Chapter 57: The Two Remaining Champions, Part 4

Heather felt it.

She saw or heard nothing, but she felt it vividly, allowing her to react in time to the threat. Not against her. Nothing and no one could threaten her, except Sylvester, and now they were a team.

She had felt with the same clarity that the threat was directed at Cynthia, not her, so she didn't waste time, didn't hesitate for a second.

She stopped "it," closing her fingers around what must have been an invisible knife. She couldn't see or hear anything, so Cynthia didn't even feel it. What she did feel was her elbow swiftly brushing against her face. The woman opened her eyes wide, looking at her surprised, tense. Alert.

She didn't trust her.

It had only been half a month since they realized they were on the same team, so Heather guessed she couldn't blame her, but it was irritating nonetheless. If she wanted to harm her, she would be dead already.

Even more irritating when she had just saved her life.

"What are you...?"

"Well, defending you from the enemy, what else? At least trust me a little."

Maybe she would change her mind over time, maybe she wouldn't. It was her business. If she stabbed her in the back, Heather would stab her in the face, but until that happened (if it happened), she would leave her alone. Killing her served no purpose; her only goal was survival, and while she could survive the destruction of the universe, floating alone in space for thousands of years wouldn't be pleasant. Harming her or letting others kill her would only decrease the chances of survival.

She should be aware of that, at least, no matter how much she wanted to hate and distrust her.

Heather shook her head.

Heather bent the intruder's wrist and threw him against the wall, hitting him with an open hand. A very energetic slap. Of course, his invisibility power extended to hide the sounds he made, but the damage his landing did to the steel wall was visible to everyone. He was invisible, but he wasn't a ghost; he couldn't pass through walls like nothing. Good to know.

Although, he was going to die very soon anyway.

Heather extended her hand again, but not to hit him with an open hand and make him go through the steel wall. The others couldn't see him, but a dark blue light came out of her hand, bathing the intruder who could still be felt moving around the room after the bad landing, although not seen or heard yet.

However, it didn't take long.

He became visible. Or rather, she made him visible, and suddenly the intruder had hundreds of weapons pointed at him.

Checkmate.

What came out of his lips was a bit different, though.

"This farce is over."

The intruder's only chance of survival, the only way he had managed to harm Sylvester, was his strange state as if he were only half in the base. An astral projection, Sylvester had called it. She understood the term the same way she understood the language. That is, she didn't know how.

As for the Ability he had used to achieve that?

Unlike Sylvester and Cynthia, her Abilities had no names, only numbers. She had just used number [5]. It wasn't new, but for now, she hadn't unlocked any abilities to start with; she had had everything from the beginning. She was just strong enough to make any fight easy, even with just her sword, wings, and determination.

Not surprising.

There was a fundamental difference between Sylvester and her.

Sylvester hadn't been born with his powers; she could almost hear the lower case when he spoke of his Skills, and he seemed to have some fear or reluctance to think in terms he saw as 'game terms.'

But she had been born with this (in fact, the ability [0] was the only thing that had allowed her to be born, defending her from Sylvester's assault). They were part of her, and games were what seemed abstract to her. She knew what they were, but she had never touched one, and they didn't really mean anything to her.

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She didn't like to think about what made her different from Sylvester, the only person she identified with, but well, not thinking about it wouldn't make it untrue.

The truth was always inescapable.

The intruder swallowed nervously in front of his firing squad.

"I'm a hero," he declared with false confidence. He had run out of cards to play. Otherwise, he wouldn't be standing there, he would be acting, not waiting to see what they would do.

"Maybe you are, but why do you think I would give a damn?"

To her universe, he was a hero and one of their few hopes. For this planet, this universe, he was nothing more than an intruder in every possible sense. Public enemy number one.

Well, not literally. The Lunar Remnants crisis had been impossible to hide, but this could be kept secret, and there was no need to make it public. It served no purpose, quite the opposite, it would only harm them.

The firing squad opened fire. Hundreds of weapons, thousands of bullets being fired. Such an assault could riddle even a Champion's body with holes if they kept it up long enough. But the bullets never reached the target. The intruder raised a red barrier, it actually looked like blood, and maybe it was, around him, stopping each and every shot. He saw the bullets crush against the barrier and fall to the ground, smoking.

"What I'm saying is... I can do this all day. I'm not that easy to defeat."

Heather shrugged.

She hadn't expected that ability, but it didn't change anything.

"You think so? Let's put it to the test."

Heather reached into her chest to draw one of her swords. She could do it from any part of her body, really, but she had gotten into the habit because it made a certain impression and instilled visceral fear to see someone plunge their hand into their chest, so close to the heart. Of course, she didn't have a heart, but she looked human enough for them to assume.

She thrust the sword into the blood barrier.

She damaged it but didn't manage to break it. Well, she had never expected to bring it down in one blow. But it wasn't just one blow; the other agents of the syndicate (she supposed she was one of them now, temporarily or not) hadn't stopped firing. While others reloaded, the rest took over. The iron curtain never stopped for a second. There were more than enough agents to sustain the assault.

Heather withdrew the sword and attacked again.

Nothing.

"Irritating."

"Let me give you a hand."

"Go ahead."

Cynthia raised her revolvers, adding her firepower. But she wasn't just another agent trying to shoot the intruder. All her powers were concentrated around her revolvers, and in these two weeks, with constant and hard training, her repertoire had expanded.

Cynthia didn't shoot fire, but ice.

She quickly froze the blood barrier. And then she made the ice explode, exposing the intruder.

With a wild smile, Heather lunged at the enemy.

"Now you have nowhere to run, insect!"

She reached for his neck, her nails lengthening until they looked more like claws. In the other hand, in front of her, the sword still remained, of course.

It was too late; he couldn't even dream of reacting. Heather splendidly opened the enemy's neck wide. That dirty rat staggered backward, put a hand to the wound, squeezing, which didn't do much; the blood continued to flow like a waterfall.

"What's wrong, hero? Is that all you can do?" She mocked, reveling in her victory.

But she wouldn't make the mistake of wasting time and providing him with an opening to turn the tables. As she did so, she brandished the sword for what she hoped would be the last time, straight into his heart.

The intruder just laughed; he didn't even move out of the way.

He didn't need to.

In an instant, the entire hallway filled with a blinding red light, forcing her to even squint her eyes. It burned, but that was the least of her concerns. A mere prelude to the real problem.

She didn't know what the enemy had done, but the place began to unravel, like a puzzle in reverse, returning piece by piece to the box. In this case, it was what lay on the other side of the void, visible through the open ceiling. Certain death?

A strong, icy wind began to blow, and the enemy was the first to be dragged or sucked in, as if by a vacuum. Okay, so she could rule out the possibility of certain death. Unless the intruder wasn't responsible, which she highly doubted, it was practically impossible. But there wouldn't be anything good on the other side, anyway.

Heather saved herself by plunging the sword into a piece of the floor. And she also saved Cynthia, at least for the moment, catching her in mid-air. The woman expelled all the air from her lungs during the 'landing,' her eyes widening.

"Don't panic. He has fallen too. Whatever happens, whatever is on the other side, it's not certain death."

"True. You're right."

But one thing was to know it, and another was to keep fear under control, it was quite clear, looking into her eyes.

It didn't take long for the inevitable to happen.

The sword could hold in the ground for years, if necessary, her grip on it too. But the piece of floor couldn't. It flew away, another piece dragged by the vortex towards the dark void...

And beyond.

***

Sylvester regained consciousness with his face pressed against the hard ground. Rock. His neck hurt like hell. He got up slowly, with effort, first leaning on his hands on the ground, then on...

Nothing, and he almost fell back to the ground, losing his balance, because there was nothing to support him. It had been chaos, and it still wasn't entirely right, composed.

Ryan wasn't with him anymore. He hoped he had survived.

He hoped most had survived; he had the impression that it had gone through a good part of the base, if not all of it. Too powerful an ability, although in the end, it hadn't done anything to him, it had an incredible range.

But he wasn't inside, among the ruins, or outside the base.

He looked around, his neck still crunching. He stood there with his mouth open. Everything had changed.

"Where the hell am I?"

The Two Remaining Champions, Part 4: FIN