Pitted concrete dust and scorched copper coated Bayu's tongue while Jovan's pupils dilated behind smudged designer frames. Jovan pushed back, a surge of neutralizing force trying to dislodge Bayu’s grip, but the younger man held fast, his knuckles white. The humming accelerator housing thrummed behind them, vibrating through Bayu's boot soles. “Save *her*?” Jovan scoffed, but the word was hollow, a thin shield over a gaping wound. “You think I haven’t tried everything? Your ‘amplifier’ is a toy, a blunt instrument! It’ll crack the orbital rock, yes, but scatter the fragments, make it worse!” “Not if *your* clan helps!” Bayu retorted, his voice rising above the alarm sirens. “You absorb, you dissipate, you *focus*! We generate, you guide! It’s the only way we both get what we want!” Jovan stared, his gaze darting from Bayu’s earnest, sweat-streaked face to the wildly spiking frequency bands on the nearby console. Time was a rapidly diminishing resource. A low, guttural growl escaped him. “You lie,” he accused, but his conviction wavered. “Why would you help *her*?” “Because she’s a person, you idiot! And if I don’t, the whole world burns, including *my* bloodline and *yours*!” Bayu’s grip tightened, a final, desperate shake. “Do we do this, or do we watch everything crumble?” Nenek Ratih, who had been observing the brutal exchange with a serene, terrifying calm, suddenly stepped closer. Her voice, though soft, cut through the din. “Jovan Adicandra. Laksmi’s life hangs by a thread. Your clan’s methods, alone, will not suffice. Our scion’s proposal offers a chance, however slim. Consider it.” Jovan’s gaze snapped to the matriarch, a flicker of outrage, then resignation. He looked back at Bayu, the tension leaching from his neck until his shoulders sagged. “How?” he rasped, the single word a grudging acceptance. Bayu didn’t waste a second. “The central core. It can generate a singular, colossal burst. We need to aim it, keep it coherent.” He gestured wildly towards the control panel, where a holographic projection of the falling bolide, now an incandescent crimson speck, dominated the view. “Your absorption fields, they don’t just negate. They can *channel*. You can create a funnel, guide the thrust, prevent it from dispersing. A focused blast, not a shotgun spray.” Jovan’s brow furrowed, his tactical mind already spinning. He understood the elegance of the idea. The Angkasa clan’s raw output, untamed, was destructive. His own clan’s ability, without a source of such magnitude, was defensive. Together, they could do the impossible. “A directional siphon,” Jovan murmured, a glint of the corporate shark returning. “My operatives… they’re trained in kinetic containment. They can project a dampening sleeve, not to absorb, but to *concentrate* your output.” He spun, barking orders into a wrist communicator. “Operatives, converge on sector Beta-7! Prepare for a full-spectrum containment protocol! Establish a directional conduit, now!” As Jovan’s loyalists, surprisingly swift, began to position themselves around the broken hall, aligning their absorption arrays, a roar erupted from a different corner of the compound. A contingent of Jovan’s security unit pushed through a cracked archway, led by a broad-shouldered man who leveled a finger at Jovan. “Traitor! You side with the Angkasa pretender? For *her*? The Elders will have your head!” Before Raka’s group could even advance, Chandra, Bayu’s father, moved. He had been a silent observer, watching his son’s desperate gambit unfold. Chandra lunged without ceremony. His knuckles hit like pneumatic pistons, deflecting plasma bolts and splintering the rebel leader's reinforced arm braces. Two guards dropped before the rest could raise their shields. “Focus, son!” Chandra roared, his voice cutting through the chaos of battle. “The rock won’t wait for petty squabbles!” *Son*. Chandra had not said that syllable since Bayu was nine years old and dropped a carton of duck eggs in the kitchen. Now the elder Angkasa dropped a heavy hand onto Bayu's shoulder. “Channel everything,” Chandra instructed, his voice low and steady. “Every frustration, every doubt, every spark of power you have. Pour it into the core. Let it guide the flow.” His eyes, usually so distant, now held a warmth Bayu had never seen. “Your mother… she designed this to save. Don’t hold back. Trust your strength. Trust *yourself*.” The housing groaned, cooling vents glowing white-hot. Jovan’s crew locked their wrist projectors into an invisible column rising straight toward the rafters. On the tactical screen, the asteroid swallowed a quarter of the sky grid. “One minute!” Nenek Ratih declared, her voice devoid of emotion, a pronouncement of fate. Bayu nodded, his throat tight. He placed both hands on the pulsating control panel, absorbing the raw feedback. The device hummed, then screamed, as he poured his entire being into it. The reservoir coiled in his chest rushed into his arms, biting into his tendons. The apparatus's quartz conduits flashed violet, spiderwebbed with fractures, and blew apart in a shower of silica. But the burst had already begun. An azure column ripped through the ruined ceiling tiles, boring straight into the sky toward the tumbling mass. The concussive backdraft slammed Bayu against the metal floorplate. Bayu felt a searing pain, his body screaming under the strain. He saw the beam connect, a silent explosion of light in the upper atmosphere. Then, the world spun, colors bled into nothingness, and the roar faded into a silent, engulfing void.

One Minute to Midnight