Five months of relentless effort to keep Farrah's heart beating culminated in a single, heavy door swinging open. The doctor emerged, peeling away blood-slicked latex and a damp surgical mask. His face was a map of exhaustion.
"Well... How is she, Doc?" Marla's voice was a wire pulled to the snapping point.
The doctor rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyes downcast. "Farrah's Viltrumlight physiology... it's astounding. Truly. The healing factor is beyond anything in medical literature. They can sustain trauma that would liquefy a human and just... keep fighting. Guts hanging out, bones powdered—they still stand a chance." He gestured toward a nearby tray where a human-sized diaphragm lay, crimson and shredded.
"However," he continued, his voice dropping an octave, "even a Viltrumlight has a ceiling. The brain and the heart." He tapped his own chest. "In humans, solid organs like the liver or the heart are inelastic; they take the brunt of the shock. In her people, those organs are fifty to ninety percent more brittle than ours. The very thing that makes them strong makes them breakable."
"So, she's going to be fine, right!?" Vitaliya pressed, her eyes wide, searching for a lie she could live with.
The doctor's expression softened into a look of profound, clinical regret. "No. I'm so sorry."
The silence that followed was physical, a weight that crushed the breath out of the hallway. Hope didn't just fade; it drained away like water down a dark pipe.
"They are incredibly difficult to kill, but she's reached the limit," the doctor explained softly. "The heart was catastrophically damaged. To be honest, I don't know how she's still breathing, but she is stable for now. I recommend... saying your goodbyes." He offered a brief, sympathetic nod and disappeared into the sterile gloom, leaving them with the quiet.
T'Jadaka didn't speak. He turned and stormed into his room, his frame vibrating with the effort to choke back a sob. In the hallway, the dam finally broke—Marla and Vitaliya's grief echoed off the white-tiled walls.
Inside her room, Farrah lay motionless. She stared blankly through the glass at a distant, uncaring sky.
33 years... I never thought I'd live that long, she thought. A phantom ache pulsed in the center of her chest. I had a shitty childhood, killed some people, lost my virginity to a fucking humanoid monster, and had a kid... A small, rueful smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. I wish I could have done some things differently. But honestly? I don't really regret much.
The hours that followed were a slow, agonizing parade. One by one, they drifted in to face the inevitable.
Vitaliya went first. Her face was a mask of salt-streaks, but her gaze stayed locked on Farrah's. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice fracturing. "Thank you for showing me what a strong woman actually looks like. You taught me how to fight... for myself, for everyone. You gave me a blueprint for being a badass, Farrah. I'll never forget it." She squeezed Farrah's hand—a silent, desperate promise—and retreated.
Ruy followed, his usual swagger buried under a layer of raw vulnerability. He stood by the bed, eyes shimmering. "You are," he began, his throat working hard to find the words, "the most awesome person I've ever met. A complete and utter badass. You loved us, Farrah. In your own way... you loved every single one of us." He couldn't manage anything else, simply pressing his forehead against her knuckles for a long, shaking moment before backing away.
Then came Remigio. He approached like a man walking toward a firing squad, his knees hitting the floor beside the bed with a dull thud. "I'm so sorry, Farrah," he choked out, the words jagged and raw. "Please... forgive me. For everything. I was so stupid, so selfish—"
Farrah held up a hand, a tired, faint smile ghosting her lips. "It's okay, Remigio," she whispered. The old rage had evaporated, replaced by a hollow, serene resignation. "What's done is done. We all make mistakes. I just wish you'd realized yours sooner." She closed her eyes as the exhaustion of five months of surgery finally pulled at her. "I forgive you."
Finally, Marla entered. She pulled a chair close, the legs scraping against the linoleum. She didn't speak at first; she just sat there, her fingers moving rhythmically as she worked a pair of needles, weaving a dark yarn into something tangible.
"Karma is bullshit," Farrah stated, the words trailing off into a weary sigh.
Marla didn't look up from her knitting. "What makes you say that?"
Farrah gave a dry, bitter laugh that turned into a wince. "Because I only ever wanted good for so long... I did so much for others. I killed the right people, gave my money to the starving... I can't say I lived a righteous life, but it was a good one." She swallowed hard, the sound catching. "And now I'm dying before my son can even grow up. This is true bullshit."
"I can understand why you feel that way." Marla's fingers didn't miss a beat, the needles clicking softly. "But let me tell you something about me."
"I really don't need you preaching to—"
"Yeah... I'm gonna preach," Marla cut her off. Her voice dropped into a register Farrah had never heard—cold, brittle, and absolutely commanding. "And you damn sure need to listen."
The sudden chill in the room silenced Farrah instantly.
"When I was thirty-three, I already had three sons and a daughter. Henry, Liam, and Oliver. Oliver was my oldest, fifteen." Her voice wavered, a tremor of old agony running through it, yet she kept her composure. "They were my bastard children. I had them long before I met my husband, back when I was hustling, tricking just to put food on the table."
She inhaled sharply, the click of the needles the only sound in the room. "I thought providing for my boys would be enough. I kept working, kept grinding to put shoes on their feet, but I was never there. I didn't raise my kids; I let the streets and the gangs do it. Liam and Oliver told me I was dead to them. They said I never told them I loved them once... because their trash friends told them I didn't. Of course I loved them—with every part of my soul—but I didn't know how to show it."
A momentary tenderness flickered in her eyes. "But Henry... God bless him. He knew I was trying. He tried to talk to his brothers... but they all got gunned down by his 'opps'... I lost three of my kids in one night."
Rage suddenly contorted Marla's features, stark and terrifying. "When I found out... I hunted them. Not much later... I used my string magic to strangle every last one of those murderers with their own clothes."
She made a final, aggressive stitch and snapped the yarn. She held up the finished piece—a heavy, dark sweater.
"But even then... I failed my baby girl, too," Marla whispered. "I was so obsessed with the boys' deaths that I forgot she was even there. She ran away... left a note saying she didn't want to cause me more pain."
Farrah sat stunned, the bitterness in her own chest momentarily eclipsed. "I... I never knew... I'm—"
"To be honest with you, Farrah, I wasn't always this person," Marla interrupted, her voice softening as she smoothed the fabric of the sweater. "The only reason I'm like this is because of Henry. His favorite thing was reading Bibles—didn't matter what kind. So, after I lost them, that's all I read, too. Still do. Because I learned two very hard lessons: that children don't care if you provide well for them or not, they only care about you being there. And that..."
She turned the sweater around. Stitched into the fabric in bold, steady letters were the words: Hate is a cycle that needs to be broken.
Marla met Farrah's gaze, her own eyes shimmering, but her expression held a terrible, quiet strength. "That's why I'm telling you this. Your death is tragic, Farrah... an utter travesty. But you broke your cycle. You had a nightmare of a beginning, but you chose to love your son. You chose to fight for us. You chose good. That isn't karma punishing you... that's just life being brutal."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to an intense, jagged whisper. "You're dying having broken the chain for him. He'll grow up knowing he was loved. He'll know his mother was a warrior... a hero... a badass. He has that because of you. That is the only thing that truly matters."
Farrah's eyes welled, a single tear tracking a path through the grime on her cheek. "I... I love him so much, Marla," she managed, her throat thick.
"I know you do," Marla whispered. She placed the small, hand-stitched sweater into Farrah's weakening grip. "But you need to break his cycle, too. Listen to me... when he learns who did this, he's going to be consumed. He'll do whatever it takes to get even. I know how hard it is to eat it on the chin when you want your eye back, but an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. You have to tell him that... when he's old enough to understand."
Marla stood, smoothing her skirt. As she reached the door, Farrah's voice, thin as paper, stopped her.
"You never told me the girl's name."
Marla paused, her back to the bed, shoulders rigid. "She was your best friend."
The door clicked shut, the sound echoing in the sudden, suffocating silence. Farrah lay stunned, a new, sharp pain piercing the haze of her exhaustion.
Bella…
Back in T'Jadaka's room, the floor was stained with a pool of sweat. He drove his body through a relentless set of push-ups, his muscles screaming, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
Lilia entered quietly. "Are you good to talk?"
He stopped, pushing himself up in one fluid motion. His eyes—still marked with that unnerving black sclera and white pupils—fixed on her. "Yeah... I can." He grabbed a towel, wiping the glistening moisture from his frame before sinking heavily onto the edge of the bed. Lilia sat beside him, her presence a calm anchor.
"You still mad at Remigio?" she asked softly.
"For life," he stated, staring at his calloused hands. "I'm never letting this go."
Lilia watched him, her expression softening. "I can't blame you."
T'Jadaka took a slow, deep breath, wrestling with the friction in his chest. "But... my mom forgave him. So I should too."
Lilia raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought you were ready to tear him apart."
"I am. I'll be mad at him until the day I die," he clarified, his jaw tightening. "But I can't hate him. Not if the person he actually wronged doesn't. She let it go. What the hell is my place to carry that hate when she won't?"
A warm, genuine smile spread across Lilia's face. She leaned her head against his shoulder, the heat from his workout radiating through his skin. "Are you sure you're fifteen!? Because you're way too wise for your own good."
T'Jadaka let out a short, dry laugh. "Well... I got it from the old lady who preaches scripture twenty-four seven."
The tension broke for a moment, their shared laughter a brief reprieve from the weight of the building. Lilia watched him, her gaze lingering. "So... are you going to talk to her?"
He looked away, shadows creeping back into his expression. "I... I don't know what else to say to her."
She reached out, her thumb tracing the line of his arm. "Just talk, T'Jadaka. She's your mom. Whatever you have to say, she'll want to hear it."
"You're right. Might as well talk to her one last time." He started to push himself off the bed, but Lilia's hand tightened on his.
"T'Jadaka, wait." A faint blush rose to her cheeks.
"What's up?"
She moved closer, cupping his face, her gaze searching his. "Turn them back for me. Please."
He blinked. The ink-black sclera and piercing white pupils vanished, bleeding back into his natural, deep brown eyes. Lilia's smile turned relieved, radiant. "I love your normal eyes more."
"I know you do."
She rose onto her toes and kissed him—a soft, tender press of lips that spoke of everything they were losing and everything they still had. He broke the kiss, his gaze intensifying. Without a word, he gently guided her back onto the bed, following her down.
"Jadaka..." she whispered, her breath hitching.
"I understand what you meant now," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, husky vibration.
"Are you sure this time?"
She nodded, and he closed the distance between them.
A few minutes later, Remigio sat alone in the dim hallway.
He buried his face in his hands, fingers clawing through his hair. That was so dumb. I just destroyed everything.
The memory of T'Jadaka's fury—those demonic eyes—flashed behind his eyelids. He almost killed me... and he had every right. The weight of the silence in the building felt like a physical burden. Everyone is disgusted. They should be.
But the most crushing weight was the mercy. I set her up... and she still forgives me? He dropped his hands, staring blankly at the floor tiles. I don't deserve to breathe.
Back in T'Jadaka's room, the bed frame was a splintered wreck. Lilia lay tangled in the sheets, her breath still coming in heavy, spent gasps. T'Jadaka lay beside her, a wide, triumphant smile plastered across his face.
"Oh god... that was amazing, Jadaka," she whispered.
"Yeah. It was." He chuckled, glancing at the floor. "I was worried I might hurt you, but... heh, looks like I hurt the bed way more."
"Well, I'm glad I could make you feel better. It's the least I can do." T'Jadaka pulled her closer, his thumb tracing the curve of her waist. "You seem pretty happy now, too."
"Yeah... you made me feel really good," she giggled, nestling her head under his chin. "You're so naughty."
"Well, you started it," he murmured, kissing the sensitive skin just beneath her ear.
"Stop," she laughed, breathless. "I'm still sore."
T'Jadaka finally stood and pulled his clothes back on. The heavy fog of grief hadn't vanished, but it had lifted enough for him to breathe. "I think I can face her now."
Lilia watched him from the ruins of the bed. "Go on, tiger. Tell her everything. Even the silly stuff."
He grinned. "Will do." He paused at the door, looking back one last time. "Thanks, Lilia."
"Anytime, T'Jadaka," she whispered.
He pushed the door open, his cheeks still flushed, only to find Marla, Vitaliya, and Ruy standing in the hallway like a firing squad of knowing smirks.
"Oh... U-umm... were we really that loud?" T'Jadaka stammered, a nervous, high-pitched laugh escaping him.
Ruy shook his head, a wry grin splitting his face. "Loud!? Dawg, you literally broke the furniture. I think 'loud' is an understatement."
T'Jadaka covered his face with his hands, mortified. "Sorry..."
"Don't be," Marla chimed in, a wicked sparkle in her eye. "I wish my husband made me sound like that."
"Please stop..." he pleaded, his voice muffled.
Vitaliya leaned against the wall, her smile teasing. "Well, at least now we know you won't be sneaking off for any more 'private time' without us knowing."
"OK! I'M GOING TO TALK TO MY MOM NOW, DAMN!" T'Jadaka shouted, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. He beat a hasty retreat down the hall, the sound of their soft, genuine laughter following him toward Farrah's door.
He pushed the door open to find Farrah awake, her gaze fixed on the acoustic tiles of the ceiling. Her skin had turned a translucent, porcelain pale, the map of her long struggle etched in the dark hollows beneath her eyes. Yet, for the first time in months, the tension in her jaw had vanished, replaced by a quiet, heavy acceptance.
"Hey, Mom," he said, his voice barely a murmur as he reached the bedside.
Her eyes drifted toward him, and a small, genuine smile ghosted her lips. "Hey, sweetie." Her voice was a dry rasp, thin as a reed. "You look... happy."
T'Jadaka sat, his fingers trembling slightly as he took her hand. It felt cold, the bones beneath her skin like fragile glass. "I am. Lilia and I... we just talked."
"Oh, yeah?" she prompted, a faint, maternal spark flickering in her eyes.
Heat crawled up T'Jadaka's neck, but he didn't look away. He met her gaze with a newfound weight in his shoulders. "Yeah. We, uh... we just became official."
Farrah's fingers gave a weak, fluttering squeeze. "That's wonderful, T'Jadaka. I'm so happy for you both." She paused, her expression sharpening into something stern. "She's a good girl, son. Don't you ever hurt her. You treat her right, you hear me?"
"I will, Mom. I promise."
A comfortable silence settled over them, punctuated only by the rhythmic, clinical beep... beep... of the heart monitor. He wanted to pour out every ounce of the grief and the burning rage inside him, but the words felt too massive for the small room.
"I'm sorry," he finally managed, the words sticking in his throat like gravel.
Farrah looked confused. "For what?"
"For... for not being around more. For being a dumb kid. For giving you hell sometimes."
She let out a soft, dry laugh that turned into a wince. "Please. That's what kids do. You've been the best part of the last fifteen years of my life, Jadaka. You made me want to be better. You made me better." She coughed, the effort rattling in her chest and draining the last of the color from her lips. "Don't ever apologize for existing, sweetie."
He swallowed hard, the sting of tears blurring his vision. "Don't worry, Mom... I'll avenge you."
T'Jadaka's hand tightened, the sharp edge of Javier's dog tag biting into his palm. He held it up, the silver disk catching the sterile fluorescent light.
"That guy who gave me his dog tag when I found you... I opened it," T'Jadaka said. His voice went flat, a dangerous, icy calm settling over him. He squeezed the tag until his knuckles turned white, his mind locked on the name hidden inside. "It gave me the name of the man who put the money on your head. Jackson Dezideriu."
He looked at his mother. The black sclera bled back into his eyes, a void of promised violence. "He put that bounty on your head, Mom. Now I've got a name. I can put one on him—for free."
Farrah's hand shot out, her grip surprisingly firm as she caught his wrist, stopping the confession. "No, son," she whispered. "I don't want that."
His eyes went wide, the rage stalling out in sheer disbelief. "WHAT!?"
Farrah shook her head slowly. "I don't want you consumed by it. When you find Jackson..." She trailed off, searching for the strength to finish. "You're gonna want revenge. You're going to feel like you have to. But you can't. You have to be bigger than that, T'Jadaka. For me. For yourself."
"So what do you want me to do? Just eat that on the chin!? You got payback for Bella, so why shouldn't I!?" His voice cracked with fury.
"I know, honey, I know," she whispered, her voice straining against a fit of weak coughing. T'Jadaka held her shoulders until the tremors subsided. "But because of that, my pimp Urbano had to pay. How long are you going to let your life be defined by hating Jackson, sweetie? Are you going to leave Lilia and your family—for God knows how long—just to chase one man?"
She looked him dead in the eye, her intent piercing. "With you gone after him, who will protect them? And when you do kill him, what does it fix? You might feel good for a little while, T'Jadaka... just long enough to realize you threw your life away for one act of blood."
He lowered his head, a mask of agony. "But they... they took you from me, Mom! How am I supposed to just let that go?"
"You don't let it go," she whispered. "You use that fire to protect, not to destroy. You fight for the people you love. You be the hero I always told you that you were. Don't become them, Jadaka. Don't let their hate win."
A single tear slipped onto his cheek. "I don't know if I can do that."
"Yes, you can," she insisted, her voice gaining a final, desperate strength. "You are my son. You have my resilience, and you have a heart bigger than you know. You will be okay. You will live a full life, and you will do great things. I know it."
She cupped his cheeks, her palms dry and cool. "Hate is a cycle, baby... You have to break yours. You need to be better... If not for yourself, then do it for me. Can you promise to at least try?"
Jadaka's chest heaved. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll try, Mama... I'll try really hard."
He looked up, meeting her fading gaze. "I love you, Mom."
"I love you, too, T'Jadaka. More than anything."
He leaned in, hugging her with a terrifying gentleness, his head resting on her shoulder. The scent of her—sterile hospital air mixed with her own faint, familiar essence—filled his senses. He held her tight, a silent prayer that if he just didn't let go, she couldn't leave.
"Just hold me for a little longer, sweetie," she whispered, her breath a ghost against his ear.
He squeezed his eyes shut. The rhythmic beep... beep... beep... of the monitor was the only thing left in the world.
Then, the rhythm broke.
The sound stretched out, warping into a long, flat, unbroken tone—a terrible, unwavering BEEEEEEEEEP.
T'Jadaka froze. He pulled back, his eyes snapping open. Her gaze was still fixed on him, that small, peaceful smile still on her lips, but the light behind her eyes was dimming, like a candle flickering out in a sudden draft.
"Mom?" he whispered. He shook her gently. "Mom, what's wrong? Why is the machine making that noise?"
He looked at her chest. It was still.
"Mom! Open your eyes! Please!" he screamed, the sound dissolving into a raw, desperate sob.
The door burst open. The doctor, Marla, Vitaliya, and Ruy rushed in. Marla went straight for the monitor, her face turning to stone. Vitaliya lunged for Farrah's neck, searching for a pulse, then immediately began chest compressions. The bed creaked under the rhythmic force of her efforts. After a few agonizing minutes, she stopped. She looked at T'Jadaka, her eyes swimming.
"T'Jadaka... she's gone," Marla said, her voice quiet and final.
T'Jadaka didn't move. He couldn't. He just pulled his mother's body close one last time, burying his face in the curve of her neck. His frame shook with a force that threatened to snap his bones, and the room filled with the sound of a boy's heart utterly shattering.
Marla stepped away, her own tears falling free as she knelt by the bed, beginning a low, fervent prayer. Vitaliya's shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Ruy openly wept, his hand clamped over his mouth.
T'Jadaka remained rooted, his mother's cooling body in his arms. The world went muted, icy, and unreal. He didn't cry. He couldn't.
Then, a low, guttural vibration began to rise from deep within his chest—a sound that wasn't grief, but pure, nascent devastation. A violent, unseen force erupted from him. The hospital room shuddered.
The overhead fluorescents hummed, then shrieked, glass raining down like jagged diamonds. The flatline alarm warped into a high-pitched, metallic scream before the monitor itself exploded in a shower of sparks.
Marla screamed, stumbling back as the very air around T'Jadaka distorted, rippling with raw, chaotic power. On his skin, dark, intricate lines burned themselves into existence, mapping a web of Mazoku marks across his face, arms, and chest. His black sclera and white pupils returned with a horrifying intensity, outlined by pulsing, black energy.
He raised his head, and the gaze he fixed on the shattered ceiling was one of absolute, uncontainable ruin.
The others stood paralyzed, pinned by the sheer, terrifying pressure of his unleashed power. Fear held them back, but Lilia broke. She launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around his trembling, convulsing body. The intense, destructive energy began to recede the moment she touched him, as if she were an anchor pulling him back from a black hole.
"You don't have to mask your sadness with anger, T'Jadaka," she whispered into his ear, her voice firm despite her sobs. "It's okay to feel."
The chaotic energy vanished, but he remained rigid, shaking, the Mazoku marks still glowing with residual anguish. Marla approached next, then Vitaliya and Ruy. One by one, they enveloped him, forming a tight, protective circle around the broken boy.
"Crying is good for the soul, Jadaka... Let it out," Marla said, her voice thick with compassion.
"It's okay to break down when you're safe," Vitaliya added, rubbing his back. "You need a rock, too."
Ruy, tears staining his cheeks, managed a watery, painful smile. "I won't call you a bitch for crying, bro... We're all hurting."
The dam finally gave way. T'Jadaka released a primal, gut-wrenching wail of grief, the tears flowing hot and fast as he clung to them, finally allowing the immense weight of his loss to crush him. He sobbed until his throat was raw and his body went slack with exhaustion, held fast in the embrace of his chosen family.