cold. The forest seemed to close in, shadows thickening, the air heavy with dread.

  “Capture the human alive,” O’Neill commanded, voice ringing with cruel certainty.

  “Kill everyone else.”

  The Fenreigans surged—a tidal wave of bodies, claws, and teeth, their eyes burning with the promise of slaughter.

  “Not that easy!” Lanice’s voice cracked like a whip. He fired point-blank. The first Fenreigan face exploded in a spray of blue blood, spattering Lanice’s hands and uniform. The creature staggered, jaws snapping, and kept coming, a nightmare refusing to die.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Chest! Aim for the chest!” Lan’s voice was raw with urgency. He spun, plasma blades flashing, and split an attacker from collarbone to hip. The stench of burning flesh filled the air. Another lunged—Lan’s blade caught it mid-leap, blue blood hissing as it hit the ground. “Little Bubble—protect the humans! Get them out!” he screamed, desperation cracking his voice.

  The golden retriever—Little Bubble—launched itself at a Fenreigan twice its size, teeth sinking into scaled flesh. The beast howled, thrashing, as a scientist scrambled away, face streaked with terror and sweat.

  Chen’s rifle shrieked at full power. He fired again and again, each shot a silent thunderclap. Four, five Fenreigans dropped, bodies twitching, but more poured in. Screams tore through the clearing—human, alien, animal. The six scientists were down to three, the rest lost in the chaos or already dead. Even the soldiers, hardened by war, were barely holding the line—backs pressed together, eyes wild, firing blindly into the swarm.

  Yan Qing’s heart hammered in his chest. He could taste blood—his own, bitten from his tongue in fear. Chen’s arm was a steel bar across his chest, holding him back, shielding him from the carnage. But Chen couldn’t be everywhere. He couldn’t save them all.

  All the human bodies were too close to him, he couldn’t use his telekinesis either, unless he killed everyone, including Yan Qing.

  The Ultimate Weapon.

  The words echoed in Chen’s mind, cold and inexorable. The quantum computer—sealed inside Yan Qing. The source of power that had destroyed worlds, now humming inside of the human he loved. How could it be?

  The Ultimate Weapon was lost, even before his time.

  Chen’s vision tunneled, the world narrowing to a single, brutal purpose. He drove his rifle forward, the impact jarring up his arms as it punched through the Fenreigan’s chest—he felt the sickening give of bone, the shudder as the body collapsed around the wound. Without hesitation, he wrenched the corpse free and flung it aside, breath steady and cold. All around him, chaos howled—gunfire, screams, the stench of blood and ozone thick in the air.

  Fractured memories—shards of a life not his own—echoed painfully through Chen's mind, each one a wound inherited from a predecessor who had vanished into oblivion.

  Into his trembling hands, the predecessor's Melean pressed a small metal box—its weight far heavier than its size, as if it contained the sorrow of generations. The child’s fingers curled around it, knuckles white with dread and longing.

  Slowly, the Teleopean child lifted his face, searching for comfort in the eyes of the one who had given him life. But what he found was a blood-streaked smile—one that tried to be gentle, but could not hide the devastation beneath. It was a smile that belonged to someone who had already lost everything, and in its reflection, the child saw his own tear-filled eyes.

  In the frantic motion of bodies, Chen’s gaze found Yan Qing’s. Yan Qing’s black eyes shone—wide with fear, but beneath it, a raw, silent plea not to be left behind.

  Yan Qing, don’t forget me.

  The world shattered. Time, space, the roar of battle—all of it fell away, replaced by a blinding, impossible light that tore across the void. In its heart, a child’s face—golden hair molten with tears, anguish carved into every trembling line. The universe itself seemed to hold its breath.

  My name is—Chen. Xing. Chen.

  Two souls, never meant to meet, collided at the edge of destiny. The fracture was violent, beautiful, inevitable. In that rupture, they found each other—learned each other—became bound by a longing so fierce it burned through lifetimes.

  I love you. Even if I must cross an irreversible horizon, I still want to see you again, Yan Qing.

  The small “Chen” clutched the box to his chest, knuckles white, lips bitten through with grief. He would never love anyone else. He had already spent his once-in-a-lifetime love on someone he could never reach—a love hurled across the boundary of worlds, knowing it would never return.

  Another body dropped.

  Blood splattered across the leaves, soaking into their veins and staining them a deeper, almost blackened purple.

  It was a pity.

  In the far past, in a parallel universe, a dying Teleopean stared up at a sky so black it seemed to swallow hope. Blood seeped from wounds that would not close.

  Such a pity. I won’t get to see you again, Yan Qing.

  He had run for so many years, trying to outrun the weight of his own civilization, the loneliness that gnawed at his bones. But memory was merciless. It returned, sharp as the day it was made—Yan Qing’s delighted face, eyes shining with wonder after witnessing his “magic.” That memory was a lifeline and a curse.

  But it’s okay.

  A bloodstained mouth curved upward, defiant even in the face of oblivion.

  My “Continuation” will.

  Replace me. Protect you

  Please…

  The plea hung in the void, desperate and unfinished, echoing through the darkness between worlds. And in that echo, all the love, regret, and hope of a soul who had given everything for a single, impossible connection.