The Hemingway’s drop platform hissed open and deposited the squad onto a ledge of petrified bone overlooking the final ancillary tunnel leading to the Idol.

  The ancillary tunnel was carved through the ribcage. Bone struts spiraled down its sides and glistened with thin threads of calcified tissue. The tunnel stretched ahead at a downward incline, flanked by curved walls etched with more faded carvings. The figures were unmistakable: Hyperions—tall and divine—etched in regal stances, flanked by kneeling figures. Humans.

  John traced one figure with the edge of his glove. “These weren’t carved by Braccari,” he murmured.

  “They weren’t,” Sasha confirmed in his ear. “These symbols precede the Braccari infestation. It’s likely that craftsmen from the Humans of Eden created these, in a much older era when they once believed the Hyperions to be Gods.”

  “Gods?”

  “Yes.”

  As they moved deeper, the walls grew more ornate. Bone columns lined the passage like ribs and strange glyphs spiraled between them written in weave script that shimmered celeste. Soft pulses of light throbbed from each one. They spun slowly, hovering, as if waiting to be claimed. There were dozens of them.

  “It’s…almost beautiful,” Samantha said, barely above a whisper.

  “No,” Rhea replied. “This looks like a warning.”

  “It could mean anything,” Esh-Kaet said. “Hyperion weave script this old is ancient and nearly indecipherable. It’s lost all its meaning.”

  A low hum rose beneath their boots. The ground trembled. Sasha’s voice returned, sharper now.

  “Arbiter. I’m detecting a shift in the Idol’s resonance. Energy levels are climbing.”

  “How long do we have?” John asked.

  “I don’t know. Whatever’s happening…it’s accelerating.”

  Esh-Kaet moved to the edge of the tunnel where the wall sloped sharply downward. He knelt, placed one hand to the bone, and tilted his head slightly. “I think—I’m probably just going crazy—but I think it’s singing to us,” he said.

  John blinked. “What?”

  “The Idol,” he said. “It’s humming a signal—not through air—using vibrations through the planet.”

  A chill slipped under John’s skin.

  “Signal broadcast is beginning,” Sasha said. “Planet-wide dispersal protocol detected. The Idol is coming online. You are out of time.”

  John turned to the others. “Let’s finish this.”

  The tunnel narrowed ahead. The Idol chamber lay just beyond.

  ###

  The descent into the Idol chamber was like falling into the lungs of an ancient beast. What they stepped into wasn’t a room but a vault wrapped in bone and crystal. The structure was so massive it distorted perception—angled ribs of petrified leviathan curled upward into unseen heights, each one threaded with Hyperion glyphs that flickered faintly.

  The Idol stood at the heart of it all, a towering obelisk, crystalline and dark; it pulsed like someone’s heart that beat nervously upon anticipation of their arrival. The moment they saw it, none of them spoke. There was nothing to say. This was it—the place that had twisted Eurynome, corrupted the Braccari, and led to the deaths of thousands of human colonists.

  “Positions,” John barked. “Rhea, thermal charges. Sasha, map its weak zones.”

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  They moved fast. Adrenaline and purpose carried them.

  But they weren’t alone.

  From the peripheral tunnels, Braccari emerged. Behind them came the Brute Lord, nearly three meters tall, his body sheathed in overlapping bone-plated armor. His face was a writhing crown of mandibles and glistening fungal ridges. He walked slowly like the duel had already begun.

  The other Braccari around the Brute stopped moving. So did John’s squad.

  “What is happening?” John asked.

  “He wants a duel,” Esh-Kaet said, stepping forward.

  John’s hand shot out. “Don’t even think—”

  “Esh—” Rhea began.

  “We’ll fight him together, Esh-Kaet,” John said.

  “No,” Esh-Kaet said. “We’re completely surrounded. If I win this duel, the others will stand down. Look at the situation. Let me do this, Arbiter.”

  John extended a nod of respect. Esh-Kaet was a proven commander to his people and lived many more lives than John. His words carried weight. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Esh-Kaet winked at John, then he moved forward through the parting crowd of Braccari soldiers.

  The Brute Lord met Esh-Kaet with a roar.

  Around them, hundreds more Braccari emerged and formed a wide circle perimeter.

  Esh-Kaet removed his rifle and dropped it. Then he drew his curved Cortari plasma blade. “A blade for a blade. You demand honor. I shall answer your call.” Esh-Kaet moved with unnatural grace and precision. He darted, striked, and danced under the Brute Lord’s hammering blows. Esh-Kaet tore down savagely. His blade cut deep along plated limbs, searing grooves into the beast’s thighs and ribs. But the Brute Lord was relentless—every wound only hardened his resolve.

  A massive arm caught Esh-Kaet mid-spin, slamming him against the wall. Bone cracked. Still, Esh-Kaet rose. Blood oozed from his side, slick across his dark armor. With a snarl, he plunged his blade into the Brute’s collar. He anchored himself there, just long enough to plant a magnetic charge to the monster’s wrist.

  Esh-Kaet hissed and dived out of the way.

  The charge detonated.

  The Brute Lord’s midsection exploded in light and smoke. Chitin and muscle sprayed the Idol base. Simultaneously, the hundreds of Braccari around them screamed in confusion and scattered back into the tunnels.

  John and the others surged forward, raised their weapons, and unleashed rounds on the Braccari in the chamber. Rhea tossed incendiary grenades into the tunnels. Samantha screamed something unintelligible as she fired her revolver. John sprayed plasma bolts down to an empty magazine.

  After the last Braccari had either died or fled, a haunting silence remained as they waited patiently for more beasts to arrive. None did.

  The squad rushed to Esh-Kaet.

  He lay in a slumped heap, his torso caved inward. His chest plate was shattered. His breath came in slow, uneven gasps. Cracks ran from his sternum to his neck. The Astralis-9 suit whirred to life and half-heartedly began its repair protocols, useless attempts.

  John knelt. “We’re here, Esh-Kaet. You did it.”

  “No,” Esh-Kaet wheezed. “Not done…You must…take my shard.”

  Samantha froze. “Are you sure—”

  “I know how,” Rhea said, already pulling off her gloves. “Just hold him still.”

  John braced Esh-Kaet’s shoulders. Samantha turned off her HUD to stop it from flickering. The Cortari’s eyes locked with Rhea as she drew her precision scalpel.

  “Instructions?”

  “The base of the neck,” Esh-Kaet rasped. “Under the second vertebra. Twist…clockwise. You’ll see the interface in the skin.”

  Rhea found it. The armored layer was broken, but still held tight. She cut slowly through the skin—layered tissue curled beneath her blade like tendons made of wire. A small plume of coolant hissed out. Deeper in, pale glass shimmered around bloodied dead skin.

  “There,” Esh-Kaet whispered. “Do you see two clasps?”

  She used her thumb and forefinger to manipulate them, careful not to snap the surrounding cradle. The shard clicked loose. It radiated heat. It was smooth, the size of a thick coin but more crystalline.

  As she pulled it free, Esh-Kaet exhaled a long and steady breath. Then, he went still and made no sounds.

  Rhea held the Cortari shard in both hands.

  “He’s gone,” she whispered.

  John took the shard, gently. He stared at it, expression tight. “We’ll find him a new host. We’ll bring him back. Report this to the Hemingway.”

  “On it,” Sasha said.

  He pocketed it with a secure capsule.

  Then he looked up, toward the Idol. “This ends now.”