The Warlord's Challenge

---

The sky is blue for the first time in months.

I stand on the mountain above the bunker, staring at it like I've never seen color before. The sun is warm on my skin. The air is clean. No veil. No shadows. No whispers in the back of my mind telling me the world is ending.

It's over.

We won.

I should be happy. I should be dancing in the streets, throwing a party, celebrating the fact that I survived two apocalypses and came out the other side.

Instead, I feel hollow. Empty. Like someone scooped out my insides and replaced them with concrete.

Damon walks up beside me. His hand finds mine.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks.

"Just thinking," I say. "About everything. About what comes next."

"What comes next is whatever we want it to be," he says. "The world is ours now. We can build anything."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

He looks at me. His grey eyes are soft.

"Fear is good," he says. "It keeps you sharp. Makes sure you don't make the same mistakes twice."

"What if I make new mistakes? What if I fuck this up too?"

He squeezes my hand. "Then we fix it together."

I almost smile. Almost.

We stand there in silence, watching the sun rise over the ruins of the old world. It's beautiful in a broken kind of way. Like a painting that's been torn and taped back together.

"We have a problem," Helena says.

She appears behind us, her face grim, her hands on her hips. She looks like she hasn't slept in days. She probably hasn't.

"What now?" I ask.

"We're not the only ones out here," she says. "Survivors. Thousands of them. They're gathering in the city, fighting over scraps, killing each other for a bottle of water."

"Then we help them."

"We can't," she says. "There are too many. And some of them don't want help. They want power."

She hands me a pair of binoculars. I raise them to my eyes and look down at the city below.

It's chaos.

Buildings are burning. People are screaming. I can see figures in the streets, shooting at each other, looting what's left of the stores, fighting over the dead bodies.

And in the center of it all, standing on a pile of rubble like a king on his throne, is a man.

He's huge. Muscular. Covered in tattoos and scars. He's wearing a crown made of scrap metal, like he's declared himself the ruler of this broken world.

"Who is that?" I ask.

"His name is Viktor," Helena says. "He was a warlord before the veil. The Collective used him as a mercenary. Now that they're gone, he's decided to take over."

"Take over what?"

"Everything," she says. "He's been gathering survivors. Building an army. He's already taken control of the city. He's coming for us next."

I lower the binoculars.

"Then we stop him."

"It's not that simple," she says. "He has hundreds of men. Weapons. Supplies. And he knows about you. About the bunker. About everything."

"How?"

"I don't know," she says. "But he does. And he's coming."

I feel the familiar cold settle in my chest. The weight of everything pressing down on me again.

"Then we fight," I say.

"You can't fight an army alone."

"I won't be alone."

She looks at me. Her face is hard. Worried. "Elara—"

"Get everyone ready," I say. "Damon, Cutter, Sera. Anyone who can hold a weapon. We're going to meet him before he reaches us."

---

We march into the city at dawn.

The streets are empty. The buildings are gutted. The silence is heavy, thick, suffocating. Every step echoes off the concrete like a warning.

"This is a trap," Damon mutters.

"I know."

"Then why are we walking into it?"

"Because I'd rather face him on my terms than wait for him to come to us."

We reach the square. It's surrounded by crumbling buildings, their windows dark and empty. In the center, standing on that pile of rubble, is Viktor.

He's even bigger up close. Taller. Broader. His arms are covered in scars and tattoos, his face twisted into a smile that's more of a sneer.

"Elara Vance," he says. "The woman who killed the Collective. I've heard a lot about you."

"All bad things, I hope."

He laughs. "I like you. That's why I'm going to give you a choice."

"What choice?"

"Join me," he says. "Bring your people. Your bunker. Your power. We can rule this world together."

"And if I say no?"

"Then I kill everyone you've ever loved," he says. "And then I kill you."

I look at him. At his army. At the weapons aimed at my people.

And I smile.

"You can try."

I raise my hand. The power surges through me, hot and bright. I don't wait for him to attack. I strike first. The wave of energy slams into his army, throwing them back, scattering them like leaves in a storm. Viktor doesn't move. He just stands there, watching me, his smile never leaving his face. "Impressive," he says. "But not enough."

He raises his hand.

And darkness erupts from his palm—the same darkness I felt when I killed The Collector.

"You're not the only one with power," he says. "The Collective gave me a gift before they died. And I've been waiting to use it."

I feel the darkness slam into me. It's heavy, suffocating, crushing me into the ground.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you break."

And everything goes black.