The artificial violet sky of Neo-Pangaea was just beginning to lighten into a soft, pale lavender when Marcus slipped back through the ventilation panel of the Captain's Quarters.
He didn't make a sound, but his massive frame was moving with a rigid, heavy stiffness.
The Liquid Silver jammer receded into his pores, leaving his dark skin slick with cold sweat. Marcus stood in the center of the pristine, white glass room and let out a long, ragged exhale that rattled deep in his chest.
He had spent six hours in the Crucible.
He hadn't thrown a single punch. True to his vow with Varkas, he had simply stood in the center of the blood-stained polymer ring and raised his guard. He had let twelve different men—twelve massive, desperate workers infected with the chaotic 'Red Rust'—batter themselves against his invisible Non-Newtonian Kinetic Shield until their madness broke and their mana cores emptied.
His magic had absorbed the kinetic force, but his physical muscles had still borne the sheer, staggering weight of holding the line. His triceps screamed. His ribs ached with a deep, throbbing pressure. His knuckles, even wrapped in heavy tape, were bruised purple beneath the callouses.
Marcus walked into the sleek, kinetic sonic-shower. He turned the temperature down to freezing.
He stood under the biting spray, resting his heavy forehead against the cool glass. He closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow, commanding his body to flush the lactic acid from his torn muscles. He could not afford to limp. He could not afford to wince.
If Jack saw that the Bastion was hurting, Jack's flawless, divine peace would instantly shatter. Jack would start asking questions. Jack would look closer at the city.
And if Jack looked too closely, he would see the blood on the floorboards.
I am the wall, Marcus chanted silently in his mind, a gritty, desperate mantra. The wall doesn't bleed. The wall doesn't break.
Twenty minutes later, Marcus stepped out of the Captain's Quarters, dressed in a fresh, dark grey combat rig. His posture was perfectly straight, his broad shoulders squared. His face was a mask of immovable, stoic granite. The only sign of his nocturnal war was the fresh, blindingly white athletic tape wrapped meticulously around his heavy fists.
The heavy glass doors of the Sovereign's Penthouse glided open as he approached.
The contrast hit Marcus like a physical blow.
The penthouse smelled of sweet jasmine and warm peach nectar. The air was physically buzzing with a light, joyous energy. The floor was completely covered in a soft, ankle-deep carpet of glowing Pink Blossoms that had fallen from Jack during the night.
In the center of the room, Jack was sitting on the edge of the floating crescent bed, humming a melodic, happy tune.
The Sovereign of Grace was a vision. He wore a loose, flowing tunic of pure white silk that draped elegantly off his slender, pale shoulders. His chameleon skin was flushed with that constant, beautiful neon-pink luminescence. He was casually weaving a crown out of his own physical light-petals, completely untroubled, completely unburdened.
Jack looked up as Marcus entered. His blue eyes instantly brightened, fluttering into glowing Pink Hearts for a split second of pure, unadulterated joy before settling back to their natural sapphire.
"Good morning, Marcus!" Jack chirped, his voice ringing like a silver bell. He hopped off the bed, his bare feet sinking into the petals as he practically skipped across the room.
"Morning, Jack," Marcus rumbled, his deep voice perfectly even. He crossed his heavily taped arms over his chest, hiding the slight tremor in his bruised triceps.
Jack stopped in front of the massive boxer, looking up with a radiant smile. He reached out, holding up the delicate, glowing pink flower crown he had just woven.
"I made this for you," Jack said proudly, rising slightly on his toes to try and place it on Marcus's head.
Marcus let his dark brown irises flash into the Silver Mirror for a fraction of a second, completely neutralizing the latent Seduction Magic woven into the petals, before letting Jack rest the crown on his short, dark hair.
The image was completely absurd—a towering, heavily scarred, hyper-masculine heavyweight fighter wearing a glowing pink flower crown. But Marcus didn't take it off. He didn't even blink.
"Thanks," Marcus said deadpan, his face entirely serious.
Jack burst into a fit of melodic, breathless laughter, clutching his stomach. "You look so ridiculous! Oh my god, you're like a giant, grumpy boulder that a bird nested on."
"It's tactical," Marcus replied smoothly, fighting back a small, genuine smirk. "Camouflage."
Jack giggled, leaning forward to gently rest his hands on Marcus's broad chest. But as his slender fingers brushed against the dark grey kinetic fabric, Jack paused.
The Sovereign tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. He didn't activate his Emotional Aura Vision, but his natural sensitivity to Marcus was profound. Jack could feel the rigid, corded tension beneath the boxer's shirt. The muscles felt like hot, over-tightened steel cables.
"Are you okay?" Jack asked, his smile fading into a look of genuine, protective concern. He lightly dragged his thumb over Marcus's pectoral muscle, feeling the suppressed wince the boxer tried to hide. "You feel... tight. Did you sleep?"
The Silver Chill instantly spiked at the base of Marcus's skull. Jack was too perceptive.
Marcus smoothly took a half-step back, gently dislodging Jack's hands from his chest under the guise of adjusting his stance.
"The bed in my room hovers," Marcus lied effortlessly, his voice a low, steady rumble. "It's made of hard-light. I'm used to sleeping on a lumpy mattress in the gym. It threw my back out a little. That's all."
Jack's concern instantly melted back into an affectionate, exasperated smile. He rolled his eyes playfully.
"You are unbelievable," Jack teased, crossing his slender arms. "You get given a multi-million-dollar, zero-gravity luxury bed, and you complain that it's not a dirty gym mat. You're hopeless, Marcus."
"I like what I like," Marcus grunted, rolling his heavy shoulders to sell the lie. The movement sent a sharp, agonizing spike of pain down his spine, but his face remained a mask of perfect, bored stoicism.
"Well, you'll have to stretch it out while we walk," Jack said, his pink luminescence flaring as his excitement returned. "Varkas sent a message through the console. We are touring the lower sectors of the Silver Spire today. The Enforcers are gathering the ninety percent in the main plaza so I can 'bless' the new structural changes. I get to see the men again!"
Jack spun around, grabbing his white silk mantle. He looked entirely thrilled at the prospect of spreading his divine peace.
Marcus felt a cold, leaden weight drop into his stomach.
He knew exactly what "blessing the structural changes" meant. Varkas was organizing a mass pacification. The Elder was bringing Jack down to the lower plazas to broadcast his Seduction Magic directly into the iron collars of the workers, anesthetizing them so the Enforcers could quietly pull the next batch of 'Red Rust' victims down into the Crucible.
And Marcus was going to have to stand right behind Jack and watch the horrific, beautiful lie play out in broad daylight.
"Let's go," Marcus said, his voice dropping into its cold, professional bodyguard cadence.
The descent from the Penthouse was swift. The hard-light elevator carried them down thousands of feet, depositing them at the massive, open-air Central Plaza that connected the Kinetic Hubs to the Silver Spire.
The plaza was deafening.
Nearly ten thousand "Wild" men of the ninety percent were packed into the massive space. They were huge, muscular, and restless. The air was thick with the heavy, frantic energy of overworked bodies. Marcus's Diamond Focus instantly detected the erratic, jagged red spikes in the crowd—dozens of men were already showing the early, maddening symptoms of the Red Rust. The tension in the plaza was a powder keg, seconds away from a massive, violent riot.
Refined Enforcers lined the perimeter, their iridescent suits and blue stun-batons humming, ready to brutally suppress the crowd if they surged forward.
And then, Jack stepped out onto the raised marble balcony.
The entire plaza fell completely, utterly silent.
Jack stood at the edge of the railing, looking down at the sea of desperate, exhausted faces. His heart ached with a profound, overwhelming empathy. He saw their pain, and he wanted nothing more than to take it away.
Jack raised his pale hands. His blue pupils snapped into brilliant, glowing Pink Hearts. The Pink High exploded from his core, casting a massive, ethereal neon-pink light over the entire plaza. Physical Pink Blossoms rained down from the balcony like a divine snowstorm.
"Peace," Jack whispered, the acoustic dampeners catching his melodic voice and amplifying it across the entire sector.
Marcus stood a half-step behind Jack, his Diamond Pupils locked on the crowd.
He watched the horrifying magic take hold.
As Jack's pink light washed over the plaza, the heavy iron collars around the workers' necks pulsed. The frantic, desperate energy in the men was violently, forcefully suppressed. The jagged red spikes of their sickness were buried under an artificial, overwhelming blanket of divine submission.
The massive, heavily muscled men dropped to their knees, weeping tears of absolute, vacant joy. Their tense, aggressive postures slacked. They looked up at Jack with drooling, blissed-out smiles, completely sedated. The powder keg was instantly neutralized.
"Look at them, Marcus," Jack whispered over his shoulder, a single tear of pure, validated happiness sliding down his glowing cheek. "I'm healing them. I'm actually healing them."
Marcus looked at the sea of kneeling, lobotomized men. He saw a squad of Enforcers moving quietly through the back of the pacified crowd, tapping the shoulders of the men who were secretly infected with the Red Rust, silently leading them away toward the subterranean elevators. Leading them toward the Crucible.
Marcus's heavy, bruised fists clenched tightly at his sides. The invisible Liquid Silver mana flared against his athletic tape.
He looked at Jack's beautiful, beaming, tear-stained face.
You're not healing them, Jack, Marcus thought, his heart breaking under the sheer, suffocating weight of the Gilded Silence. You're just making it easier for the butcher to hold the knife.
But Marcus didn't say a word. He stood tall, the unbreakable Bastion, wearing a glowing pink flower crown, quietly guarding the most devastating lie in the world.