Pipo’s frantic voice clawed through the static, a digital razor against her ear. “Six hundred seconds, Ljeska! Get out of there!” Ljeska’s hands tightened on Stribor’s skull. His fur felt damp and earthy under her palms. The heavy throb of his heart against her ribs was a solid, grounding beat against the chaos. She pushed away the chill that threatened to settle in her bones, the panic that coiled in Pipo’s voice. “No,” she said, her voice low and steady, though the word felt thin against the rising heat. Already, the humid air of the greenhouse enclosure seemed to thicken, scorched loam scent rising from the verdant floor. Stribor lifted his head, massive jowls resting on her shoulder. His amber eyes, still rimmed with a faint, raw redness, fixed on her face. A soft whimper rumbled in his chest, a question he couldn’t vocalize. “That window is all we need, Pipo,” Ljeska continued, ignoring Stribor’s gaze, focusing on the distant hum that was now undeniably growing louder beneath the floor. “Are the Guild’s public networks linked to the Apex’s comms system?” “Theoretically, yes. Kresnik loves to broadcast his benevolence,” Pipo huffed, a rustle of movement audible on his end. “Why? You trying to order a pizza before you melt?” “Operation Lycanthrope,” Ljeska stated, her gaze sweeping across the unbroken, rain-streaked glass that formed the outer perimeter. It was a cold, impenetrable sheet reflecting only their distorted forms. “Can you push the full data package—all of it, every file, every video—to every public monitor, every municipal billboard, every private comm unit in Novy Cheran? Prioritize the Vodyan Guild’s corporate channels.” Pipo went silent. For a moment, Ljeska thought the connection had died. Then, a sharp, delighted laugh crackled through. “You want to burn his empire down with a spotlight? Oh, Ljeska, you almost make me regret having a pulse.” He paused. “It’ll take every bit of processing power I have, and I’ll be off the grid for the duration. No comms, no intel. You’re on your own once I hit send.” “Do it,” Ljeska commanded. She glanced at Stribor, who was watching her with an unnerving intensity. “Now.” Just as Pipo gave a grunt of affirmation, the massive holo-panels embedded in the penthouse walls flickered to life. Kresnik Vodyan’s face materialized, his usual composed smile firmly in place, but with a subtle tension around his eyes. He looked impeccable, not a strand of his dark hair out of place, even as the terrarium deck began to steam around Ljeska and Stribor. “My dear Ljeska,” Kresnik’s voice, smooth as polished glass, filled the humid air. It carried no trace of panic, only a faint, paternal disappointment. “Such a waste of potential. You almost had me convinced you were ready for true partnership.” Ljeska said nothing, only watched him, her expression a blank slate. “Barely any time left, Ljeska. That’s all you have left to reconsider.” Kresnik held up a hand. “I’m prepared to offer you one final act of clemency. Surrender. Walk out of that enclosure, and I will spare your… companion. He is a valuable asset, even in his current, unrefined state. We could simply revert him, start anew. He would serve a different purpose, of course, but he would live. You, on the other hand… well, your utility has run its course.” The heat intensified, pressing in from all sides. Leaves around them began to curl at the edges. Stribor let out a low growl, a guttural sound of warning that reverberated through Ljeska’s bones. He nudged her, his gaze unwavering. Kresnik sighed, a theatrical gesture. “Think of it, Ljeska. A life for a life. Your freedom, for his continued existence. A simple choice.” Ljeska finally spoke, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. “My freedom isn’t on the table. And neither is his.” A flicker of something – annoyance, perhaps, or a flash of fury – crossed Kresnik’s eyes before his smile returned, colder this time. “A pity. I truly believed in the synergy. But a broken instrument is merely a nuisance.” At that exact moment, the monitors behind Kresnik, the ones that usually broadcast corporate logos and market data, fractured into a kaleidoscope of static. Then, Pipo’s work manifested. Not just on the penthouse monitors, but through the glass, Ljeska could see the sprawling cityscape of Novy Cheran ignite with a thousand projected images. Towering billboards, building facades, even the tiny screens on distant personal vehicles – all of them now rendered the same thing. It was the video feed from the Lycanthrope dossiers. The grainy, horrifying footage of a young, terrified Stribor, screaming in a sterile lab, his body writhing as it was forcibly mutated. Kresnik Vodyan, younger, impeccably dressed, stood by, observing with clinical interest. The accompanying text, glowing in stark white, detailed the Guild’s unethical experiments, the abuse of Rift-touched individuals, the weaponization of healing magic, and the creation of monstrous assets. Every lie Kresnik had ever spun, every benevolent facade, crumbled into digital dust across the entire city. Kresnik’s face on the main monitor contorted, his smile dissolving into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. “You little viper!” he roared, his voice losing its polished edge, cracking with fury. “What have you done?!” “The truth, Kresnik,” Ljeska said, a faint, vindicated tremor in her voice. “It’s a powerful thing.” She saw the faint glow of the collar around Stribor’s neck, a reminder of the control Kresnik thought he still held. But it was just a light now, a fading ember. The sanctuary's floor plates began to glow, a faint orange at first, then rapidly deepening to a searing red. The air shimmered, thick and suffocating. The scent of burning foliage became acrid. Pipo’s countdown was down to single digits. “Five seconds, Ljeska!” Kresnik shrieked, his face warped with a murderous intent. He was no longer trying to negotiate, only to ensure her agonizing end. “Enjoy the flames!” Ljeska met Stribor’s gaze. His eyes, now a deep, liquid amber, held no fear, only resolute trust. She pressed her forehead against his, a silent communication of intent and absolute faith. The amplified magic still coursed through his veins, making his pelt crackle with suppressed power. He was a mountain of raw, untamed force, and he was hers to command, not as a master, but as an equal. “Stribor,” she whispered, pulling back slightly. “The glass. Through it.” His ears swiveled, acknowledging her instruction. His immense body tensed, muscles coiling. He shifted his stance, his paws finding purchase on the rapidly heating metal deck. He was an unstoppable force, a battering ram of flesh and bone. “Three!” Kresnik’s voice was a dying shriek. Ljeska focused her healing magic, not to mend, but to amplify. She poured it into her own limbs, felt it surge through her muscles, a volatile, explosive energy that hummed beneath her skin. “Two!” Stribor lowered his head, a primeval growl rumbling deep in his chest. His powerful arms wrapped around Ljeska’s waist, not in a hug, but a focused, controlled grip. He lifted her, effortlessly, holding her aloft. “One!” With a ferocious roar that ripped through the heating air, Stribor hurled Ljeska with every ounce of his monstrous strength. She shot forward, a living projectile aimed directly at the shimmering, supposedly unbreakable glass. Her magic, burning bright, encased her, a spearhead of raw force. The impact was not a crack, but a deafening, concussive boom that rocked the entire spire. The unbreakable glass shrieked, then spiderwebbed, then exploded outwards in a dazzling, crystalline supernova of jagged shards and displaced air. The force of it ripped through the penthouse, extinguishing the rising flames for a split second, sucking out all the heat and oxygen. Ljeska was falling. The wind tore at her hair, the rain-slicked city lights blurring below her, and then, a massive, dark shape launched itself through the gaping wound in the building, a loyal beast leaping into the impossible void right behind her.

The Fall of the Tower