Then Asia’s beside you, tears already threatening to spill. “You’ve been out for a while,” she says, voice trembling. “Your mana dropped so fast I thought—” Her words fracture, the rest dissolving in a sob.

  Maria moves behind her, her presence steady amid the tension. “You’re fortunate Asia and Hinata reached you when they did,” she says, tone calm but weighted. “Two contract backshes were enough to knock you out — a testament to how fragile you still are. Four would’ve pushed you to the brink; five, and your heart would’ve stopped.”

  Mikasa gnces at the monitor above your bed. “You were unconscious for approximately forty-five minutes,” she reports, voice clipped and professional. “Battle concluded at 16:53. Ptform secured. All civilians and dimensional travelers accounted for.”

  Maria exhales softly, her violet eyes studying you with clinical intensity. “Your soul threads are strained, but repairable,” she continues. “You’ll recover faster through close contact with your contracted partners — physical, emotional, and magical resonance all aid restoration. Intimacy strengthens the link and prevents emotional stagnation.”

  Asia’s cheeks flush crimson, but she doesn’t move away. “If it helps you heal, then…” she whispers, unable to finish the sentence.

  You meet her eyes, the grief in your chest tightening like a band. “Later,” you manage, voice rough. “Right now… tell me about Lyra and Kira.”

  The room goes still. Even the hum of the monitors seems to fade beneath the weight of your words.

  Rin lowers her gaze briefly before answering. “Both are gone,” she says quietly. “Lyra’s body was recovered intact — she overcharged the Severance Cascade to break Harmon’s eldritch contract and stop the convergence. Kira… was killed instantly. A CDC operative—James Murphy—shot her during the chaos.”

  Your throat tightens. You taste metal. “Where are they?”

  “Morgue bay,” Rin answers, voice ft, because if she lets emotion through, it’ll break her. “Harmon’s under guard. Murphy didn’t survive long enough to regret it — Marines confirmed his death on-site.”

  You nod, the motion small, deliberate. “Director Harmon?”

  Maria steps closer, tone measured. “In custody. Colonel Reeves has him restrained in the security hold. His eldritch pact colpsed when Lyra executed the Cascade — the backsh shattered his mind. He keeps muttering about rejection and failure.”

  The words hit like cold water. You lean back against the pillow, eyes stinging. Two threads in your soul — Lyra’s steadfast calm, Kira’s fierce hunger — are gone. What remains is a dull ache, the kind that doesn’t fade.

  “They deserved better,” you murmur. “Both of them.”

  Asia’s tears spill freely now. “Lyra saved all of us,” she whispers. “If she hadn’t—”

  “She knew what she was doing,” you interrupt softly, forcing steadiness. “And Kira… she never hesitated. Not once.” You drag in a breath, slow, shaky. “We’ll mourn them. But not here. Not yet.”

  Rin straightens, eyes clearing with purpose. “Then we focus on what’s next. Harmon’s colpse left the dimensional field unstable — it’ll take roughly seventy-two hours to stabilize. Reeves and Webb are debating whether to evacuate or hold position.”

  Maria nods, folding her arms. “The convergence apparatus is destroyed, but the residual distortion remains active. Securing the ptform may be our best chance to understand it before the next surge.”

  You gnce at each of them — Rin’s resolve, Maria’s precision, Asia’s trembling courage, Mikasa’s silent strength, and Hinata’s uncertain vigince. The grief doesn’t fade, but it hardens into focus.

  “Then we stabilize what we can,” you say quietly. “And when the field clears… we bury them ourselves.”

  The room stays silent for several long heartbeats after your words. The hum of the generator, the faint hiss of an IV line—every small sound feels amplified, like the world is trying to remind you it’s still turning.

  Mikasa breaks the quiet first. “The Marines are waiting for your orders. They’ve cleared the upper decks but haven’t entered the reactor levels yet. Radiation readings are unstable.”

  You push yourself upright, ignoring the weight that drags at your limbs. “Status on the wounded?”

  “Fifteen travelers rescued,” Rin says, consulting a small datapad. “Four local humans who manifested magic during the convergence, eight from other worlds. Most are stable but emotionally compromised. Webb’s coordinating triage.”

  “And Emily Webb?” you ask.

  Maria’s expression softens, only slightly. “Alive. Severe psychological trauma from Harmon’s experiments. Asia’s healing stabilized her vitals, but her mind will need time.”

  You swing your legs off the bed. Your boots find the cold floor, and the ache in your body feels almost reassuring—it means you’re still here. Asia instinctively reaches to steady you, and you let her hand linger on your arm for a breath before stepping forward.

  Her gaze drifts toward the three unconscious figures on the nearby beds. “None of this makes sense. The air feels… different. Everyone has this… energy around them.”

  You take a slow breath, trying to give her some grounding. “I don’t know everything about what brought you here… or why it’s happening. You were drawn through a dimensional breach, and this world… it’s changing. Magic has appeared, and humanity wasn’t ready for it. The warnings were ignored, and things went, very wrong. That’s all I can say for certain.”

  Hinata blinks, still trying to process the unfamiliar surroundings. “So… people are… dying?” she asks quietly, voice trembling.

  “Some have,” you admit softly, your voice tight with the weight of what you’ve seen. “A lot, the Zombie Apocalypse is an event theorized as myth for decades—probably over ninety percent of humanity has already fallen, either to the undead or the chaos that followed. Lyra… she gave herself to stop something worse. Others didn’t survive. But you’re here now, and what you did today—protecting Asia—already saved lives. That matters.”

  “You’re not alone,” you tell her quietly. “I’ll expin everything once we regroup.”

  Asia squeezes your hand, fresh tears spilling. “Your Ring of Perfect Sustenance kept you stable while my Twilight Healing repaired the magical trauma…” She chokes back a sob. “I’m so sorry about Lyra and Kira. I should have been faster—”

  “You saved my life,” you whisper, squeezing her hands. The weight of loss presses down, but you hold yourself together. The contract marks where Kira and Lyra once resided feel like open wounds on your consciousness.

  Rin moves closer, voice firm. “We need to decide what to do with Harmon. And the other dimensional travelers who need care. The Marines are securing the ptform, but Webb wants your input.”

  Maria’s violet eyes gleam with calcution. “The convergence apparatus is destroyed, but the dimensional instability Harmon caused will take time to dissipate. Discussing options carefully will help us protect those rescued—and strengthen our bonds.”

  You gnce at Hinata, standing protectively near Asia. “We’ll expin everything in time. For now, just stay close to her. Help keep everyone safe.”

  Her gaze flickers from you to the others, slowly understanding the weight of what’s happened. “I… I’ll do my best,” she murmurs. Despite confusion and exhaustion, her training shows through in every careful movement.

  Rin steps closer. “You shouldn’t be on your feet yet.”

  “Can’t afford not to be.” You take a slow breath, forcing steadiness back into your voice. “Call Webb and Reeves to the command deck. I want full situational briefings in fifteen minutes.”

  Mikasa nods crisply and heads for the door. The others follow, but Asia lingers long enough to whisper, “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

  You offer her a faint, weary smile. “Maybe not. But I’m the one who has to keep us moving.”

  As the door slides open, the hallway beyond smells faintly of smoke and saltwater. Somewhere below, the ocean beats against the metal hull of the oil ptform—a reminder that the world outside still hungers, still waits. You square your shoulders and step into it.

  The morgue bay smells of antiseptic and cold metal. Two covered forms rest on stainless steel tables under harsh fluorescent lights. Your boots echo against the deck pting as you approach alone, the door sealing behind you with a hydraulic hiss.

  You pull back the first sheet.

  Lyra's silver hair fans across the metal, still pristine despite everything. Her violet eyes are closed, her expression almost peaceful—except for the dried blood crusted around her nose and ears. The contract mark on her shoulder bde has faded to a dull gray scar.

  "You didn't have to do it alone," you whisper. Your throat tightens. "We could have found another way."

  But she'd already decided. Calcuted the cost and paid it without hesitation, viewing her death as redemption for dimensional instability she believed she'd caused.

  You pce your hand on her forehead, reaching for your inventory system. The magical framework responds, and her body dissolves into silvery particles that flow into the dimensional storage space. The table stands empty.

  The second sheet comes away more slowly.

  Kira looks younger in death—more like the sixteen-year-old girl she'd been before the infection. Her auburn hair is clean, her features peaceful. The bullet wound in her temple has been cleaned, but you can still see the dark entry point. Her golden contract mark has faded like Lyra's.

  "You never hesitated either," you murmur, your hand trembling as it hovers over her still face. "From the moment we met, you just... trusted me."

  The weight of that trust crushes down. She'd followed you into hell because you asked. Died protecting others because that's what you'd taught her to value.

  You store her body beside Lyra's, the magical framework carefully preserving both forms in stasis. When you find the right pce—somewhere beautiful, somewhere safe—you'll y them to rest properly.

  Grief’s still there, but grief can wait. The living still need decisions.

  The walk to the security hold takes ten minutes through cramped corridors. Marines nod as you pass, their expressions carefully neutral. Word has spread about the double contract backsh, about the two lovers who died stopping the convergence.

  Captain Webb and Colonel Reeves wait outside the reinforced cell door. Both men straighten as you approach.

  "Brad," Webb greets, his weathered features showing concern. "Asia said you were stable, but Christ, two contract backshes—"

  "I'm fine," you cut him off ftly. "What's Harmon's status?"

  Reeves exchanges a gnce with Webb before answering. "Completely broken. The eldritch contract severance shattered his mind. He's been muttering about 'the Elder One's rejection' and 'failure as an instrument' for the past hour."

  "Show me," you say.

  Webb unlocks the cell door. Inside, Director Marcus Harmon sits slumped against the bulkhead, restraints binding his wrists. His white b coat is torn and bloodstained. His eyes—once calcuting and sharp—now stare at nothing, pupils dited and unfocused.

  "It wanted... passage," Harmon mumbles, his voice cracking. "Six months of preparation. Fifteen anchors. Perfect synchronization. But it... rejected me. Cast me aside like... like refuse."

  His gaze suddenly snaps to you with brief, terrible crity. "You don't understand what you've done. The convergence will happen again. The Elder Things always find a way. And next time... next time it will be stronger."

  Then his eyes go vacant again, and he dissolves back into incoherent muttering.

  Webb and Reeves exchange a weighted look. The silence between them says everything — they’ve already seen too much, and none of it fits within the world they once swore to protect.

  “I’m guessing you two good-boy soldiers already found his so-called research notes,” you say, voice edged but calm. “And now you’re arguing over whether to report them to what’s left of your higher-ups. Don’t bother denying it.”

  Reeves snorts. Webb just sighs, rubbing a hand down his weathered face.

  “You both know that’s a terrible idea,” you continue. “Some desperate bastard’s going to see those notes, read a few lines about dimensional power or eternal life, and start thinking they can control it. Then we’ll have a hundred repeats of this nightmare across the pnet.”

  Webb folds his arms. “We’ve got forty-three pages of his theory. Half the surviving command would kill to get their hands on it.”

  “And the other half would try to weaponize it,” Reeves adds. “We already saw what happens when someone makes a deal with these things.”

  You nod once. “Then my advice is simple — either purge it as part of the battle cleanup, or lock it away somewhere that no one will find until long after we’re dust.”

  Reeves’ jaw sets. “That’s destruction of intelligence assets.”

  You arch an eyebrow. “What intelligence? You think there’s a functioning command structure left? A working government? Some court still handing out orders and verdicts?” You gesture toward the cell where Harmon mutters to himself. “We’ve had this talk already. The cities still stand, sure — their towers and roads — but they’re empty now. Overrun. The people who gave them meaning are gone. Nationality, w, rights — they all died when humanity did. The buildings just haven’t caught up yet.”

  Neither officer answers. The hum of the ship fills the silence.

  You gnce toward Harmon’s cell. “As for that mess—” you motion toward him, “—I can offer you an option. Something that might pry truth out of what’s left of his mind, or end him if he’s too far gone.”

  Webb’s gaze sharpens. “Go on.”

  “Enchantment: Curse — or Blessing — of Compelled Truth.” You say it evenly, watching their reactions. “Curse has darker implications, but it’s more direct. Blessing sounds gentler, but with his corruption, it could literally light him on fire. Both have the same goal: he can’t lie. Might speak in riddles, but everything he says will be truth. If the eldritch truths conflict…” You snap your fingers lightly. “The contradictions tear his mind apart. Win-win.”

  Harmon's head suddenly snaps toward you with terrible focus. "Truth... the Elder One showed me truth... realities folded like paper... dimensions bleeding together... humanity is nothing but—" His eyes roll back and he slumps against the restraints.

  "Jesus Christ," Webb mutters.

  Reeves tilts his head, considering. “And you’re leaving this up to us?”

  “He’s outside our deal,” you reply. “Our agreement was the Portnd’s enchantments, our help in your assault, and custody of the dimensional travelers. Harmon wasn’t part of it. But if you want to take this option, I’ll provide it. Free choice —” You gnce between them. “You need resolution. This gives you one.”

  Reeves grunts. “If we know anything about eldritch crap, it’s that you purge it with fire.”

  Webb gives him a look. “We’re not burning him until we know if he still has usable intel.”

  You smirk faintly. “Then you get your compromise. Curse of Compelled Truth. Either he talks, or he dies telling the truth. Just… don’t bme me if the walls start bleeding.”

  Webb exhales through his nose, decision settling in. “Fine. The notes get cssified as battle damage — lost in the chaos. One encrypted backup, dual authorization, locked in the Portnd’s bck vault. Nobody touches it unless this happens again.”

  Reeves nods. “And Harmon gets your enchantment. If he pops, he pops. If not, we take what he gives, then put him down.”

  “Fair,” you say. “Just remember — this is a favor, not charity. Favors have weight.”

  Webb’s weathered features shift into a faint smile. "Noted. We'll remember that when the next crisis hits."

  You step forward. "We're doing this now," you say. "And everything he says will be recorded."

  Webb reaches to the wall console. “Recording active. Everything logs to a sealed onboard bckbox. Transfer requires physical keys and a secure line — nothing leaves this ptform without both our signatures.”

  Reeves tightens Harmon’s restraints, then steps back, his hand resting on his sidearm.

  The room hums faintly as you lift your hand toward Harmon's slumped form, the enchantment taking shape in your mind. Curse of Compelled Truth — anchored not to your mana, but to the corrupted energy reserves inside Harmon himself.

  The curse ignites with a brittle crack, like gss fracturing underwater.

  Harmon jerks upright. His head lolls for a moment, then snaps forward — eyes clear, lips trembling.

  The first words spill out in a rush, fragmented by the stuttering pulse of the curse.

  “—initiated… Protocol Lazarus… before the breach event — not cause, but catalyst — infection already present, beautiful vector for study — I used it, used it all—”

  Webb’s expression hardens. “He’s admitting he knew.”

  “—killed Dr. Sarah Morrison — discovered the truth, — zombie attack—her screaming—distracting but necessary—dimensional harmonics required anchors—travelers were perfect conduits—resonance within human vessels, extraordinary potential—we had… volunteers… at first.” His face twitches. “Then subjects. They screamed—”

  The curse spasms; energy shes through the cell, flickering lights and shaking air.

  “—Elder presence promised comprehension—formus, impossible geometries—could see the fabric bending—the world was already bleeding, I only accelerated the wound—”

  Blood begins to trace from his nostrils, each word costing him more.

  “—thirty-seven disappearances, seventeen… neutralizations… opposition within research wing — containment orders forged—Command never knew—the outbreak covered all—”

  Reeves’ jaw tightens. “Neutralizations?”

  “Executions,” Webb says quietly. “He means executions.”

  Harmon’s body convulses. The curse burns through him like a fever. "—water fluoridation in seven counties—mild sedatives—reduce civilian resistance, — authorized drone strikes—survivor encves—immunity markers—two hundred thirty-eight— kills, children too, — risk genetic diversity—specific popution pressures—"

  Webb's hand trembles.

  “—Albedo—resistant to extraction—fourteen hours—valuable sample—dimensional compatibility unique—others less stable—Kurumi—Shinobu—patterns failed—”

  You feel the curse flicker again, a violent pull as his corrupted mana colpses inward.

  “—calcutions wrong—Elder one lied—truth not knowledge—truth is hunger—”He ughs, wet and broken. “—all of us are already inside it—”

  Then the words stop. His body slumps forward, blood trailing down his chin, eyes gssy but still open. The enchantment releases with a hiss, evaporating like steam.

  The only sound left is the steady tick… tick… of a camera recording light above the cell door.

  Webb exhales slowly and presses a control panel on the wall. “Recording locked. Local storage only — no uplink.”

  Reeves nods, voice ft. “No one sees this without both our clearance. It dies with us otherwise.”

  You step closer to the console, voice steady but edged. “I need a temporary copy. Use my phone — I’ll delete it once it’s shown to Shinobu, Kurumi, and Albedo. They deserve to hear what he did and see how he died.”

  Webb studies you for a beat, then nods once. “Fine. Local mirror only. One-time pyback.”

  A data line fshes briefly across your device’s screen — secure transfer, isoted memory. You pocket it without another word.

  Feeling the faint absence of residual mana from the cell. “Good. His own corrupted energy paid the cost.”

  For a long moment, no one speaks.

  Harmon’s body remains upright, still bound in the chair, a hollow shell where ambition and madness finally devoured each other.

  Finally, Webb turns toward you. “Command room next. We need a full report on the survivors.”

  You gnce once more at the cell — at the quiet ruin of a man who mistook power for understanding — then follow them out, the heavy door sealing behind you with a final metallic thud.

  SnafuSam