The white light did not bring death; it brought a horrifying, suspended animation. When the glare finally receded, the laboratory was a scorched husk, the air shimmering with the heat of a dying star.
Gwen stood in the center of a blackened circle, her chest heaving, her skin glowing with a faint, translucent violet hue. She was still a bomb, but the timer had paused at the brink of detonation.
Malakor stood at the edge of the ruin, his grey suit miraculously untouched by the soot. He was adjusting the dials on his obsidian device. "Impressive. You've achieved a state of semi-stable criticality. But make no mistake, Gwen—the loop is still running. You have perhaps forty-eight hours before your cellular structure becomes light and ash."
