Chương 67: Act 2, Chapter 21: The Dome

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 salt-encrusted fists, 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 that 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. I punched the wall hard out of frustration, but it did the expected amount of 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, but nothing happened. I tried again with the same lack of results. 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 ain't good too! Spent!" 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. Guys like him and Nick, transformers and manifesters, they squeezed their souls dry just to stay dangerous. I was different though. I just infused, and when I removed, I got most of it back.

My suit still worked great, 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 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 and primal, then ran straight at the thing.

"Nick, brace me," I said.

"It's Noxy's time." 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, and let it become Equinox. My shadowlight surged toward it in silver, blue, and black, 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 and I pulled the trigger. A shockwave ripped through us.

Nick caught most of it, his grunt was deep and low. The dome wavered and the bullet screamed across the space and hit. The terracotta giant flew, slamming backward onto the dome floor. Dust rose like smoke and the giant with it.

"What?" Nick muttered.

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

"Nick, brace!" He grabbed me tighter. Second shot made the sound of a world breaking apart. Nick hit the ground, the salt cracking and falling off in flakes, his breath leaving his lungs quickly like he'd been kicked in the gut by a bull. Everything that made him monstrous flickered off. I dropped to my knees and caught his head before it hit stone. Malik rushed over, scooping him up, holding him steady as his body knit itself back together with flesh regrowing and bruises being flushed out.

He was alive, just not ready to move again, not soon. And the giant stirred. First a twitch, then an arm to the floor, then a push, and the bastard sowly stood up again. 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. I stared at that walking apocalypse and felt something I hadn't felt since the night I first woke up with Authority in my veins. I was 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 was 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. I saw the truth about this giant now: he was invincible, indestructible and 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 until 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. 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, hissing, 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 sending shockwaves crashing through the dome like Echo's afterimages.

But I ducked, I rolled, I kept moving, kept painting. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. 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—t he words slipped through my mind. [I'm trying,] she said, her voice soft but steady, threading through the storm in my head.

Another point of view blinked into focus just in time: the giant, leaping with its arms raised 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 and 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.

"Yo, watch yourself!" 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. 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, then launched myself toward the Dome's curved wall. The momentum carried me up, and I kicked off hard after few steps, flipping onto the giant's head.

He swung at me, like trying to swat a fly. I slid across his scalp, then sprang off the back, hitting the ground in a low crouch as he spun around in confusion, looking for me. 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 already there.

He leapt, crashed down feet-first, then dropped to all fours like a rabid gorilla, his fists pounding the ground in rapid-fire tantrums, dirt and broken concrete spraying in all directions as he raged, swiped, kicked and slammed in total chaos. Nick was awake by now, but all he did was stare, stunned with his mouth slightly open like his brain hadn't caught up yet. I couldn't blame him. I was watching myself in mild disbelief too.

I stashed the cans again, hands moving on instinct now, fingers flicking light and sound cards out—a storm of them. Then, one by one, they burst to life with 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. 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 and 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.

"Hey! You bloody monster!" I yelled.

"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 and then he charged. The first swipe cut the air inches above my head, as I ducked and continued running. 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 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 in an instant: 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.

This was his identity being rewritten by mine, and my authority had claimed victory. I snapped the connection after just a second. 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 crushing down on his own nervous system painted beneath his bulk.

Each step sent shocks ripping through him, every stumble slamming more of his body onto the electric mesh, jolting nerves that weren't meant to be stepped on. His movements faltered, slowed, and 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. He 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 some Authority inside me, but the kind of energy that burns sugar and breath was gone. I was running on fumes. It seemed 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, reaching throughout the aura and one by one stripping back the Authority I'd spread through my tools.

Every card, every bit of borrowed will, until nothing remained but the suits and mask, the 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 finally by my side. He dropped to his knees and pulled me up gently, wrapping me in his arms, his voice cracking 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. It hurt.

And because it hurt, I forced my eyes open. Nick was there too, suddenly kneeling close. I didn't know if he had moved that fast, or had I drifted longer than I realized. Behind him stood Malik with arms folded, 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. I took a small bite. But the warmth zipped through my veins like someone just 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 and still bloody alive.