They burst into the exit chamber in a spray of syrup and sparks.

The great web-platform yawned open before them, stretching down into open air. Most of the freed civilians were already gone—lowered safely away into the mist below. Echo was still there, ushering the last few down, breathless and shaking.

Then he heard it.

The screaming.

Echo spun, panic snapping through him. “NOPE—absolutely not—” He ran for the control column and slammed his hands onto it. “I am NOT letting those things through—!”

“WAIT!” Silver shouted. “STOP—!”

Too late.

The doors slammed shut with a bone-rattling THOOM.

On the wrong side.

Arcade hit the barrier an instant later, hands slamming into it. “ECHO—YOU IDIOT—OPEN IT!”

Echo’s ears flattened. “I—I thought you were already out!”

Chip floated up, optics flickering. “Excellent timing. Truly catastrophic. Ten out of ten panic response.”

Echo grabbed a sticky lever and yanked it wildly. Nothing happened. “It’s stuck! I don’t know candy tech—I’m just pushing things!”

Arcade turned, still pale, still shaking—but focused. “Chip. Hack the door. Now.”

Chip sighed theatrically. “Of course. Hacking hostile gummy architecture while being chased by the undead. Again.”

Celeste shoved the toddler gently into Arcade’s arms. “Hold her. Don’t let go.”

Arcade nodded once, jaw tight, cradling the child against his chest.

Silver and Celeste turned together—backs to the drop, faces to the corridor.

“Positions,” Silver said sharply.

Celeste’s katanas flared to life.

The first zombie hit like a freight train.

Celeste met it head-on—blades carving white-blue arcs through sugar flesh. The corridor was too tight, too slick. Her frustration bled into her movements; one strike hit the wall instead of its mark, showering sparks and candy shards.

“Sorry—!” she snapped, already pivoting.

Silver loosed an arrow—but the angle was wrong. It detonated against the ceiling instead, raining molten sugar.

“I hate corridors,” he growled, redrawing. “Chip—status!”

“I am ENCRYPTING AS FAST AS MY BEAUTIFUL LITTLE PROCESSOR ALLOWS,” Chip snapped back. “Candy firewalls are rude!”

Another zombie slammed into Celeste. She took the hit, rolled, came up slashing—fur scorched, breath knocked loose, but still moving.

“I’m fine!” she shouted, though blood and light mixed at her side.

The door lights flickered.

Arcade shouted over the chaos, “Any day now, CHIP—!”

“WORKING ON IT—OH LOOK, ANOTHER LAYER—”

The zombies surged again—

Then the door snapped open with a wet SCHLORP.

“MOVE!” Silver roared.

Echo was at the control panel—literally poking it with a stick. “I think this bit’s important?!”

Silver grabbed him by the collar. “GRAB A CORD AND JUMP!”

Echo stared down at the dizzying drop. “I—I can’t—!”

Arcade shoved him. “You can and you WILL.”

Echo yelped, caught a dangling gum-cable, and disappeared over the edge in a flailing blur.

“Arcade!” Celeste shouted.

Arcade stepped back, clutching the toddler tight. Chip flickered beside him.

“Download complete,” Chip said briskly. “I will now bravely despawn and leave you emotionally devastated.”

“WAIT—” Arcade started—

POOF.

Chip vanished.

Arcade swallowed, then jumped—vanishing down the web with the child held safely against his chest.

The platform shuddered.

Only Silver and Celeste remained.

The hive roared behind them.

Silver met her eyes. No jokes. No mask.

“After you,” he said quietly.

Celeste nodded.

Silver looped the cord around his waist with quick, practiced movements. His hands were steady.

Celeste’s weren’t.

Her fingers trembled as she tied her own line, the abyss below yawning wide and endless. The wind clawed up from the drop, tugging at her fur, whispering every terrible possibility straight into her bones.

“I—I hate heights,” she breathed.

Silver looked at her then. Really looked. The bravado slipped.

“Right,” he said gently, taking her hand. His grip was warm. Solid. “Then don’t look down. Look at me.”

She did.

“On three,” he said. “Together.”

She nodded, throat tight.

“One.”

The hive groaned behind them.

“Two.”

Zombies screamed, clawing closer.

“Three.”

They jumped.

For half a heartbeat, it worked.

The cords snapped taut. Air rushed past them. Celeste screamed despite herself, fingers locked tight around Silver’s hand as they dropped—

Then—

Snap.

Her cord came undone.

The world lurched.

Silver’s hand slipped.

Time slowed into something thick and horrible.

Celeste saw it all at once: Silver’s eyes widening, his mouth forming her name, his body falling away beneath her as gravity claimed him.

“No—!”

She reached—

And was yanked violently backward.

The cord around her waist went taut again—not from above, but sideways. Her body slammed into something solid, breath torn from her lungs in a sharp, panicked cry.

Silver kept falling.

Her scream ripped free, raw and animal.

“SILVER—!”

He vanished into the mist below.

Celeste thrashed, sobbing, clawing at the cord—

And froze.

She was no longer alone.

The chupacabra candy zombie stood behind her, one arm holding the line like it weighed nothing. Its glowing eyes fixed on her face, unreadable. Not hostile. Not gentle.

Assessing.

Celeste didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

The zombie tilted its head, studying her for a long moment—then turned and let out a low, guttural hum.

The other zombies froze at the sound.

Obeyed.

Thick gum restraints snapped around Celeste’s arms and legs, flipping her over onto the platform. She screamed, terror ripping through her as the world spun—

“NO—DON’T—PLEASE—!”

The chupacabra didn’t attack.

Instead, it crouched.

Its fingers drifted back to her rune, fiddling with it like a technician adjusting a dial.

Then—click.

A needle slid into her neck.

White-hot mana surged through her body, flaring so bright it hurt. Her aura ignited, glowing wildly, every nerve screaming as power flooded outward—

—and her arms lit up.

Lines of light spiralled beneath her skin, swirling across her limbs like living constellations. Stars traced her veins. Patterns rotated and realigned, mapping her arms and legs as if the night sky itself were being rewritten inside her body.

Celeste screamed, back arching as the glow raced down her legs, curling around her ankles, her fingers, her tail. The symbols didn’t burn.

They settled.

The zombie hummed again, tone changing, almost… curious. Then, with a suddenness that knocked the breath from her lungs, it flipped her onto her back. She barely had time to gasp before a heavy claw pressed flat against her chest.

Right over her core.

Celeste squeezed her eyes shut, shaking too hard to look.

Something answered.

Faint at first—then brighter.

Strange runes bled through her skin, lines of light blooming across her chest like constellations being drawn in real time. One… then another… then more, overlapping, rotating, aligning. They weren’t the rigid council sigils she knew. These were older. Softer. Alive.

The zombies went still.

Every single one of them.

The humming stopped. The shuffling ceased. Even the distant chewing noises faded away.

They stared.

Slowly, almost reverently, the zombie lifted its claw and cupped one of the lights as it floated free from her chest. It hovered there, warm and steady, cradled like something precious rather than stolen.

The light pulsed.

In response, something rippled outward.

The glow reflected in hollow eyes. Jaws slackened. Spines straightened. Across the chamber, every zombie stiffened as if struck by the same silent current.

The light in the zombie’s claw flared brighter.

Then the zombie hummed again.

Then a second injection.

This one just stung.

Sharp. Localized. Wrong.

The constellations snapped inward, collapsing into her core in a single, breath-stealing pull. Her mana steadied abruptly—denser, brighter, quieter. Not less.

Focused.

Celeste’s strength gave out.

She fell forward onto her hands, then her forearms, panting hard as the light faded from her skin like stars at dawn. Her body felt… heavier somehow. Anchored. The same, but not.

Something had shifted.

A small change. Precise. Final.

She didn’t know what it was.

She only knew that when she tried to gather her mana, it answered faster than it ever had before—smoother, cleaner, like it now understood what it was meant to do.

Around her, the zombies continued to stare.

Silent.

Awed.

As if they had just watched a star be set into its proper place at last.

“Wh—what did you do to me?!” she sobbed, shaking. “What did you DO?!”

The Chupacabra didn’t answer.

Instead, she produced something small.

A brownie.

Still warm.

She popped it gently into Celeste’s mouth.

Celeste froze, stunned into silence, crumbs sticking to her lips as confusion overrode fear.

The Chupacabra leaned back, tilting her head at her—as if waiting.

As if listening.

Then, when Celeste didn’t spit it out, the creature hummed softly through the broken filters of her gas mask.

Not angry now.

Not pleased exactly.

Just… satisfied.

She reached out one long clawed hand.

Celeste flinched.

But the Chupacabra only patted her head.

Once.

Twice.

Awkwardly gentle.

Then she carefully took one of Celeste’s long ears between her fingers and stroked downward from base to tip in one slow, precise motion.

Celeste’s breath caught.

The movement was oddly specific.

Too specific.

Not random.

Not animal curiosity.

A practised gesture. A remembered one. Something done to comfort a frightened child, perhaps, or calm a patient before pain.

Warmth travelled down Celeste’s spine despite herself.

For one impossible second, the fear loosened.

She hated that it helped.

The Chupacabra hummed again, softer this time, then released her ear and turned away—vanishing into the hive without another glance.

Celeste lay there, shaking, tears streaming silently into her fur.

One paw lifted slowly to touch the ear the creature had stroked.

“What are you?” she whispered.

Above her—

Something massive shifted.

Syrup coils slid.

A deep, ancient rumble echoed through the structure.

Celeste didn’t give herself time to think.

She grabbed the gummy rope with shaking hands and looped it tight around her waist, knotting it by instinct more than skill. Her arcbracer crackled to life.

“Celeste—MOVE,” Arcade barked through the static. “Dragon’s waking up and I am not doing a rematch without prep time.”

She swallowed hard and shuffled backward toward the edge.

That’s when the shadow fell over her.

The dragon’s massive head lowered, syrupy coils shifting as glowing eyes fixed on her. The wind whipped her hair into her face, rain stinging her cheeks like needles.

Celeste froze.

A tail moved through the storm.

Huge.

Armoured in red-gold scales and slick with strands of candy resin.

It curled around her before she could run, looping once in a slow, deliberate circle. Not tight enough to crush. Not even enough to hurt.

But enough to stop her leaving.

Enough to remind her that if he wanted to, she was already dead.

Celeste’s breath hitched as the tail closed behind her like a living wall.

For one breathless second—

Celeste prayed to the stars.

Not loudly. Not eloquently. Just a desperate, wordless plea to anything that might still be listening.

The dragon smiled.

“Ah,” he rumbled, voice deep and layered, like stone grinding against memory. “Astallan. Leaving so soon?”

Celeste swallowed, fingers tightening around the gummy rope at her waist.

“How did you like my little base?” Velcarius continued, amused. “It’s rather like yours, isn’t it? Full of secrets. Half-truths. Things you’re only just beginning to understand.”

The wind howled between them.

Celeste forced herself to speak.

“Why?” she called up, voice shaking but clear. “Why turn people into zombies? Why use hybrids as batteries—like the Council does?!”

Velcarius’s eyes gleamed.

“Ah,” he said softly. “That would be telling.”

He leaned closer, heat rolling off him.

“It is what happens if you fail,” he continued. “Not just Clawdiff. Not just Caerfaen. All of Prydain will feel us.”

His gaze lifted, distant, reverent.

“And the Void will answer.”

Celeste shook her head. “You’re not making sense!”

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest.

“No,” he agreed. “You want understanding. To sympathise… or to hinder.”

A pause.

“I imagine both.”

Celeste’s hands clenched into fists.

“I just want this to stop,” she said, voice cracking. “I want things to stay the same.”

Velcarius laughed.

Full.

Bitter.

Almost mournful.

“Staying the same,” he said, “is what caused this. Ask your precious Council.”

Her chest tightened.

“Then why not take it out on them?” she shouted. “Why everyone else?!”

The dragon’s expression shifted.

Just slightly.

Something beneath the hunger.

Something that remembered pain.

“I am what I am now,” he said. “A battle between instinct and memory.”

His voice dropped.

“And I am losing.”

The words hit harder than any roar.

Celeste hesitated.

Rain slid down her face, mixing with tears she hadn’t realised were there.

“…Can I help you?” she asked, quietly.

For a moment, Velcarius only stared.

Then he laughed again.

But this time, there was no joy in it.

“No.”

Celeste’s ears lowered.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

His tail shifted around her, still not crushing, still not kind.

“I know exactly what I am, little Astallan. That is the curse of it.”

Celeste pressed one trembling hand against the curve of his tail.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said. “We don’t have to be enemies.”

Velcarius looked down at her.

For a moment, the amusement faded.

The storm hissed against his scales.

“Enemies?” he echoed.

Celeste held his gaze, terrified but stubborn.

“You’re trying to destroy everything.”

“Who says I am your enemy?”

Celeste blinked.

Velcarius lowered his head until one burning eye filled half the sky before her.

“No, little Astallan,” he said softly. “You are not my enemy.”

His tail shifted again, reminding her how easily it could end this.

“You are a symptom.”

Celeste’s mouth went dry.

“Like me.”

The words struck her harder than a threat.

“I don’t understand.”

“No,” Velcarius said. “Not yet.”

His tail uncoiled.

Slowly.

The living wall behind her opened, giving her back the edge, the rope, the rain, the choice to leap.

“But you will.”

Celeste stood frozen, shaking.

Velcarius’s wings unfurled, blotting out the light.

“And you are running out of time.”

He lifted into the air, wind tearing past Celeste as the zombie phoenix rose after him, embers scattering into the storm like dying stars.

The sky swallowed them whole.

Celeste stood there shaking, rain soaking into her fur, heart pounding.

Then she jumped.

The dark rushed up to meet her. 

Below, Silver, Arcade, and the survivors were already running—spilling back into the city, lights flickering on wet stone, sirens wailing somewhere distant.

Celeste fell through rain and shadow—

Toward them.

Toward what came next.