The Title of God.

The gunshot rang through the chamber, and Juno’s body crumpled to the floor.

“Idiot, idiot—IDIOT!” Autumna’s voice tore out of her throat, ragged and furious, not grief but fury at the sheer waste. She stumbled toward him, fists trembling. “Where do you think memories go when they have nobody to carry them, huh? Where—?”

Her words were drowned by the sound of laughter. Autumna’s laughter. It spilled out of her like broken glass, sharp and endless, a sound that didn’t belong in any throat. She bent over Juno’s body and her foot lashed out, once, twice—again.

“You think that was heroic, huh?” Thud. Her heel slammed into his ribs. Thud. Again, harder. “YOUR DEATH AMOUNTED TO NOTHING!”

The sound changed—the dull, meaty slap of flesh giving way, the wet break of bone. Blood sprayed, staining the blossoms on her skin, painting them red. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t stop. She ground her heel into him, harder.

Rilke stood frozen next to Cassian, her throat dry, her hands useless at her sides. She wanted to scream, to hurl herself forward, but her legs felt like they were carved from stone. The scene before her wasn’t violence anymore. It was desecration.

Autumna’s chest heaved as her laughter finally faded out. She straightened, dragging a hand across her arms, her neck, trying to dust off the blood, but she only smeared crimson streaks. The blossoms quivered at her skin, petals dripping with blood. She exhaled once, sharp, and rolled her shoulders as though shedding the frenzy from her body.

Then she turned, her golden eye gleaming, a sneer curling her lips.

“Now…” she said, almost sweetly, “as I was doing.”

She lifted the device, a glimmering prism in her palm. With a press to its center, it convulsed, the structure unraveling into a twisting double helix of light. She brushed a finger along one strand—it glowed briefly, alive—before coiling back into its diamond form.

“Hello?” Autumna’s voice was steady, commanding.

The device answered, its voice layered, toneless, deeper than any human throat.

“Autumna. You have served me well. Far better than any other could.”

She chuckled, lips curling. “Of course… now for—”

“However, your time is now up.”

Her head tilted, a flicker of disbelief in her face. “…What?”

“I simply do not need you anymore.”

The words were flat, absolute.

Autumna’s composure shattered, rage bleeding into her voice. “After everything I’ve done? After everything I’ve given?! You’re just going to throw me away? IS THAT WHAT—”

Then—

A sound.

Not rocks at first. Something smaller. A faint, hollow knock, like a heartbeat echoing in a cavern too large.

Cassian’s hand went to his blade. Rilke’s shoulders locked, her eyes darting into the shadows.

Another sound followed—bones shifting. Not footsteps, not breath, but the sickly pop of joints wrenching back into place.

Rilke swallowed, her lips parting. “…no.”

Autumna spun, golden eye wide. She wanted to say something—but the words stuck in her throat.

The voice spoke.

“You’ve demonstrated weakness unparalleled.”

Juno’s body, the boy she had just discarded like refuse, twitched. His chest jerked once. Twice. His limbs dragged against the floor like a marionette tugged by fraying strings. His neck lolled to the side, then snapped upright in a way no living thing could survive.

He rose.

Limp by something invisible, as though the void itself had hooked into his bones and pulled him to his feet. His feet didn’t stumble for purchase. His arms hung limp at his sides. His head bowed low.

And then the shadows bled toward him.

They poured like ink from cracks in the walls, from the seams in the floor, from nowhere at all, swallowing his frame in a darkness so absolute it devoured the light around him.

Rilke staggered back, her voice breaking. “This… this isn’t—”

The void writhed around Juno’s body, cocooning him in an endless void. His hair floated weightless, his face hidden, save for the faint outline of features that no longer felt human.

“I have found someone more suitable to hold the true title of ‘God.’”