Chapter 150

We kept our heads down until the gunfire finally died off. Shouting rolled in from the perimeter as Harris fought to get his people back under control.

“Cease fire!” “All units hold position - we are not engaging!” “Who fired? Identify yourself!”

Inside our little bunker, the fear hit all at once. “Why are they shooting at us?” “You said they’d help us!”

I dragged a dirty hand across my ash-streaked face. “This isn’t working,” I said to Donnelly. “We’re not getting out of here if we keep this up.”

“It’s bad,” he admitted. “But there are good men out there. And there are civilians in here. We don’t get to give up.”

“We’re not abandoning anyone,” I said. I let out a slow breath. “But if we leave, we do it on our terms… or not at all.”

The loudspeaker crackled again.

“Park group, this is Harris. We are holding all movement. Do not send anyone else.” A pause. “We need to stabilize the perimeter before we continue.”

I glanced toward my daughter, huddled off to the side, separate from the rest.

“Understood,” I called back.

I stood and walked over to Tansy. I didn’t crouch. Didn’t bother hiding. If they had snipers, let them take the shot. Either I’d heal or I wouldn’t. I didn’t have it in me to care.

I sat beside her - close, but not touching. Too much had been said. Too much damage done. I knew she hated me. Maybe some part of me hated her back. But none of that changed what she was to me.

“Thank you for coming back,” I said quietly. “For saving Lilae.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared into nothing.

“That proves you belong here. That you’re part of the pack.” I glanced at her. “The pack protects its own.”

She shifted away.

“I know I haven’t been a good father,” I said. “I know I’ve said things I can’t take back. There’s no excuse for it. You’re hurting just as much as I am.” I swallowed. “But nothing in this world or any other changes the fact that you’re my daughter.”

I ran a hand through my hair and let out a breath. “And I’m going to get you home. I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

My gaze moved across each of them - one by one. “All of you.”

I stood. “Donnelly. Jenkins. If I clear a path, can you get these people to Harris safely?”

“You can’t send us out there!” someone shouted.

“They’ll shoot us!” another cried.

“No one’s getting shot,” I said. “You have my word.”

“We need to move all of them,” I added. “Not in groups. Everyone at once.”

Donnelly didn’t answer right away.

Jenkins shifted, wincing. “All at once?”

Donnelly looked up. “You want that? You need three things - control, visibility, and commitment. Right now, we’ve got none of them.”

“For control,” he went on, “our people move as one unit. No stragglers. No panic. No sudden breaks. You set the pace and you hold it. One person bolts, someone out there thinks ‘threat’ and pulls a trigger.”

“If there’s only one path?” I asked. “Can you two manage them? Crowd control?”

He and Jenkins exchanged a look, then scanned the crowd.

Donnelly nodded. “If it’s controlled? Yeah.”

“Good. Next?”

“Visibility,” he said. “This smoke is killing you. They can’t tell who’s who. You push through blind, you’re begging for misidentification. You need a clear corridor - no smoke, full lighting, no confusion.”

“We can handle that.”

“Then commitment,” he finished. “They need to know what you’re doing before you do it. Not seconds - minutes. You call it, give them time to set, and once you move, you don’t stop.”

“Got it.”

I turned. “Moss.”

She perked up instantly.

“How far can you throw this?” I asked, lifting Unity.

“Where do ya want it?” she asked.

I pointed south, past the barricades. “That building. Into the wall. Chest height.”

Jenkins blinked. “You might want the big guy for that. That’s - what - three hundred feet?”

“Nah,” I said. “Nim’s strong, but Moss is stronger.”

She stood and reached for the staff.

I pulled it back. “Sticking out of the wall. Not through it and out the other side.”

She grinned. Nodded.

“Wait for my signal.” I handed it over. She spun it once, testing the balance, then gave me a look that said she was ready.

“Harris!” I shouted.

A pause. Then the loudspeaker: “Go ahead.”

“Comms are compromised. I’m sending you a secure method. Have your people take cover. This is not an attack. Tell me when you’re set.”

Silence stretched - long and uncomfortable. Shapes shifted in the smoke as the perimeter pulled back, clearing space.

“…Ready,” Harris said.

I gave Moss a nod.

She moved like a coiled spring snapping loose - two steps, a twist of her body, and the staff left her hand like a bolt of lightning.

It punched into the concrete wall with a brutal crack, burying itself halfway in.

Moss flashed me a crooked grin.

“Good job,” I said.

Then, louder, “All clear!”

I closed my eyes for a heartbeat and reached out - feeling for Unity, for that thread that still tied us together across the chaos.

* * *

“What the fuck is that?” a man asked as he approached the staff jutting out of the wall.

“This is our secure line,” I said, my voice emanating from the wood. “You Harris?”

Several of them flinched back.

“I’m Harris,” another man said, already raising a hand. “Hold positions. Nobody touches it.”

He stepped forward into the flood lights that had been setup. Mid-forties. Average height. Lean build. Tawney skin. Close-cropped dark hair just starting to silver at the edges. A rough shadow of stubble darkened his jaw. His suit had given up the fight hours ago - tie loosened, sleeves rolled, soot and sweat clinging to him like a second skin.

But his face? Controlled. Measured. Not a damn thing given away.

“Huh,” I said. “Thought you’d be taller.”

He rolled his eyes. “You Seth?”

“In the… uh… staff,” I said. “Are we clear to talk?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes swept the perimeter, reading people, positions, angles.

“Give me a minute.”

He turned, voice sharpening just enough to carry. “Perimeter stays back. I want a tight circle - no one inside it unless I say so.”

“Alvarez. Patel. With me. Everyone else - back it up. Fifty feet. No exceptions.”

He scanned them, making sure it sunk in. “Weapons low. Eyes out, not in.”

The crowd peeled back, **** but obedient.

Alvarez stepped in beside him - a compact woman in her late thirties, maybe early forties. Athletic. Efficient. Dark hair pulled into a bun that was already coming loose. Sleeves rolled, vest exposed, ash smeared across her skin. Her eyes were red from smoke and heat, but sharp - tracking everything.

Patel came up on the other side. Early thirties. Tall, lean, shoulders slouched just enough to mark him as more tech than field. Olive skin, short black hair sticking up where sweat had wrecked it. Glasses sliding down his nose every few seconds. His khakis were ruined - gray with soot - and his blue polo was darkened under the arms with sweat.

“Keep it quiet,” Harris told them. “No radios in this circle.”

Patel crouched slightly, studying the staff embedded in the wall.

“Let’s just assume there’s a camera, mic, and speaker in here,” I said. “Makes it easier. And don’t touch it. It’s enchanted so only my family can use it.”

Harris’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. “We’re clear on this side,” he said. “You’ve got a small window. Talk.”

“This isn’t working,” I said. “Your people are compromised. We’ve got hostiles out here willing to kill just to make my people look like the bad guys. And I’ve got almost two hundred civilians who don’t trust you right now because they think they’re going to get shot.”

I took a breath. “I want to move them. Not in groups. All at once. Donnelly and Jenkins go with them. My people stay put - here, in the park. We get the civilians out, then we figure out whatever the hell happens next.”

Harris didn’t react right away. Just watched. Weighed it. “And how do you propose we do that?” he asked.

“I build the corridor,” I said. “Lit. Covered. Protected from interference. You receive them, push them to EMS, and once they’re clear, I collapse it. Then we go back to talking.”

Alvarez glanced at Harris. Patel didn’t look up from the staff.

“What kind of corridor?” Harris asked.

I let that hang for half a second.

“This wall you’re looking at?” I said. “Not an art installation. We do the same thing. My people create a tunnel - straight to you.”

He chewed on that. “How long?”

“Once we’re ready?” I said. “Two minutes.”

* * *

“How the fuck are we supposed to build a tunnel to the other side?” Mirri demanded. “In case you missed it, we’re out of mana. Even Serah's ring is dead. And none of us is the god of stone tunnels - unless you figured out how to tap into Dromaia’s Faith all of a sudden.”

“We make the mana we need,” I said. Simple. Flat.

I knew she wasn’t going to like it. It didn't matter. It was the only play I had left, and standing here letting everything unravel wasn’t an option.

We were spent. All of us. But Mirri and Lilae aside, the rest of us could take a dozen bullets and keep going. Worst case? We piled onto Serah and flew. Where - we’d figure that out later. Anywhere outside the city would be easier to disappear.

“And how exactly do we do that?” Mirri shot back. “Elise isn’t here.”

My expression hardened. I reached into my cloak and pulled out the knife.

It was ugly. Dark. A weapon made for one reason and one reason only.

Nyssyra’s knife. The necromium knife. The god slaying knife.

Everyone stopped.

“Why are you even carryin’ that?” Mirri asked, her voice low - dangerous and trembling.

“It doesn’t matter why I have it,” I said. “It matters that we can use it.” The words tasted like ash. Shame burned across my face.

Donnelly and Jenkins watched, completely lost.

Mirri’s expression went cold - stone settling over fury. “It absolutely matters why you’re just casually carryin’ that around, you wither-pronged goat-knuckler.” When she got this angry, she sounded like Grams - creative, vicious, and dead-on.

“No, it doesn’t,” I said.

“Yes, it does,” Serah cut in, sharp as a blade.

Ashlara’s voice came softer, but it hit harder. “You were going to use it, weren’t you? Instead of talking to us… you were just going to do it.”

Mirri snapped. “You selfish, stone-brained hedge-spawn!” she shouted, tears carving clean gray tracks through the soot on her face.

“I don’t understand,” Jenkins said quietly.

Mirri jabbed a finger at me like she wanted to drive it straight through my chest. “This fuckin’ piss-souled, rag-hung, dung-gnawer was gonna kill himself! And he didn’t give a single FUCK what that would do to us - or the rest of the world!”

“Mirri-”

“Don’t you fuckin’ ‘Mirri’ me!” she snapped. “You know what happened when Brak died! You know what happened when Zelmyra died! And you were like - what? - just ‘fuck it, let’s shit on the world some more’?”

“Mirri…”

“Give me the godsdamned knife,” she hissed. “Now.”

She held out her hand. Didn’t blink.

I gripped the handle tighter. My knuckles went white. Jaw locked so hard it hurt. I tried to breathe, but couldn’t.

I let go. The knife dropped into her palm.

Dizziness hit like a wave. My knee buckled, and the ground rushed up to meet me.

Jenkins lunged forward, catching me before I could fully collapse.

Donnelly shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose like he was trying to will this entire situation out of existence.

No one else moved - they just stared in silence.

* * *

“It’s not a bad idea,” Tansy said, her voice small - too small for someone like her.

“It’s a shit idea, and we’re not doin’ it!” Mirri snapped.

Thae tilted her head, studying the problem like it was a puzzle instead of a person. “If it were a controlled burn, and the limb severed before the process advanced too far, it would likely generate more than enough mana to complete the task - even accounting for inefficiency.”

“No one is choppin’ anything off!” Mirri shouted.

Silence settled over us - thick, uncomfortable.

“I have four arms,” Tansy offered quietly.

“No!” Mirri screamed. “No, no, no! We are not fuckin’ doing this! There is another way!” Her hands curled into fists, shaking. “Did I raise a family of fuckin’ idiots?” She glared around at all of us.

Then she jabbed a finger at me. “He’s supposed to be the only fuckin’ idiot here! Not you!”

“Vaer…” Lilae said softly.

“Not you too!” Mirri broke, her voice cracking as tears spilled down her cheeks.

“No,” Lilae murmured, slipping in and wrapping her arms around her. “Not me too. This is a shit plan.”

Mirri sagged into her, sobbing into her shoulder, clutching her tight like she might disappear if she let go.

We gave her time. Eventually, the storm passed - just enough for her to breathe again.

“We don’t even know if cutting it off would stop it,” she said, voice unsteady. “You’re not flesh and blood anymore. You’re all just… Faith.”

“She’s right,” Serah said quietly. “Last time, it nearly killed Seth. We still don’t know why it didn’t. We can’t take that risk here - not in a world that doesn’t follow our rules.”

“The High Witan infused thren with their Faith to accelerate his ascension,” Vel said, calm as ever. “It follows that Faith can be transferred.”

“Faith kills people,” Mirri shot back.

“Normally,” Vel agreed. “A mortal filled with Faith is destroyed. But there are nine exceptions standing here.”

“Nine?” Jenkins asked, counting us again, confusion plain on his face.

“Nine,” Vel confirmed. “We all carry Seth’s Faith.”

“Aren’t you a god too?” he asked.

“We were not born gods,” Thae replied. “We were born of Faith, flesh, and blood.”

“Serah’s, like, half god,” Clo chimed in, bright and airy. “But Ashie, Mirri, and Lilae? One hundred percent mortal. And they’re still little glow-bunnies of Faith.” She giggled, like it was a joke told to kindergartners.

“If we infused something else with Faith,” Vel continued, “we could destroy that instead of one of us.”

Mirri shook her head. “That’s still your Faith. You’re still risking yourselves.”

“If we did it, yes,” Vel said. “But if he did it?” Her gaze shifted to me. “Unity has its own Faith. It’s not his anymore.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Unity has its own Faith,” she repeated. “It is separate from you. It beats differently.”

I stared at her. “How is that possible?”

Vel held my gaze, unflinching. “How is any of this possible?” she asked softly. “Maybe it’s a gift from Kareth. Maybe it’s a quirk of your Faith. Maybe Unity is the swarm of an emerging god. I don’t know.” She tilted her head slightly. “But it isn’t you.”