The next two months was spent recovering in cryostasis. KiAera had only awakened after the space shuttle barely made it to its destination.

  She had been informed that the shuttle had crash-landed on a structure nearest Mars's third moon. The mysterious signal that Dr. Carron traced led them all here. To a third moon called Genesis. The machines that attempted an assault had been held off by Mirage; but she'd chosen to hold the line.

  KiAera didn't have long left anyways. Her body already felt like cracked glass. Too fragile, ready to split with any pressure. Still, she drew her rifle one final time and fired the last shot she would ever take. It struck clean, shattering the jaw of the man who had stolen her sister's mind, flaying his skin away to reveal the cold mechanics beneath.

  For one aching breath, she believed it might be over. The Blue-Winged Rabbit had done it. All the cruelty he had poured into the world, all the futures he had choked out. Maybe this was the end of him at last.

  Then he grinned—the hole in his head wired shut, his metal teeth bared and molten eyes glancing away from the last cluster of survivors vanishing into the portal. Perfect. He no longer cared about them; his fury had found new purchase.

  But she was already moving, always a nuisance to him—until now, when that nuisance sharpened into a genuine threat. Yet it wasn't just her he seemed to be focused on. His gaze flicked to the small creature hovering by her nape: the little imp he had always dismissed, never suspecting it might side with mortals. Prey was prey, after all.

  "KiAera…" the imp whispered, voice quivering under its tiny horns. "Are you certain about this?"

  "You need to go," she told it softly, hand falling to her other weapon. "I'll handle the rest."

  Around them, the space station groaned, twisting under the stress fractures spidering through its hull. The void outside clawed at every breach, hungrily dragging vapor and light into the abyss. Sparks showered them, catching on the emergency glow and making ghosts dance across broken panels.

  And if this was where she died, then at least it would be by her own choosing. Although her heart beat with fear, there was also the sharp thrill of knowing she'd stood her ground. She rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and met his monstrous eyes.

  "You think you can defeat me? I'm invincible!" he howled, voice booming through the cracking decks.

  KiAera leapt and began to descend from decaying platforms. Her blue cloak flared around her like a dark tide, her rifle bucking in her hands. She fired again and again, rounds sparking harmlessly off him. He didn't move—why should he?—but she didn't falter, closing the distance with grim insistence.

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  Beneath their feet, what remained of the station crumbled into drifting islands of scrap. They maneuvered across the wreckage—a torn fragment of the space station's main tower. Shattered glass and lifeless consoles floated weightlessly around them, adrift in a starfield illuminated by distant explosions. Somewhere far off, a superheated sphere erupted, staining the cosmos with a vivid red.

  Blue sparks lit up the subsequent dark as seismic bullets parried off her rifle and blade, but she didn't stop.

  The crimson figure moved like no one KiAera had ever fought before—not even her sister in her final state had fought like this. He didn't simply dodge; he flowed and destroyed. Each attack came as a blur of steel, red light, and gravitational distortion that made her legs feel as though they were moving through collapsing dimensions.

  She ducked just in time as a curved blade of liquid metal scythed through the pillar behind her—clean through the structure like air. A nanosecond slower, and it would have been her skull.

  They crashed together once again. Over and over. Her blade seared into plating, his strikes hammered her bones. Sparks and blood painted lazy arcs through the air.

  Until he drove his arm through her chest.

  Her arms fell limp at her sides, fingertips still slick with blood that now matched the pulsing glow of his claws. Lifted off her feet, she felt strangely weightless. He smiled—a cruel crescent of triumph—then tossed her away like ruined freight.

  She landed hard, not far from the portal, its shimmering edge now impossibly distant. Through tear-blurred eyes, she saw the future slipping away. Of what could have been: children crossing into a better world… Hope guiding them. Lizzie still waiting. A breath hitched in her throat. Then she smiled, thumb brushing the detonator at her belt.

  The missiles buried in the station went off in sequence, shuddering the whole hollow carcass. It lurched violently, breaking apart as it spiraled toward gravity's pull. The portal trembled, then snapped out of existence.

  Was mankind safe now? Would this ruin be enough?

  She floated through the dark, breath shallow, eyes half-lidded. Across the scattered debris, she spotted him again. No more skin—only the skeletal horror of his machine self, raising a crimson finger toward her. At its tip, light gathered for the killing blow.

  Her heart skipped. Because someone else moved first.

  A tiny horned silhouette fluttered between her and that murderous gleam. Lil Imp spread its wings, tail swaying, eyes bright with an emotion that hurt more than any wound.

  'This is farewell, right, Ms. Rabbit?'

  She tried to scream, "MOVE!" but nothing came out. The light pierced them, scouring through her, searing flesh and stripping away all sensation but pain.

  She clutched the little creature close as everything went black, refusing to let it go even as her own body failed.

  In that final instant she whispered her last wish to whatever listened out there in the dark.

  "I want to protect them… please… let me keep going…"

  It was a fragile plea, little more than a flutter against the vast cold. But it was her gift to the universe: her final kindness, her last spark of defiance, her quiet demand against a nightmare they did not deserve.

  The Blue Winged Rabbit's downfall...

  Had her plea been heard?

  all the time." The being sighed, reclining in his grandiose throne. "If you may. Kindly cease your chatter as the narrative and converse with me more appropriately."