The cage closed.
Not all at once.
Layer by layer—transparent fields locking into place with a soundless finality that made the air feel thicker, heavier, as if gravity itself had been recalibrated to keep them contained.
She felt it immediately.
Not pain.
Constraint.
Every breath carried resistance. Every thought dragged, like the world was quietly insisting she move slower, think smaller, exist less.
"This isn't a barrier," she said, voice tight. "It's a correction."
"Yes," he replied. "They're not trying to stop us."
A low hum spread through the streets, rising in pitch.
"They're trying to make us fit."
—
The first strike came from above.
A column of compressed force slammed down—not wide, not explosive. Precise. Surgical. Designed to isolate him from her.
He reacted instantly, power surging—
—and meeting resistance.
Not external.
Internal.
The bond constricted sharply, feedback snapping through both of them like a live wire.
She cried out, dropping to one knee.
He swore under his breath, pulling the surge back just in time to keep it from tearing through her.
"They're using you as a governor," he said, anger bleeding into his control. "Every time I push, it routes through you."
Her hands shook as she forced herself upright. "Then stop pushing alone."
He looked at her sharply.
"Sync with me," she said. "Don't fight the bond—use it."
The hum spiked.
No time to argue.
He nodded once.
—
The second wave didn't strike the ground.
It struck space.
The street ahead of them fractured into overlapping layers, reality folding in on itself, angles stacking wrong. Containment units phased into existence mid-air, locking positions with inhuman precision.
Joint suppression.
They moved as one.
Not planned.
Instinctive.
She felt the bond shift—no longer a channel of restraint, but alignment. His power no longer crushed through her; it flowed with her, guided, shaped by intent instead of force.
She raised her hand.
Not to block.
To define.
The space around them stabilized—just enough.
Containment units fired.
She felt the impact ripple through her bones, through her teeth, through the bond—but this time, it didn't overwhelm her.
It anchored her.
"Left," she said.
He didn't ask how she knew.
He moved.
A pulse of power tore through the nearest unit, not unmaking it—but destabilizing its logic, forcing it to /choose/ between containment parameters.
It chose wrong.
It collapsed.
—
"Damage report!" a voice barked somewhere far above.
"Suppression integrity failing," came the reply. "They're compensating for each other."
"That shouldn't be possible."
"It is," another voice cut in. "They're not acting as anomaly and variable."
A pause.
Then, quietly: "They're acting as a unit."
Silence followed.
Then a single, decisive command.
"Escalate collateral tolerance."
The city paid first.
A nearby structure buckled as redirected force tore through its lower supports. Windows shattered in cascading waves. Emergency systems screamed to life far too late.
She flinched.
"They're letting civilians clear just enough to justify this," she said, horrified. "They're writing it off."
He saw red.
Not the wild kind.
The controlled, lethal kind.
"Stay with me," he said, voice iron-tight. "Do not break alignment."
She nodded, jaw clenched.
"I'm here."
—
The third wave hit everything at once.
Pressure. Heat. Constraint.
The world pushed back.
She screamed as the bond flared white-hot, feedback tearing through her nerves. Her vision tunneled, blood roaring in her ears.
He felt it.
Froze.
"Don't you dare pull away," she gasped. "If you disengage now—"
"You die," he finished hoarsely.
His hands trembled.
The restraint snapped.
Not outward.
Inward.
He folded his power tighter, denser, compressing it into a singular point—around both of them.
The world screamed.
Containment layers shattered in sequence, not exploding but collapsing, cascading failure racing outward like a shockwave of broken math.
The city reeled.
—
When the dust settled, there was silence.
Real silence.
No hum.
No pressure.
Just ruined streets, cracked structures, and the echo of something that should not have been allowed to happen.
She collapsed.
He caught her before she hit the ground, dropping to his knees with her cradled against his chest.
She was shaking. Pale. Breathing shallow.
"You're still here," he said, voice breaking despite himself.
She managed a weak smile. "Told you… I wasn't stepping back."
His forehead pressed against hers.
For one terrifying moment, he didn't trust himself to speak.
—
Far above, systems reeled.
"Joint suppression failed," an operator said, barely audible. "Collateral exceeded projections."
Another voice whispered, "They survived."
A third voice—older, colder—spoke last.
"Then we stop treating this as containment."
A pause.
"We prepare for eradication."
New text scrolled across every black console.
THREAT CLASSIFICATION: DUAL ENTITY
STATUS: NON-RECOVERABLE
NEXT DIRECTIVE: TERMINATION AUTHORIZATION PENDING
—
On the ground, he lifted her carefully, every movement measured.
"They're done pretending," he said.
She nodded weakly. "So are we."
The world had made its choice.
And now—
It would try to kill them for it.