The docking happens almost silently.
A faint vibration runs through the hull of the Phoenix—like someone tapping gently on the ship's bones from the outside.
Not knocking.
Tapping.
And then—
tap.
A pause.
tap.
The sound is soft. Almost polite.
As if the guest understands he isn't expected here…
and is absolutely certain he'll be let in anyway.
Cold seeps slowly up my spine.
"Open," a voice says over the system.
A pause.
"I'm coming in."
The voice is quiet.
Even.
Mocking.
That's what makes it unsettling.
I steady my breathing. Slower than I'd like.
Control is rhythm.
"He's got nerve," Kal mutters, raising his plasma weapon. "I like that."
"You like anything you can shoot," I say.
"Not true. I also like food."
"That's because you can shoot that too."
Kal smirks. Quick. Alive.
Good.
If he's joking, he's still in it.
Means we haven't cracked yet.
Mira flips off the safety.
Dry.
Precise.
Reassuring.
"We greet him like usual," she says.
Like usual means fast, dirty, and no unnecessary talking.
And preferably with us still standing at the end.
Kelith's squad is already in position.
Perfect geometry.
Sectors covered.
Lines of fire clean.
There's no room for emotion in that layout.
And that's exactly right.
I stand in the center.
Not because I'm the hero.
Because it's more convenient for everyone.
If something goes wrong, I'll be the first to know.
And probably the last one who can do anything about it.
I watch the bulkhead.
Wait.
Nothing.
The door doesn't open.
The tapping stops.
Silence returns.
But now it's different.
Dense.
Compressed.
Like vacuum before decompression.
I log it.
Too clean.
Which means—prepared.
I glance at Liara.
She's close.
Too close for it to be just formation.
Her fingers tremble slightly.
She tries to hide it.
Doesn't quite succeed.
I pretend not to notice.
Sometimes the best way to help is not to expose it.
She looks at me.
There's a question in her eyes.
Quiet.
Direct.
Can you handle this?
I don't answer out loud.
Just give the slightest nod.
I can.
Or I'll make it look like I can.
Something tightens inside me.
Not fear.
Weight.
Responsibility is always heavier than threat.
And right then—
a glitch.
Not outside.
Inside.
It hits hard.
Like a punch to the gut.
I gasp.
My lungs lag behind.
"Damn…" I say out loud.
Check.
Voice works.
Good.
Darkness.
Not complete.
I know this place.
Deeper.
Where the Punisher is kept.
"Release him."
The voice.
Too close.
Not in the channel.
Not in the system.
Inside me.
Perfect.
"Release the Punisher."
Pressure.
A command.
I watch myself from the outside.
My hand rises.
Slowly.
Not my decision.
My fingers tremble.
Something forms between them.
Black.
Smooth.
Stable.
An egg.
I lock onto the parameters.
Form—stable.
Energy—rising.
The Punisher is waking up.
Bad.
Very bad.
"Yes…" the voice whispers.
I almost let go.
And then—
impact.
Not on the body.
Deeper.
Like a bell ringing inside my spine.
Clean.
Sharp.
"Stop."
I freeze.
That voice—I don't mistake.
Elias Morrenn.
My father.
Good.
Means I'm not alone yet.
I pull in a sharp breath.
Reality snaps back.
The egg trembles.
Cracks.
Disappears.
I clench my fist.
Anchor my breathing.
One.
Two.
Three.
"Not now," I say quietly.
Not to him.
To myself.
Let's postpone the end of the world.
For a couple of minutes.
I lift my head.
I need to warn them.
Say something.
Explain—
too late.
The bulkhead opens.
No sound.
No mechanism.
It just… vanishes.
He walks in.
I recognize him instantly.
Black suit.
Perfect lines.
A face that's too flawless.
Like beauty optimized for trust.
A miscalculation.
I don't trust him.
He looks around.
Like he owns the place.
Smiles.
"I got tired of waiting for an invitation."
"You should've made a reservation," I reply.
And in that moment time resumes.
"FIRE!" Kelith commands.
And the world detonates.
Light.
Noise.
Pulses.
Plasma.
Everyone fires.
Precise.
Correct.
No hesitation.
I even feel relief.
Good.
That means the solution is simple.
But—
no.
He stands there.
Motionless.
Inside a distortion.
Not a shield.
Not a field.
Something worse.
It's like he's… not here.
That's why nothing can touch him.
He looks at us.
Smiles.
Raises a finger.
Wags it.
No.
I register it.
And the conclusion forms instantly.
Clean.
Without emotion.
"He's here for me," I say quietly.
No one hears.
They shouldn't.
This isn't a message.
It's a decision.
I'm the target.
Which means the problem is me.
Which means the solution is me.
I turn to my people.
They're firing.
They believe.
Good people.
Bad situation.
"TERMINATE ME," I say into the network.
Calm.
Clear.
Like an order.
Silence.
A fraction of a second.
The longest one.
"What?!" Kal.
Liara looks at me.
And this is where it gets difficult.
Because I can see it—
they won't be able to do it.
"I'm the threat!" I shout. "You promised to eliminate it!"
No drama.
Just fact.
They hesitate.
Connections.
Emotion.
Attachment.
A predictable failure.
Doesn't make it easier.
I feel Kelith make the call.
Fast.
Cold.
Right.
"Terminate Axiom."
No hesitation.
Good.
Someone here is still doing their job.
And in the next second, the fire shifts.
From him.
To me.
I see it.
Track trajectories.
Velocities.
Time to impact.
I stand still.
Don't move.
Running is pointless.
Fighting back—too late.
I open up.
Full height.
Makes it easier for them.
A little ironic.
I smile.
Just a little.
Look at Liara.
She's shouting something.
One second.
Before the flash.
Clean.
Calm.
I hope it's enough to stop me.
**
"No. No. No."
The Angel's voice trembles—not from fear.
From irritation.
And in the same instant, everything slams into me.
Plasma mixed with antimatter.
Hyper-energetic beams.
Gravitational pulses.
Every hell Ironheart's weapons can unleash converges on a single point.
On me.
I register it automatically.
Good fire concentration. Nearly textbook.
Light turns solid.
Sound thickens into pressure.
Even the vacuum starts to hum, which it absolutely shouldn't.
I stand still.
Don't move.
Breathe slowly.
One.
Two.
Status check.
Hands—intact.
Control—partial.
Heart—elevated, but stable.
Panic is somewhere nearby.
But not inside.
Not yet.
And only then the main realization lands.
I'm alive.
Inside a protective field.
Not mine.
His.
"Of course…" I murmur. "VIP section. All-inclusive—except the exit."
Everything is going according to his plan.
I glance down at my weapon.
Raise the annihilator.
Press it to my temple.
The cold metal helps.
Reality is best tested through pain and temperature.
"Fine," I mutter. "The short way is still a way."
I pull the trigger.
Nothing.
I wait.
Half a second.
Another.
"…seriously?"
My finger doesn't respond.
The command is there.
The signal goes through.
No feedback.
I press harder.
No result.
My hand starts to weaken.
Not painful.
Worse.
As if it's simply been disconnected from the system.
The annihilator slips.
Falls.
A dull thud.
I watch it.
Log it.
Motor control—partially hijacked.
Conclusion: direct solutions won't work.
"Okay," I say quietly. "Hard mode it is."
Fear rises inside.
Pure.
Cold.
Not for my life.
For loss of control.
That—I don't like.
At all.
"Enough jokes," the Angel says.
I didn't see him approach.
I log that separately.
Either a perception error—
or he moves outside my time layer.
Both options are bad.
He stands beside me.
Too close.
I lift my gaze.
"You've got a strange sense of humor," I say. "But points for effort."
He smiles.
And that's worse than anger.
He doesn't rush.
Doesn't strain.
Doesn't react to the fire.
To him, I'm not an opponent.
I'm a tool.
A process.
He raises his hand.
A small motion.
And—
everything stops.
I turn my head.
Slowly.
Liara.
Frozen.
Eyes open.
Fear alive.
And sealed.
A beam hangs in the air.
Plasma suspended like glass.
The world becomes a display case.
He and I—
inside it.
"I chose this place," the Angel says, circling me. "Near a black hole."
I listen.
And calculate at the same time.
Options.
Zero.
So far.
"To be invincible."
He stops in front of me.
Looks straight at me.
"This is my world. My domain."
A pause.
"Axiom."
I nod slightly.
"Great location," I say. "Survivability—perfect. Design—subjective."
Inside, I want to go quiet.
He tilts his head.
Studies me.
"You're still holding."
"Occupational hazard," I shrug. "Contract doesn't allow breakdowns."
His smile widens.
Confirmation.
It matters to him that I stay conscious.
Which means—
I'm needed.
As a resource.
Or a key.
"I sent you to Ironheart," he says.
Logged.
"I made you bring their fleet here."
Matches.
"And I left you a measure of freedom."
That's new.
Interesting.
I run through memories fast.
Decisions.
Impulses.
"My" choices.
It fits.
Too clean.
Too precise.
"So you would finish the task."
I exhale slowly.
"Well, congratulations," I say. "I'm an excellent executor. Didn't even notice when I signed the contract."
He nods.
Serious.
"Not much left."
He raises his hand.
I tense.
His palm touches my forehead.
"I don't like being touched without permission," I say quietly.
No reaction.
His palm opens.
And I see it.
The Punisher's storage.
Not in me.
With him.
But directly linked.
Like an organ removed yet still functioning.
I clench my fist.
Reflex.
And—
that triggers the process.
A wave passes through me.
Through the ship.
Through everything.
I don't see it.
But I understand immediately.
Connection.
Network.
Link established.
I freeze.
Check.
And find—
everyone.
Liara.
Kal.
The fleet.
They're here.
Inside the structure.
Beneath me.
And within me at the same time.
No voices.
No will.
No resistance.
Only potential.
Power.
Pure.
Compressed.
Accessible.
I take a breath.
And it breaks something in me.
Because—
it feels good.
Very.
Too good.
I close my eyes for a second.
Center myself.
"Wow…" I murmur. "Now that's a dirty cheat."
I open my eyes.
Look at him.
"You do realize this is addictive?"
He watches.
Waits.
I check myself.
The urge to take more—there.
Strong.
Dangerous.
But—
I take a step back.
Pull away.
Not disconnecting.
Can't.
But I keep distance.
For now.
"All right," I think calmly. "I have the power. He has the control. Not exactly a fair balance."
A pause.
Somewhere deep inside, a weak signal flickers.
Almost noise.
A voice.
Elias.
Barely audible.
I lock onto it.
Like an anchor.
"You like it?" the Angel asks.
I look at him.
For a long moment.
One second.
Two.
"Yes," I answer honestly. "And that's a problem."
A pause.
I straighten.
As much as I can.
Control is partial.
But it's there.
He smiles.
And something new appears in that smile.
Interest.
Real.
Alive.
I take a slow breath.
Balancing on the edge.
And realize the key thing.
I haven't fully submitted.
Not yet.
Somewhere inside, a thought forms.
Clear.
Cold.
Attempt 126.
Not the end.
I lift my gaze.
Look straight at him.
And for the first time, I think—
if he believes this is his game…
then he hasn't seen my next move yet.