Chapter LIII [Part 2]

Gardenia hadn't come alone.

In fact, while Nova wiped the blood from her head, she had to grip onto her Roserade for dear life to stop herself from fainting.

The Song Sister had come with all of her Pokémon from Oreburgh. Every single one of them – from a Chingling to a Pachirisu to the damned Magikarp. All of them, spitting electricity, leaves, gushes of water, fire – anything and everything they had at the Galactic Healers, hurling them over the edges, not stopping for a second.

Among them was Frazer the Onix, a saddle on his back, a woman riding it and grinning brighter than the suns behind the snow.

Vernia.

"You're here," Nova managed to mumble as the Onix approached. "You're here."

Vernia winked down at her. "No, I'm in the bloody ocean. Now, get up, will you?"

"You're here."

"Aye, it's great to see you, too. Now, seriously, get up."

Nova was standing, dragging her hands across her cheeks to wipe the tears, still drenched in sweat. Her mother was no longer dressed in rags, but armour – the steel helm of a guard, a leather breastplate, those unmoving legs strapped tight to the Onix's stone body.

"What are you doing here? You should be…"

Vernia snorted. "At home? Somewhere safe?" There was a glint in the older woman's eyes – wicked excitement, shining nervousness. "Don't be daft. Even Lord Backlot came."

Then, she snapped the reins, sending the blind and deaf Onix bouncing across the cobbles and off through the pillars. Nova tried to follow behind her, but she found that her hands were shaking, her knees were weak, the adrenaline soured in her veins.

"Don't be afraid for her," Gardenia murmured behind her. "All will be well."

Nova looked the Song Sister up and down. "How do you know?"

Gardenia turned her eyes towards Cyrus, towards Dialga.

"The songs never lie."


"Stinking whoresons! Do you know who we are?"

Lord Backlot almost flushed bright red as the pirates behind him screamed it out – the jeers, the curses, the retorts that were supposed to be witty. He had thought it would have been a good idea to summon the pirates to help, but now—

He could see the ten or so pirates circling around Galactic Healers, clad in dark leather and feathered caps. One had landed a dagger in a healer's throat, scarlet bubbles bursting from their lips, the pirates howling as if it was the funniest joke.

"You shouldn't be here, old man," someone said softly behind him. "Not unless you're armed."

Lord Backlot turned, smiled at the sight of Candice. Then, pulling out his crossbow, he crouched low by the pillar. An arrow, a snap of a bowstring, the soft whispering of the wind, and—

One Galactic Healer screamed as she fell with a burbling gurgle, fingers twitching. Then went another, who had been riding a Rapidash, tumbling off with an arrow in his throat. Another healer tried to give a warning, but Backlot's shot took her in the thigh, and another in her belly. Then, a pirate's blade glittered as it flew out from behind and took the woman's head off her shoulders.

Lord Backlot faced Candice again, a grim smile on his face. "This old man has some tricks up his sleeve, young lass."

For a moment, the young girl only stared.

"Old man, leave the lass alone and fucking shoot!" a pirate called out. "You let four get away!"

Raising his bow, Lord Backlot found himself biting back both a scowl and a laugh.

There was something charming about the pirates. Charming about the way they always cheered every shot he made, always snuck glances to make sure he was alright. One even hovered behind him, his foul breath all over Backlot's neck, claiming that he just happened to be there even though Lord Backlot just knew there were strict instructions to keep the nobleman safe.

With his eyes narrowed, Lord Backlot shot one more arrow. It sang, pinching through bodies until it found its mark – in the chest of a healer who had been thick in a spar against his son-in-law.

And, across Spear Pillar, Wake gaped at his father-in-law. And when Lord Backlot caught that wide-eyed gaze, he lowered his head in a slight bow and smiled.


"Roark, are you alright?"

Roark blinked, turned to the girl who had materialised behind him. It was Joy, with a flask in her hand, bright and bubbling like golden wine. His head throbbed as he tried to face her, the pain surging through his blood.

He should have killed that stupid sister of his when he had the chance. He had tried – she had avoided the poison in Canalave, had somehow survived Frazer the Onix, had even escaped the Distortion World—

"Roark?"

He snarled. "What?"

"Drink this. It'll help heal your wounds faster."

"And why would you want to help me?"

Joy's eyes darkened, and she gazed down at her lap. "Apologies. I shall leave you be, then. I thought I would offer you some before giving it to November, but—"

Something about that name made his heart still. And before he could even think past the persistent stab in his head, the jangling ache within his bones, he snatched the flask, propped it up to his mouth and drank.

It was sweet, and for a moment, the pain blurred. He could just hear the screaming of those above him, see splashes of blood around him, feel a hand clutch him—

"You know," Joy whispered, "there's a special place in hell reserved for those who murder little girls."

And before Roark could even croak, could even spit, could even reach out and strangle the wench, he felt the blood crawl up his throat.

His death came swifter than he could have hoped for.


And, just like that, the tides were beginning to shift.

The legionaries alone were a mighty force enough, but with Gardenia lashing Galactic Healers with her vines, with Vernia and the Onix hurling bodies away from the pillars, with even Lord Backlot leading a troop of pirates onto the battlefield, Cyrus didn't stand a chance.

And even without all of that, there was Nova, Riley and Barry.

He could see it, even as he cowered behind Dialga. One of his healers gasping as Nova cracked his skull back into a stone, thumbs pressed into his eyes. Barry, slipping his dagger out from his belt and slamming the blade under another lad's chin. Riley, kicking someone else aside, making them gurgle and topple over with a short manoeuvre of his blade. His own son, not on his side, but—

"Enough," he hissed. "Enough."

He squeezed the orb tightly in his hand, watching as the blue light coiled, writhed, clawed in his hands.

"I've had enough of this nonsense."

The Galactic Healers shrivelled away as he glared around, and he watched as the legionaries exchanged grins. Only November stared, eyes narrowed, lips parted.

"Dialga," Cyrus snapped. "Destroy them all. The girl first."

For a moment, Spear Pillar seemed to fade, pale and translucent around him. And, beside him, he could feel the rage and hatred nestled in Dialga's bones, felt it trembling as it tried to resist the command, as its red eyes glared at him—

But it couldn't resist. Not with the orb in Cyrus's hands.

No one moved as the power hummed around them, as those dark eyes burned onto its target. There was blue light shearing though Dialga's crystals, growing into a sphere by its mouth, bigger, bigger, the size of a bloody body

And the beam struck.

It cleaved through the air, tearing past the pillars, over the corpses, with the strength to split flesh and bone as it hurtled straight towards Nova—

And she felt nothing.

Because, of all the Pokémon to jump before her, to use their body as a shield, she hadn't expected it to be Owl the Gastrodon.

The slowest of her team. The softest of them.

There was a spray of red as the Gastrodon fell back, rolling into Nova's arms. And, Arceus, for a moment, the gladiator couldn't even hear the blood pounding in her ears, couldn't even hear her own strangled howls as she fell to her knees.

Owl, who had once been a small Shellos.

Owl, who had once pissed herself at the sight of a few embers.

Owl, who had loved her.

More red, more breathless gasps from the Gastrodon before her. She felt the pain herself, one hand holding Owl while the other hand held her own throat, as if she had been dealt the blow herself.

No armour filled with Bibarel's blood now. No ploy. No play.

Owl's blood as real as the snow on her skin.


Even if Rhys hadn't seen it for himself, he felt it in his heart as Nova's scream – raw and choking, thin and gurgled – rattled the pillars around him.

And he charged, lips peeled back in a snarl, ready to find Cyrus, ready to shatter the man's bones

But something moved faster than him.

Tatiana.

She moved like wind, like silver, like shadows. Slipping beneath Dialga's next beam scything towards her throat, the blue light whistling past her skin. Her skin not shining with that familiar, radiating white, but with darkness as she her claws grew larger, as her fangs sharpened. Moving like black ink upon the bloody stone, hate and hunger and sorrow driving her forward, Tatiana was no longer a Gabite.

But a Garchomp.

Cyrus's Pokémon came to meet her, but Tatiana clawed and hissed and tore at each one. A blow to a Weavile's spine, a rush of blood falling onto her, fuelling her fire. Claws grabbing at a Crobat, shredding through its wings, letting blood dribble into little shapes along the ground.

The hunger inside her unsated, the longing even more desperate, the emptiness suddenly and violently filled.

And as Tatiana moved through the endless field of blinding blue, Rhys realised her mistake.

She wasn't going to attack Cyrus.

She was going for the orb.

He growled, but either she couldn't hear it or she wouldn't. Because as the Garchomp approached the sphere, she lost sense of colour – no red or blue or gold burning with furious heat. The orb was just a ghostly white, shedding a pale luminance and casting a long shadow across spear pillar.

A scream ripped up and out of Tatiana's lungs, long and thin and keening.

And she used her claws to slap the Adamant Orb out of his hands, and send it rolling, rolling, rolling—

And it fell off the edge of Spear Pillar.

It felt like the sky was crashing close, the cold of the snow bringing burning tears to Nova's eyes. She was on her knees on the bloody stone, people's voices ringing around her, running down the stairs, running away as the pillars began to crumble and fall.

Nova sat there, a current dancing on her skin. Blood on her hands. Blood on her tongue.

Her Gastrodon dead on the stone before her.

She hung her head. Gasping. Breath burning in her lungs. Full and empty all at once. Feeling absolutely nothing as people yelled at her, tried to tell her to run, tried to scream because Spear Pillar was fucking shattering

But Nova just looked up at Dialga.

All the miles, all the years, all the pain.

It was always going to lead to this.

And yet, he was looking at her, his eyes like razors as he glanced down at the Gastrodon.

He was telling her something…

…something about…

And looking down, Nova felt Owl take a thin, rasping breath.

Alive.

Alive.


Everyone else was running.

Spear Pillar was crumbling, with the stone fissuring beneath them and the long marble structures toppling down one by one. Riley was the first to usher people away, his voice echoing across the cave, forcing the bodies to roll and bleed and ripple down the stairs. Even Barry was there, helping Candice and Volkner make their way down the stairs, the crowd rushing down like a wave, the stone beneath them seeming to churn.

Both of them glanced back at Nova, but she only fixed her eyes on Cyrus, Dialga, Tatiana and the edge that the orb had tumbled off.

"Nova," Riley called out. "We must—"

There was a scream, and he turned back down at the stairs. Nova didn't need to look to know what he was seeing.

Dialga was already showing her.

When Spear Pillar fell, Mount Coronet would, too. A landslide to cover all the towns around it – Snowpoint, Pastoria, Hearthome and even freaking Oreburgh.

And if Dialga was crushed beneath it all, frozen because the orb that controlled him was falling down, down, down, about the shatter into millions of crystals—

It was hurting him, Nova realised. It was hurting Dialga to lose his orb – hurting him to know what could and would happen the moment the pillars came tumbling down.

"Nova," Riley was calling out, his voice a thin rasp. "We must get out. Now—"

The legionaries were already down the stairs, no doubt trampling over Roark's dead body. The Galactic Healers that had lived were already darting away from their leader, from their dreams, some of their screams turning into helpless gasps as pillars fell and shattered their bones.

"Nova, please," Riley said again, his gaze darting from her to his father to the pillar that trembled just above their heads. "Please."

And finally, with her knees knocking together, Nova stood. Held Owl in her arms, and crossed Spear Pillar.

It took her only a few seconds to reach Riley, a few seconds longer manoeuvre the Gastrodon in her arms and gently press her into the knight's arms.

Then, as Riley's eyes widened in understanding, Nova turned and ran.

"Nova, no—"

She didn't care, though.

All she could think about was Dialga, what he was showing her, what would happen to Sinnoh if that orb reached the ground and shattered—

Darkrai had gone silent in her shadow. And even though she knew he was doing his best to drink away her fear, she felt it there, like a warm fire in her belly, crawling up her throat and wrapping around her heart.

Because it was Darkrai's fear, too, that she felt. For if she died—

No.

Not yet.

Nova glanced over her shoulder, watching as Leila pulled Tric just out of reach from a falling pillar.

"Go," she hissed at them. "Go with Riley."

Both the Infernape and Roserade froze.

"Go!"

Then came Rhys, who was blocking her path, ready to grab her with his teeth and drag her down the stairs. With a snarl of her own, she grabbed his fur, yanked him towards her, and shook her head.

"You need to get out of here."

Rhys gave a low growl.

"Take Tatiana, and get the hell out of here."

Each word like ice – cold and sharp, cutting straight through the Luxray. And yet, he didn't move.

"Don't be a fucking dolt. You can't do this, Rhys. Get it in your head – you can't do this."

Those were the words that did it, that made him lower his head.

Then, with a slow nod, he rushed to Tatiana, grabbed her with his fangs, and dragged her down the stairs.

Nova knew Bailey was flying somewhere high. Probably safe. Hopefully safe.

"…what it would be to have wings…"

"I thought you wanted an island."

"…and island with wings, perhaps?..."

Nova ignored the tremble in his own voice, that tinge of fear. Instead, she turned to Cyrus – one of the strongest men in Sinnoh, reduced to a beggar, kneeling on the stone as he pleaded with Dialga, as he watched the pillars behind him collapse through the rippling reflections along Dialga's diamonds.

"Get up," she snapped at him. "You can't stay here."

He gave her a feverish glance, eyes red. "You bitch—"

"You're going to bloody die!"

His hair bristled as he pressed his knees and knuckles to the stone, smiling.

"You're wrong, November."

And that's when she heard it – the flapping of wings, the low caws. As the Honchkrow drew nearer and nearer, above the stubborn fluttering in her stomach, Nova felt it.

Hunger.

Want.

The longing of a puzzle, searching for a piece of herself.

Bloody hell…

Nova's eyes widened, her mouth dry as ashes.

For she wasn't sure whether she should have been relieved or fucking scared when the Honchkrow dropped the Adamant Orb into Cyrus's hands.

For a moment, the world stopped shaking. The pillars stopped shuddering and screeching as they fell.

But Nova's stomach sank as she turned her eyes to the orb. Her heart was thundering, despite all of Darkrai's efforts. Pulse rushing beneath her skin. The thought of what this man could ask Dialga to do was too repulsive, too awful, too horrifying, and a threat was just about to spill from her throat as he opened his mouth to speak—

Oh, by the shitting shadows…

"Dialga, I want you to end all of this. Use—"

Mind racing. Heart pounding. Sweat burning. Nova curled her hands into fists and pressed her knuckles to her side as Cyrus stood before her and spread his arms wide, his face upturned to Dialga.

"Roar of—"

And she charged.


The beam came whistling from Dialga's mouth, slicing through pillars, tearing down stone after stone. Fantina barely had time to shove the other legionaries out of the way as one of the pillars came tumbling down the stairs, barely had time to scream at them to jump aside.

She saw Wake grab Candice by the collar and haul her to one side, saw him yank Volkner with his other hand. She heard a few gurgles behind her as the pillar rolled and rolled and rolled, splattering people to the ground – no doubt, her nephew's body somewhere down there. She saw the blind boy jump aside just in time, the healer girl sobbing as the two of them stood along the edge, the pillar barely scraping past them.

And she, herself, was so close to joining them along the edge, out of the pillar's shuddering path, but the stones were rumbling and it was too close, and she was too far, and oh fuck—

A hand grabbed her, just as she felt the heat of the pillar. And before Fantina was squashed by the stone, she was yanked aside, two pale arms clinging to her.

Vernia.

She was no longer riding the damned Onix – the Onix was poised and curled near the bottom, tail ready to smash into the pillar before it went any further down Mount Coronet.

But Vernia…

Arceus, she looked awful. She wasn't standing – couldn't stand. She was lying along the stairs, one of her legs twisted in this sick angle, her body so thin that it looked as it would snap, those brown eyes so damned hollow—

The dance in them, gone.

"You know, I've been meaning to thank you," Vernia whispered. "Funny that we're on the stairs now, too. You won't push me off these ones, will you?"

Fantina nearly jerked back at that. "What?"

"Thank you. I'd like to thank you. For sending me to Twinleaf. Because I couldn't have asked for a better place to raise my daughter. I am proud of what she's become."

"What she's become?" Fantina repeated drily. "She burnt down my entire fucking ballroom."

"That's my girl."

It was the dancer's smile that did it for Fantina. That made her crumble.

Because, god, all those years ago, that small shove, she hadn't expected the woman to become this

"You could have joined Cyrus, just like your nephew did," Vernia suddenly said. "You could have gone back in time and made sure I died. Why didn't you?"

Fantina opened her mouth to snap something back, something about killing her fellow legionaries, about the hell they were going through at the very moment just because of Cryus and his mad ploy to turn back time.

But instead, her mouth spoke before her.

"Your face."

"My face?" Vernia repeated.

"It haunted me, Vernia." And there it came – the truth that Fantina had kept buried in her heart, the secret that really, truly, she would have died for. "Your fucking face. Every dream, Vernia, you are there. Every single one. Your face. And when I saw Nova's face at the Spring Dance, too, oh, Arceus, I—"

She didn't want to cry – not here, where she could see Candice looking down at her with wide eyes, where Volkner could probably hear her pathetic sobs from just two stairs above.

"I don't care about the bloody crown anymore," Fantina said. "I just want the nightmares to end."

"They will one day, Fantina. They—"

"Sir Backlot, move!"

The voice had ripped out of Riley's throat, and Fantina glanced down.

And oh, Arceus, she wished she hadn't.

For, while Sir Backlot had been trying so bloody hard to dart aside, the pillar-

It rolled right over him.

The spray of blood hit Fantina's face, thick and red, warm on her lips as she screamed. She only saw Backlot for a second, his body on those stairs, dark blood fountaining, his limbs shaped all wrong.

Wake's roar made them all shudder – every healer, every legionary, every Pokémon. And Fantina only closed her eyes as she heard Wake rush to his father-in-law, heard Sir Backlot manage to mumble out a few words—

"Last… request…"

"You can't ask me to leave her, old man. You—"

"Shut up."

Spear Pillar seemed to turn silent as they all listened in, tears in their eyes, breaths in their throats.

"When your child is born… make sure she learns to read and write… tend the gardens…"

A muffled sob from Wake. "Aye."

"But also… spend time with pirates…"

Another sob. Another heart-wrenching groan of agony.

"Make sure they teach her how to be noble… over here…"

The last thing Fantina saw the old man do was touch his heart.

Then, she fell back into Vernia's arms and – loudly and freely – cried.


Fear bleached Cyrus's face, his eyes wide with horror. A Crobat moved to intercept her, but Nova was quick as shadows, sharp as razors, hard as steel, sweeping aside and shoving Cyrus to the ground.

His hands stretched out as the orb fell out of his arms, and everything slowed to a crawl, the sun pounding on Nova's back, the heat of it rippling on her skin as she reached for it. And, Arceus, when she felt its cool glass in her fingers, she clutched it tight, pulling it close. And rising up on her toes, she spun like a dancer, dark hair streaming, arm outstretched in a glittering arc as she caught sight of Cyrus's blade.

His blade sank into her shoulder, not burying deep, but enough to send her gasping. Her face twisted, pain pulling at her heart, the burning like acid in her veins, her mouth wanting to do nothing but scream as the blade was dragged out of her skin—

It felt like her shoulder had been split. Like her neck had been cut. She could still feel the blade quivering in her flesh, even though it was no longer there, and she was stumbling back as she stared at those eyes, as she could see the blood fountaining from her wound in them—

She still had the orb clutched tightly to her chest.

And like poetry, like a picture, she twisted backwards, over the edge.

And she fell.

What happened after that would be the topic of countless tavern tales.

Some said the girl fell, the orb in her arms, right into the mouth of Mount Coronet, where the wild Pokémon had come to help her. Some said she had hit the water, making her escape through the ocean.

And then there were some – mostly madmen, for sure – that swore by their own mothers that the little slip of a girl, the gladiator wrapped in leather and steel, had stopped time.

One moment, she was falling towards the jagged stones along Mount Coronet, death only seconds away.

The next, she was frozen there, the air no longer moving, Spear Pillar no longer collapsing.


Nova was still breathing, though. She was still hearing and seeing and smelling.

And yet, she was frozen there, the orb glowing in her hands, her body hovering in the sky. The stone beneath her like claws reaching up. The blood from her shoulder warm as it dribbled down her arm.

Time had stopped.

Just as it had when Darkrai had died. And now, it had stopped for her.

Was it because she had the orb in her hands? Or was there something more?

Nova didn't know. All she knew was that she needed one thing.

"Bailey…"

And, by Arceus, as if the orb itself had heard her, it winked blue light at her.

Within seconds, she heard a familiar caw, felt wings brush against her back.

When time started again, Nova was no longer falling to her death.

She was flying.

Flying back to Spear Pillar.


No one was moving when she arrived. Cyrus was still there, frozen in place, the blood on his sword not even dripping to the ground. Dialga, though, was following the Staraptor and gladiator with its gaze.

"…PUT ON QUITE A SHOW, DIDN'T YOU?..."

Nova would have bowed, had her shoulder not been bleating her with pain. Instead, she glanced down at her shadow.

"Darkrai dying in Canalave. Was that always going to happen?"

"…AYE…"

"Did he know?"

"…i'm right here you know…"

"…I DID NOT TELL HIM. BUT I SUSPECT HE KNEW…"

"He's clever like that."

"…i am being ignored. a twist…"

Nova smiled, breathing it in. The staleness of unmoving air, the bitter wind no longer lashing her face. Then, she held the orb out to Dialga, the Staraptor resting on her head.

"You can let time start again," she told him. "All is well."

She couldn't tell if he smiled. All she heard was a bemused hum.

"…WHO EVER SAID THAT I STOPPED IT?..."

And as she opened her mouth again, she saw it again – the orb winking at her, blue light flaming up her hands.

Just like that, time had started again.


Cyrus had only blinked once, and the whole world around him had changed.

The pillars were no longer shuddering and creaking as they leaned down towards the ground. The Dialga was no longer hissing, not with the adamant orb suddenly resting on his head.

And that stupid wench – that little, filthy gladiator that his son had fallen in love with – was no longer collapsing over the edge.

She was standing before him, her sword stretched out at his throat.

"You won't kill me," he said with a snarl. "My son…"

She smiled as his voice faltered. "Aye? What about him?"

"I'm the only family he has left."

"You're wrong."

The cold metal of her blade licked his throat as she pressed it closer.

"He stopped caring about you a long time ago," she told him. "He found a new family on his own."

He expected the blade, then. He expected it to slice through his throat, quick and nimble, his last breath tasting of blood and regret.

So, when he heard the blade clatter against the stone, he gasped sharply.

"Go," she hissed. "And don't let me see your face again."

A second passed, and another.

But, within minutes, the man was on his feet, racing down the stairs.

Nova's knees buckled as she turned back to face Dialga, his bright red eyes staring into her own.

"I suppose this is goodbye, aye?"

"…INDEED…"

"Shall I expect to see you again?"

"…PERHAPS…"

"Will there be blood?"

"…ALWAYS…"

She felt her throat burn as he stood, the adamant orb balanced carefully between his eyes. He nodded once at her, once at the shadow whispering by her feet, and glanced up at the sky.

No one saw him disappear.

Some say he flew into the sky, his tail lashing out behind him. Some say he simply teleported using his powers, moving from one world to the next.

But one madwoman would swear on her grandmother and her grandmother's grave that it was simpler than that.

He stopped time.

Made his way out of Spear Pillar.

And, by the time he had let the gears of the clock spin again, he was nowhere to be seen.


Only one lass saw what had happened. A familiar old crone, a Cresselia lingering behind her as she balanced on the remnants of a pillar and stared down at Nova, at Cyrus, at the Dialga that winked away.

"She really did it…" she mused. "She really did. I thought, for sure, she had joined the Galactic Healers but…"

She shook her head again. Cackled, even.

"She bloody did it."


And there it is, masters and squires, readers and writers, friends and foes. The tale that had begun before November had taken her first breath. The fate that had been awaiting her from the moment her mother fell down the stairs.

The story of vengeance. Forgiveness. Blood.

And hope.

The story of a lass who had wanted to change her name, who had wanted to forget her own past. The story of the gladiator who had fought in pirate ships and arenas alike, who had raised Pokémon by her side, who had found love and laughter beneath all that spite. The story of the woman who had clawed her way to Spear Pillar, who had fought through Bibarel blood and heavy steel, to protect the world she had once despised.

But that's not where it ends, is it?

For there is more to her tale.

"…for i am yet to receive an island…"

"Oh, shut up."

So, do not fear, readers and writers, the journey continues.

After all, what good is a kingdom, when there is no king or queen to bear the crown?


I won't lie, I'm getting very excited but very emotional thinking about it - the final stretch of the story! Wow. Just... wow. We're almost at the end. One gym, one league... And that's it. Finito.

But not just yet! We've got a bit more to go until we get there, and I promise, it'll be just as wild as everything else so far. For now, though, this wraps up Spear Pillar.

And yes, no one has died yet in Nova's team LOL. How? I have no idea. Owl nearly did, but survived on red before her mud bomb FINALLY hit.