CHAPTER 13: KILL BOX

The three Ghosts glided closer.

They weren’t walking.

They were lagging into position.

One in front.

One behind.

One shimmering into existence on a crumbling ledge above them.

"Okay, kid," Jinx hissed, her back pressed hard against a concrete support pillar.

Her face was pale in the flickering blue light of the fire she’d kicked over, but her eyes were lit with a wild, manic gleam.

"Got some good news and some bad news."

"Lay it on me," Michael grunted, his gaze darting between the three silent, spectral hunters.

"Bad news is, we’re boxed in by a team of reality-deleting ninjas, and they’re about to turn our personal space into a non-existent memory."

"And the good news?" Michael asked, a sliver of hope he immediately hated himself for feeling.

Jinx gave him a grin that was all teeth and terror.

"The good news is, I have a plan that’s only ninety-nine percent certain to get us killed."

"I’m listening," he said, deciding ninety-nine percent was a risk worth taking.

"See that ceiling?" she asked, nodding her head upwards. "That’s not just rock. It’s the old power conduit for this entire sector. Decommissioned, sure, but the main junction valve is still up there."

She held up a small, ugly brick of C-4, lovingly wrapped in electrical tape and wired to a mess of scavenged DGC tech.

"We’re not gonna fight them," she said, her voice crackling with insane genius. "We’re gonna drop the whole damn ceiling on their glitchy heads."

The plan was beautiful.

The plan was stupid.

It was their only option.

"What’s my part in this masterpiece of suicidal engineering?" Michael asked.

"You’re the bait," Jinx said, her eyes already scanning the crumbling infrastructure above them. "You’re the loudest, prettiest thing in this dead zone. You need to keep all three of them focused on you while I get up there and plant this goodbye-kiss on the junction."

"Draw aggro. Got it," Michael muttered, his gamer brain clicking into place.

"And one more thing," Jinx added, her voice dropping. "See those big ceramic insulators holding the main cables? The big, plate-looking things?"

He saw them. Three of them, ancient and coated in grime, spaced out along the ceiling.

"My charge will crack the valve, but to bring the whole thing down, we need to sever the main supports. You need to break those insulators. All three of them."

"So my S-Rank inherited power is... advanced rock-throwing?" Michael asked, a dry, humorless laugh escaping his lips.

"You’re the one with the freaky void powers, kid," Jinx shot back, already scrambling up a huge pile of fallen debris. "Figure it out. Just do it fast."

Michael took a deep breath, his Void Energy a low, hungry hum in his veins.

He was the target.

He had to own it.

"Hey!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "Glitch-faced jerks! You want the anomaly? Come and get him!"

He scooped up a chunk of broken concrete.

He hurled it at the nearest insulator.

CLANG!

The rock bounced off with a pathetic thud, barely chipping the ceramic.

Well, that was unimpressive.

The first Ghost raised its shimmering hand.

Michael didn’t wait.

He used a micro-Shadow Step, a tiny, five-foot zip to the left.

ZIP!

The Phase-Ripper VWOOMED past him, erasing a section of the wall he’d just been standing by.

He threw another rock.

This time, he wrapped a thin tendril of Void Energy around it.

It struck the insulator with a sharp CRACK, a spiderweb of fractures appearing on its surface.

Okay, that’s better. Two more to go.

The Ghosts adapted instantly.

They weren’t just hunting him anymore. They were hunting his cover.

Another Phase-Ripper shot out, not at him, but at the pillar he was using. The concrete dissolved into a cloud of silent, gray dust.

He was exposed.

He could see Jinx now, a small, frantic figure near the ceiling, working desperately to attach the charge to the massive, rusted valve.

He had to buy her more time.

He broke into a sprint, weaving between crumbling pillars, snatching up chunks of rubble and hurling them upwards.

Another insulator cracked. CRACK!

One left.

The three Ghosts converged, their movements tightening the kill box, their energy building for a synchronized, overwhelming attack.

He was out of Void Energy. He could feel it. The deep well of power was just an empty, aching hollow.

No more void-infused rocks. No more Shadow Steps.

He was just a kid in a tattered hoodie, holding a piece of concrete.

A high-voltage cable, torn loose from the first broken insulator, snapped and writhed on the ground like a dying snake, showering the area with a torrent of blue-white sparks.

Screw it. One last throw.

He hurled the last chunk of concrete with all his might.

It flew through the air, and for a split second, passed directly through the arc of the live wire.

BZZZZZAP!

The rock lit up, glowing with a stolen, furious energy.

It struck the final insulator not with a crack, but with an explosive shatter.

KRA-KOOM!

The main support cable groaned, the sound of tearing metal echoing through the tunnel.

"Fire in the hole!" Jinx’s voice screamed from above.

She leaped from the rubble pile, curling into a ball as she hit the ground and rolled.

Michael dove behind the largest piece of remaining debris he could find, covering his head with his arms.

A tiny, almost insignificant CLICK echoed from the ceiling.

Then, the world ended in a single, deafening word.

BOOM!

The explosion was a physical thing, a wave of pressure that slammed into him, stole the air from his lungs, and shook his bones in their sockets.

The ceiling gave way.

Thousands of tons of rock, rebar, and forgotten infrastructure came crashing down with a sound like a mountain breaking in half.

Dust and darkness consumed everything.

For a long, terrifying moment, there was only the roar of the collapse and the feeling of being buried alive.

Then, silence.

A deep, profound, tomb-like silence.

Michael pushed a piece of rebar off his back, his ears ringing, his entire body a symphony of aches and bruises.

He was alive.

He looked over and saw Jinx a few feet away, slowly pushing herself up, her face covered in dust, a trickle of blood running from her temple.

She looked at him, and a look of pure, unadulterated disbelief spread across her face.

They were alive.

They had survived.

A wave of dizzying relief washed over Michael, so strong it was almost euphoric.

He started to laugh, a ragged, breathless sound.

And then, he heard it.

It started from the other side of the massive wall of rock and debris that had just sealed them in.

It wasn’t the shimmering, silent hiss of a Ghost.

It was something else.

Something solid.

Something heavy.

A slow, rhythmic scraping sound.

SCRAPE.

...

SCRAPE.

...

SCRAPE.

It was patient.

And it was digging.