Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Untouchable Omega: Her Silver Rebirth: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

"Drop the knife, Lyra! I'm the one who disabled the perimeter dampeners for you," Tessa hissed, her hands raised in a gesture of peace, though her eyes scanned the dark tree line behind me with predatory precision."You were the maid, Tessa," I rasped, my voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. I tightened my grip on the obsidian glass shard I’d pulled from the riverbed. "You polished Julian’s silver. You served his wine while he laughed about the Cull. Why should I believe you aren't here to collect the five million on my head?"Tessa stepped closer, the moonlight catching the jagged scar on her forearm, a mark I knew only too well. It was the mark of a rebel cell, branded over the skin of a slave. "I polished his silver so I could learn where he hid the keys to the laboratory. I served his wine so I could hear which Council members

"You’re going to let her shatter the core, aren't you?" The voice came from the dark corner of the engine room, wet and rhythmic, like a dying lung.I didn't turn around. I couldn't let go of the iron rod I’d jammed into the primary gear. The steam was scalding my hands through my leather gauntlets, and the pressure in my suit was redlining. "Stay back, Julian. Or whatever's left of you.""I'm the part that remembers the math, Sergeant," Julian Vale rasped, stepping into the dim, orange light of the boilers. He was a ruin of a man, his expensive suit fused to his charred skin, his left eye replaced by a flickering camera lens. "If she breaks that glass, the Entropy Gate doesn't just stop. It reverses. It doesn't save the Earth; it un-exists it. Every version of her, every version of that boy  gone.""She knows

"Leo? That’s impossible. You told me the first prototype was recycled, Rowan!" I screamed, the wind whipping my hair across my face. I stood frozen in the mountain pass, staring at the teenage boy who looked like a ghost carved out of obsidian and silver.Rowan didn't answer. He had dropped to his knees in the slush, his hands shaking so violently he had to press them into the snow. "He was six years old when the lab burned, Lyra. I saw the body. I saw the dental records. Julian told me he told me the mother took him into the fire.""Julian lied about the fire, Rowan," the boy said. His voice was unsettlingly calm, lacking the cracking uncertainty of a normal fifteen-year-old. He stepped closer, the heavy armored transport behind him hissing as it settled into the permafrost. "He didn't recycle us. He just updated our hardware."

"Mother? No she died in the Pit. Julian, what have you done to her?" I choked out, the words feeling like shards of glass in my throat.The woman didn't answer with words. She lunged, her movements a blur of terrifying, jagged speed. The bone-dagger whistled through the air, and I barely rolled away, the blade slicing through the shoulder of my coat. She didn't smell like my mother anymore; she smelled of formaldehyde, ozone, and the bitter, metallic tang of the "blue" catalyst."She didn't die, Lyra," Julian said, his voice smooth as silk even amidst the smoking ruins of the pass. "She was simply redistributed. I needed a biological failsafe that could withstand Sovereign blood. Who better than the woman who gave it to you?""You're a sick bastard!" I screamed, pushing myself up.

"Get back, Lyra! That thing isn't your mother anymore!" Rowan’s voice cracked with a desperation I hadn't heard even when he was falling into the abyss. He threw himself in front of me, his body still steaming from the Legion’s exit, but his stance was broken."I can see that, Rowan," I spat, my eyes locked on the creature the woman who had birthed me, now standing with a predatory grace that defied her years of imprisonment. Her skin shimmered with a sickly, iridescent sheen, like oil on water. "She just called me a donor. I think the family reunion is officially over.""Don't be dramatic, Lyra," my mother said, her voice a terrifying, melodic chime. She didn't walk toward us; she glided, the very ground beneath her feet rippling in response. "Julian was a crude sculptor. He thought the Silver line was a resource to be mined. He never understood it