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When the time comes, the cold steel of the gun freezes every layer of you, from your skin down to that vulnerable core inside your very bones. Even though you knew it would feel heavy — you’ve known it all your life — its weight against your palm manages to surprise you. You know you have a limited number of bullets available: two, now to forever.
You hear the unmistakable echo of steel piercing flesh in the palace behind you. It’s done now — it’s fired. Not yours.
Krasya’s.
The moment ricochets across history in a second, a spark of lighting on a field. It spreads through time, until you feel it melting into the edge of the pale, decades from now. With it, the fire starts to burn inside Ignasha, the flames you’ve felt under his skin from the moment you first dreamt of him. But that is a concern for another time.
For now, your bullet — the first one. Today is its day.
With Krasya’s insides splattered across Elysium, you know what must follow. Your breath fogs up in front of you, crisp air swirling into incomprehensible threads. You rise as they do, stepping away from the barricade by the entrance of the palace, muscles moving on instinct to take cover behind one of the pillars. The gun itself seems to sing something to you, and your finger knows to move to the trigger.
He is ahead of you: Sgt. Rasnoff. Mastermind of this counterrevolutionary effort, brought to the front lines by his pride. You didn’t know before today, but the gun in your hands always knew what it was meant for.
For the second time, you hear the sound of steel piercing flesh.
Behind you, in the future, the Apocalyptic Shrike prepares to rise with a desperate cry of grief.