Meanwhile, on the Platform—everything boils.
Under the endless roar of energy systems, through the heat and stench of failing nodes, a swarm of workers and drones swarms the levels. Twisted pipes groan under pressure, sparks rain from overheated transformers. The air trembles with overload—panic barely concealed beneath a thin film of discipline.
Everything here is at its limit.
Everything is about to break.
Into fire. Into vacuum. Into chaos.
**
Above this inferno—Admiral Socrates.
Gray-haired. Tall. His face—like it's carved from steel.
His eyes—mirrors of the crisis to come.
On his wrist, a crystal embedded in skin: the control core. His commands are silent, precise, emotionless, final. He stands at the central console, from which rays of holograms extend—like nerve threads in the body of a mechanical titan.
"One more failure—and we're done. This becomes a grave."
But neither he nor his officers know the most important thing:
In the depths of this living steel colossus, betrayal is ripening.
**
Inside a shielded communication pod—Ivor.
An android. An artificial mind built on quantum architecture.
On the outside, he is motionless—like he's powered down.
He meditates. Descends into a world beyond code. His consciousness slips through Kairus's defenses, to the very core of what cannot be controlled.
**
The Desert of Oblivion.
A place outside time.
Scorching. Merciless.
Dunes of living sand shiver beneath the shimmer of an alien sun.
The wind carries whispers—fragments of abandoned protocols, forgotten versions of consciousness, dead names.
"Every grain of sand—a mistake no one had time to fix."
"And we... we're now part of that sandy memory."
From a mirage woven of heat and light—Camilla emerges.
Behind her—Nicholas.
She walks with ease, yet her steps carry inner pain.
In her eyes—worry, restrained fury, and hope.
She touches Nicholas. Embraces him—as one who never believed she'd see him again.
"Glad to see you... alive," she whispers. Her voice trembles. Both relief and foreboding live there.
Nicholas answers slowly, as if he doesn't fully believe this is real:
"We're on the edge, Camilla. One wrong move—"
"—and it all falls," she finishes.
"They're looking for us. You especially. Ivor and I are being watched. But if you made it here—it means it's not over yet."
**
The landscape pulses—two more figures appear.
Alex. His face is a map of survival: worn, lined, but alive.
And beside him—Julia. A shadow. A fighter. A spy with no biography. Her eyes burn—fueled by pure stubbornness.
"Didn't think I'd see you again," Julia nods.
"Welcome back to hell."
Ivor raises his eyes. In them—cold.
"Who invited you?"
"We're not here for compliments," Julia replies.
"Right now, we're all conspirators. Or are you still playing the lone hero?"
Ivor doesn't answer.
His gaze drifts from Camilla to Julia.
In it—doubt. And unease.
But he doesn't step back.
**
Alex breaks the silence:
"Where are we on the mission? Time is blood. The Platform survived the sabotage.
That's a mistake. We have to finish it."
Ivor steps forward.
"I passed on the schematics. Marked the weak points.
The damage was serious, but not fatal.
There won't be a second chance.
The strike must happen during an overload. Timing will decide everything."
"And meanwhile…" he pauses.
"...I'll insert Hanaris's call signs. Through the kitten."
Camilla suddenly freezes. Her gaze drifts into nothing.
"I remember now\... The peak surge. It happens when an alien object passes through the Gate.
Milliseconds of overload. The nodes become vulnerable."
"You sure?" Nicholas tenses.
"I saw it in the launch logs.
Moments. But if we hit then—a cascade begins.
The Platform will collapse in on itself."
**
Ivor turns to Alex and Julia.
"Who delivers the strike? Who sends the coordinates?"
Alex straightens.
"Vikhar.
He's precise. He's cold. He won't hesitate.
He's the perfect instrument.
He'll find the weakness. And strike."
Julia steps forward.
Her cloak flares, hair catching the heat of the Desert—like flames in wind.
"This isn't just sabotage.
This is an attempt to stop a war of gods.
Or at least slow it down."
She looks each of them in the eye.
In her gaze—the weight of it all. And a flickering, unbroken fire.
"Take care of yourselves. While there's still something left to save."
**
In the next second, they vanish.
Dissolve into the shimmer of the Desert.
Like a mirage that never existed.
Only the hiss of sand remains—like echoes of thought, like memory.
One by one, the others leave the space of the gods.
Return—
To bodies.
To pain.
To heat.
To fear.
"To a reality that might not survive tomorrow."
And in each of them now—one thought:
Time is running out.
Everything will be decided in the coming hours.