That night Jacob got up and took his two wives, his two female servants and his eleven sons and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. After he had sent them across the stream, he sent over all his possessions. So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob's hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, "Let me go, for it is daybreak."
But Jacob replied, "I will not let you go unless you bless me."
The man asked him, "What is your name?"
"Jacob," he answered.
Then the man said, "Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome."
Jacob said, "Please tell me your name."
But he replied, "Why do you ask my name?" Then he blessed him there.
Genesis 32:22-29
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I'm about to find out just how true that is.
I stumble forward, my sword a makeshift crutch for my battered frame. Each movement sends lightning bolts of pain through my body. The metallic tang of blood fills my mouth, a constant reminder of the price I'm paying.
Yet, grim satisfaction burns in my chest, despite the agony. Svarog's once-pristine exterior now bears the scars of our battle, deep gouges and dents marring his metallic skin.
A sudden warmth at my back catches me off guard. Svarog's eye flickers, his cannon arm dropping slightly. We're both blindsided by the unexpected presence.
Tiny yet slender arms fail to encircle me, and I feel Clara's face press into my tattered coat. She shouldn't be here. We'd thought her safe, locked away under the watchful gaze of Svarog's robots.
Yet here she is, her desperation palpable in her trembling form.
"Please, Mr. Xander," she begs, her words muffled against my back. "Stop fighting. Both of you. I hate it when you fight!"
Her plea hits me like a physical blow, but I can't falter.
Not now. Not when I'm so close.
Across the chamber, Svarog looms like a metal titan. His crimson eye bores into me with an intensity that would make lesser men crumble. But I see the conflict there now, brought on by Clara's presence.
"Clara," he rumbles, his synthetic voice struggling to convey gentleness. "Step away from the threat. Now."
She doesn't budge. If anything, her grip on me tightens. "No," she whispers, defiance in every syllable.
The silence stretches, taut as a wire. Then Svarog speaks again, his tone softer. "Please, Clara. Step away."
His words ignite something in her. She shakes her head violently, her tear-stained face emerging from my coat. "No!" she cries, her voice rising to a shrill wail. "I won't!"
I wince at the raw anguish in her voice.
"Clara," I gasp, each word a battle against the fire in my lungs. "Please... listen to your father."
She stiffens, her wide eyes filled with disbelief as she stares at me. "Why?" she whispers, her voice trembling. "If you both keep fighting, you'll..."
The unspoken fear hangs heavy in the air.
You'll die.
I force a smile, trying to reassure her even as I feel my strength ebbing away. "It's okay, child," I murmur, the endearment slipping out unbidden.
Clara's face crumples, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. "No, it's not!" she sobs. "I don't understand! Why fight Mr. Svarog? Why can't you just talk things out?"
Her questions come rapid-fire, each one a blow to my resolve. "Why do I always feel like I'm being left behind by my family?" she cries, her voice cracking. "Why do you all go where I can't follow?"
The raw pain in her words twists in my gut like a knife.
"Clara," I say, meeting her gaze. "Look at him." I nod towards Svarog, his eye flickering between us with something akin to uncertainty.
"Here is your father," I tell her, my voice soft but firm.
I turn to the towering mech, meeting his crimson gaze unflinchingly. "And here is your child," I say, the words ringing with finality.
Svarog is silent for a long moment, his eye dimming briefly. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.
I release my sword, pulling Clara into a tight embrace. She stiffens, then melts against me, her slender frame shaking with sobs.
"Thank you, Clara. You've opened my eyes to something I'd forgotten."
I swallow hard, fighting the lump in my throat. "If Belobog survives, it'll be because of people like you," I tell her, conviction ringing in every word. "Not because of me, or Svarog, or the Supreme Guardian. But because of those who keep their light burning in the darkest places."
My gaze sweeps across the dim expanse of the Underworld. "This place... it's a painful reminder of where I came from. But you've shown me that even here, there's something worth fighting for. Something worth saving."
I pull back, meeting her gaze. My expression softens for a moment, then hardens as I steel myself for what comes next. I brush the tears from her cheeks, my touch gentle but resolute.
"I'm sorry, but I can't stay with you. I have to do what needs to be done."
Her lips quiver, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "Why?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I have my own family," I begin, thoughts of Sebastian, Summer, and my parents flashing through my mind. "A family I love and miss more than anything."
Clara's brow creases in confusion. "What does that have to do with fighting Mr. Svarog?" she demands, her voice gaining strength. "We'll help you find them! I'll do anything! Just please, stop fighting!"
I feel my resolve wavering as fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "I need..." I start, then pause. "I need information from your father. Information his programming won't let him give."
"But why?" she asks, her voice trembling. "Why can't he just tell you? Why does it have to be like this?"
I sigh, feeling the weight of my burdens. "I don't blame him for his actions," I say, weariness seeping into my voice. "It's his... belief. The beliefs of his creators put us at odds."
"Svarog believes he's acting for humanity's good," I explain, glancing at the silent mech. "For your survival, Clara. While my reasons..." I trail off, shaking my head. "Mine are selfish."
"Don't judge your father for his choices," I implore her, emotion thick in my voice. "For fighting as he does. Judge me." I manage a bitter smile. "I'm the monster in this story."
She inhales sharply, shaking her head in denial. "No," she whispers, her voice trembling. "You're not..."
I silence her gently, pressing a finger to her lips. "Please, child," I murmur, pulling her close. "Please move aside. Neither your father nor I want to hurt you."
She clings to me fiercely, her grip tightening. "How can you ask that?" she sobs into my chest. "I won't... I can't..."
Her words dissolve into incoherent cries. My heart shatters, but I steel myself for what must be done. I tighten my hold on her, whispering a silent apology.
Too late, Clara realizes my intent. Her eyes widen in panic, but it's already done. With precise pressure, I render her unconscious, her small form going limp in my arms.
I cradle her gently as I cross the ruined and battered courtyard, each step an exercise in agony. Svarog watches my approach, his eye flickering with what might be approval.
Wordlessly, I hand Clara's unconscious body to one of Svarog's subordinate robots. It receives her with surprising care, cradling her in its metallic arms.
"You hurt her," Svarog rumbles, a hint of reproach in his synthetic voice.
I turn to look at Clara's tear-stained face, my heart constricting. "What were the odds of her walking away willingly?" I ask, my voice barely audible. "Of letting us settle this without interference?"
Svarog is silent for a long moment. Then he responds, "Zero point zero zero zero zero one two percent."
I nod, unsurprised by the minuscule probability. "She'll wake soon. We need to end this quickly."
I retrieve my fallen sword, limping back to the center of the enclosure. I assume a ready stance, gripping the blade tightly. "Thank you," I say, my voice carrying across the ruined space. "For letting me speak to her one last time."
Svarog's eye remains fixed on me, unblinking and intense.
"You've been searching for her real family, haven't you?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
Svarog's eye flickers briefly, a subtle acknowledgment.
"It doesn't matter anymore," I tell him, my voice gentle but firm. "You're her father now, Svarog. What would make her happiest is the time she has left with you, not finding her lost parents."
Silence reigns, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. Then Svarog speaks, his voice reverberating through the air.
"Your words suggest humanity won't survive the Eternal Freeze," he says, his tone flat.
I nod grimly. "Not with the Stellaron still active."
Svarog's eye narrows, his cannon arm twitching almost imperceptibly. "Your knowledge proves the threat you pose," he intones, menace underlying his words. "Despite Clara's feelings, her protection is my priority. Conclusion: The threat must be eliminated, even at the cost of hurting her."
I raise Neuromorphic Armament, the Curio's blade form glinting in the dim light as I prepare for the inevitable clash.
Closing my eyes, I take a shuddering breath. Memories of my old life wash over me. For a fleeting moment, I picture Sebastian's face, that cocky grin I know so well.
"You're impossible, you know that?" he says, fond exasperation in his voice.
I can't help but smile, a bittersweet longing tugging at my heart. "I know."
Sebastian's expression softens, his eyes a mix of pride and sorrow. "I know you didn't want to," he says, regret heavy in his voice. "But you hurt her."
The memory of Clara's anguished cries, the devastation in her eyes as I rendered her unconscious, floods back in a torrent of guilt and shame.
"I know," I whisper, my voice cracking as I fight back tears.
But then Sebastian grins again, that brilliant smile that's carried me through so many dark times. His warmth cuts me to the core, and I feel tears streaking down my cheeks.
This time, I don't bother wiping them away.
"Will you fight with me one more time, old friend?" I ask, my voice a mix of sorrow and grim determination.
"Always," he murmurs, the word a solemn vow.
The vision fades, replaced by the harsh reality of the Underworld. But something has changed, a new fire burning in my veins, fueled by memories of those I've lost.
My chest begins to glow, golden light emanating from within as the Stellaron awakens. Its power thrums through me, wild and untamed, threatening to consume me from the inside out.
I don't fight it. I embrace it, letting the energy pump through my veins like a raging torrent. My eyes blaze with otherworldly radiance, the air crackling around me. The heat evaporates my tears instantly.
Across the chamber, Svarog raises his cannon, the barrel glowing with searing intensity.
For a heartbeat, an eternity, we're frozen in a tableau of impending violence. Then, with a roar that shakes Belobog to its foundations, I move.
Time slows as I launch myself forward. In this suspended moment, my mind races, replaying the events that led me here. The choices, the mistakes, the twists of fate that brought me to this point of no return.
Could I have prevented this? Even now, as I hurtle towards the mech, I'm not sure. The weight of inevitability crushes me, each fraction of a second stretching into an eternity of doubt and reflection.
As Svarog and I close the distance between us, I can't help but wonder: was this how things were meant to be? Or did I set myself on this collision course through my own actions?
God only knows.
The irony isn't lost on me. For the longest time, I believed it all began on that fateful day.
In the vast emptiness of space, a colossal station trembles, its very foundations quaking with dread. It's no longer alone.
Inside, panic reigns. Scientists and researchers scramble through corridors, their screams echoing off metal walls as they're caught in the crossfire between invaders and security units. Chaos and death dance in equal measure.
Amidst this mayhem, one figure remains an island of calm. They ride an elevator upwards, fingers dancing over invisible strings, playing a violin that exists only in their mind. Warning lights flash, ignored and unheeded.
An explosion rocks the lift, shattering the illusion. Red emergency lights bathe the small space in a hellish glow.
"It seems like I came at a bad time," they mutter, voice dry as dust. It's a colossal understatement, given the carnage unfolding around them.
A holographic screen flickers to life, a disembodied female voice responding with eerie nonchalance. "No no. I think you couldn't have timed it better."
The elevator doors part with a hiss of escaping air. The figure steps out into a cavernous chamber, the hologram trailing behind like a ghostly companion.
Crimson hair cascades down her back in a messy ponytail, two rebellious strands framing sharp features. A white dress shirt leaves her shoulders bare, a black jacket draped carelessly over her frame. A silver butterfly pin winks from her lapel. Dark glasses perch atop her head, revealing eyes the color of aged wine.
"Will we need to engage the Legion?" she asks, her gaze sweeping the neon-lit room. Flashes of light and distant screams filter in from beyond.
"Elio didn't mention it, so it's irrelevant," the hologram replies dismissively.
"I'm taking control of the operation now. My apologies, Silver Wolf, but your fun will have to wait. We're only tasked with placing the target this time." The woman retrieves a specialized data drive from an inner pocket, thumb tracing the smooth metal casing. Her eyes lose focus as she examines it closely.
Silver Wolf's response is a theatrical sigh, but she doesn't challenge the orders.
With a final glance around the chamber, the woman tucks the drive away and draws a pair of submachine guns from concealed shoulder holsters.
The next room she enters dwarfs the previous one. It's also occupied. Dozens of Reavers, twisted hollow knights of the Anti-matter Legion, turn as one when she enters. For a heartbeat, they regard each other through the gloom.
She opens fire. Metal tears and shrieks as she rips through the beasts with a storm of lightning and lead. Those that survive the initial onslaught perish in a shower of sparks moments later.
She steps over the twitching, sparking remains. A blur of movement catches her eye. A lone Reaver, somehow still functioning, lunges from the shadows. Before she can react, a burst of electric blue energy slams into the creature, sending it crashing to the ground in a heap of twisted metal.
A petite young woman steps out from behind a pillar, lowering her outstretched hand. She wears a short, black coat over a crop top, silver hair tied back in a ponytail with a bow. Purple neon glasses rest atop her head.
"You're welcome, Kafka," she says, smirking.
Kafka rolls her eyes but nods in grudging appreciation. "Have you located the Stellaron?" she asks, impatience coloring her tone.
Silver Wolf ignores Kafka's brusqueness. "It should be in a nearby command center, just a few rooms from here," she replies, gesturing down the corridor.
"Good," Kafka says, already moving. "Let's go."
They tear through the station, leaving a trail of destroyed Reavers in their wake. Kafka's guns flash in the dim light, while Silver Wolf's digital manipulations rend enemies from the inside out. They move with deadly precision, an unstoppable force.
At last, they reach the command center. Silver Wolf approaches a holographic console, fingers dancing over ethereal keys. The wall before them begins to glitch and distort, pixels cascading down like digital waterfalls. A portal forms, its edges flickering and unstable.
Kafka barely spares the anomaly a glance before stepping through. She emerges into a circular room that seems to exist outside normal space. Metal floors, cold beneath her boots, surround a glowing console. Atop it hovers a pulsing yellow orb.
Kafka approaches slowly, mesmerized by its glow. It calls to her very soul.
"Are you ready?" Silver Wolf's voice breaks the spell.
Kafka blinks, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. She nods, a determined grunt escaping her lips. Reaching into her jacket, she retrieves the specialized data drive. She holds it out to Silver Wolf, her gaze pointedly averted from the device. "Here, take it."
Silver Wolf accepts the drive, moving to insert it into a small console adjacent to the central one. As she inputs a command, Kafka reaches out and grasps the pulsing yellow orb - the Stellaron. Its warmth seeps through her gloves, unsettling and strange.
"And... done," Silver Wolf announces, stepping back.
The space beside the central console flickers and distorts. Holograms dance and weave, coalescing into the form of a man. He appears unconscious, features slack and peaceful.
Kafka studies him, committing his appearance to memory one last time. He's tall, with a frame that speaks of raw power and agility. Tanned skin stretches over corded muscles, and rich dark hair falls across his forehead. A sleek, well-tailored black suit fits him like a second skin, jacket buttoned over a crisp white shirt and black tie. A black vest hugs his torso, adding sophistication. Even his hands are covered in refined black gloves, matching the rest of his ensemble.
She steps closer, Stellaron still clutched in her hands. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lowers the orb to the man's chest.
"Time to wake up, Xander," she murmurs, voice tinged with melancholy. With gentle pressure, she presses the Stellaron against his chest.
The orb sinks into him, disappearing beneath his skin. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, his chest rises and falls with a deep breath, life returning to his body. Yet, he remains unconscious, oblivious to the world around him.
Kafka turns to Silver Wolf, a question in her eyes. "Did Elio mention anything about what's to happen to him?"
Silver Wolf hesitates, uncharacteristic uncertainty clouding her expression. "He didn't," she admits quietly. "For once, neither we nor Elio know what the future holds. It's... unsettling."
They both look back at the man resting peacefully, unaware of the destiny that will soon be thrust upon his shoulders. The fate of the universe may very well rest in his hands when he awakens.
But for now, in this moment, he sleeps.