Xero's arrival shattered the tension in the room with a jarring thud, the sound echoing ominously through the chaos. As he approached the grand throne, he executed a calculated bow, but what he found there defied all expectations—not a sorcerer or sorceress, but someone far more unsettling.

Flanking the throne was a bald-headed girl whose presence starkly contrasted with the ominous backdrop of the beast that lounged in the shadows. The throne itself was a grotesque amalgam of menacing horns, casting a dark, foreboding silhouette that dominated the room.

The beast shifted, its massive form leaning forward as it issued a deep, rumbling growl laced with malevolence. "If the crystal pulsates as you anticipate, your life may be spared," it intoned, its voice dripping with ominous threat. Its gaze lingered on the girl beside it, a silent warning etched in its eyes.

Madison stood beside the throne, her once-familiar features now grotesquely altered. A deep, jagged scar sliced from her jawline to her cheekbone, its red, raised edges contrasting sharply against her pale skin. The scar was uneven and puckered, as if a rough blade had sliced through her flesh. Her skin was mottled with additional scars—angry, purple welts and faded, silvery lines that spoke of prolonged suffering. Her eyes, though fierce and unyielding, were haunted, shadowed by dark circles and a weary depth. Her posture was rigid and despite the pain etched into her appearance, she met the beast's gaze with steely resolve. A curt bow followed, a gesture of deference that belied the underlying hostility and silent rebellion she harbored.

"As long as my cousin remains unharmed," Madison hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "If you've killed him as promised and burned Allegiant to the ground, the crown will assist you in whatever way we can in this war."

The beast studied Madison with a predatory gaze, its eyes narrowing into slits as it assessed the gravity of her demands. Shadows deepened around the throne, the chamber growing darker as the beast's presence seemed to engulf the room. After a protracted, agonizing pause, the beast's gaze shifted to Xero, its voice emerging as a low, rumbling growl, laden with menace.

"It's done?" the beast intoned, the weight of its words reverberating with authoritative finality.

Xero, feeling the beast's unrelenting gaze upon him, lifted his head with a grim, steely satisfaction. "Yes," he declared, his voice taut with a harsh edge. "The electro pulse worked perfectly. I personally drove a dagger into his chest. He is dead."

Madison's eyes, sharp and piercing, narrowed as they locked onto Xero. Her loathing for Matthew burned with an unquenchable fury, fueled by his ruthless reputation and the knowledge that he was the Ace—a man with a notorious ability to defy death. The thought of Xero claiming to have ended him so easily was almost unfathomable. "I want confirmation," she demanded, her voice a taut whisper, strained with bitter resolve. "If there's even the slightest chance he survived, I need to know. I refuse to believe it until I see proof."

Xero's response was a sharp, venomous hiss, his voice barely containing the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "He's dead."

Madison's eyes blazed with fury, her voice trembling with raw, unbridled rage. "And you know what that son of a bitch is like!" She spat the words like venom, her anger palpable and explosive.

The beast's gaze hardened, its eyes narrowing with a cold, calculating gleam. It absorbed Xero's confirmation, its voice dropping to a dangerous, menacing whisper. "Would you bet your life on it, hmm?" The question was more than just a challenge; it was a direct threat to Xero.

Xero's gaze shifted from Madison's fierce stare to the beast, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. The weight of the beast's scrutiny was crushing, but he squared his shoulders, determined not to waver.

"I drove the dagger into his chest," Xero declared with forced conviction. "The electropulse stopped his heart, and that little trinket in his chest useless. There's no way he survived. He is dead!" His voice was taut, struggling to mask the underlying fear of failing the beast's grim expectations. "I know for certain he is dead!"

The beast's lips curled into a sinister smirk, its eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. "Hmm," it rumbled, the sound low and dangerous. "If he is alive, you will not be."

The beast's eyes flickered menacingly towards Xero before turning back to Madison, the threat implicit in its gaze. "As I said, child, if your cousin wields the crystal—if you can compel her to surrender when we need her—then your end of the bargain will be fulfilled. Your cousin spared, as well as your own life."

Leaning forward, the beast's devilish grin widened, revealing sharp, predatory teeth. "Eight months," it purred, the voice dripping with sinister satisfaction. The beast's grin grew more menacing, a cruel gleam of triumph dancing in its eyes. "In eight months, we will bring this war to an end with the crystal she holds. Not even Emmaine can stop us now."

***** ******

"So, let me get this straight," Jasmine said, leaning casually against the kitchenette counter in the infirmary, her coffee cup balanced effortlessly in her hand. "Mac thinks you're having a baby after everything that went down at the carnival?"

Mya, still in her blue scrubs, slumped into a chair, exhaling heavily. Her dark bandana kept her messy hair out of her face, but exhaustion was written all over her. "Yeah... and I have no idea how to tell her she's not getting a little sister or brother. It's just not happening."

Jasmine's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait. So, you don't want any more kids? Like... ever?"

Mya took a slow, deliberate sip from her cup, meeting Jasmine's gaze with a weary resolve. "After everything I've been through, you're really asking that?"

"Fair," Jasmine replied, her eyebrows still raised, curiosity evident in her voice. "But what about Sawyer? I thought he was all-in on the stepdad role."

Mya shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "It's an adjustment. He says he's fine with it now, but give it a couple of years, he'll want kids. So how do I stay with someone when I know he could be off finding someone who wants that life?"

"Wait, are you saying you might break up with him?" Jasmine leaned in, intrigued. "Girl, you're really done, though? Like, no kids, even if it means losing him?"

"Done," Mya repeated firmly, the word heavy with finality.

Jasmine studied her intently, searching for any hint of uncertainty. "Okay, but are you done because it's Sawyer, or because... maybe you want something with Richie?" Her voice was soft but cutting, the question slicing through Mya's defenses.

Mya's jaw clenched as she shot Jasmine a warning glare. "Don't start," she muttered.

Jasmine raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "I mean, you did say after the tsunami, when you thought he was dead—"

"He was dead," Mya interrupted. "Technically dead, for a few minutes."

"Right, and that's when it hit you, didn't it?" Jasmine continued, a smirk playing on her lips. "You still love him."

Mya rolled her eyes, trying to deflect the weight of the conversation, but Jasmine wasn't backing down. "Come on, Mya. It's just me here. No one's judging. If you love him, then you love him."

Mya huffed in frustration, her shoulders slumping. "What do you want me to say? It's complicated. Richie and I... we don't fit anymore. I've made peace with that. He's made peace with that, and it's great we're not fighting anymore, and Mac is happy, and we're all in a good place. I'm not going to rock that boat after all this time. Everyone's moved on."

Jasmine's eyes softened, the playful banter giving way to genuine concern. "I just don't want you settling for something you don't really want. Not with Sawyer, not with anyone. If you love Richie, you should tell him."

Before Mya could respond, a bloodcurdling scream erupted from the reception area, cutting through their conversation like a knife. Doctors sprinted past them, urgency radiating from their movements. Mya and Jasmine exchanged a quick, alarmed glance, their conversation instantly forgotten.

"Code blue," came the calm voice over the intercom, sending a wave of tension through the infirmary.

"Well, that's not good," Jasmine muttered, setting her coffee cup down behind her. Mya did the same, the weight of personal matters vanishing as their focus snapped to the impending chaos.

They moved quickly down the corridor, their fast walk turning into a near-jog as they entered the main reception area. What greeted them sent a wave of dread crashing over Mya. A cluster of medics huddled around two battered, unconscious bodies lying on the floor. Mya's heart plummeted, recognition slamming into her like a physical blow.

"God, no..." she whispered, shock morphing into horror as she recognized them.

An older doctor pushed past Jasmine and dropped to his knees with the other doctors beside Toni, the other medics had struggled to pry Matthew from Toni's tight grip. Despite both men being unconscious, Toni's arms were locked around Matthew, an unrelenting grip that spoke to the depth of their bond, even in this state. The team grunted with effort, trying to separate them as if Toni's body refused to let go, his arms stiff with the intensity of their last moments.

"We need them separated now!" one of the medics barked, his voice thick with frustration as he struggled to loosen Toni's death grip from Matthew's torso. Every movement was careful, precise, as they maneuvered around the dagger still embedded in Matthew's chest. Each shift felt like a gamble,  each move feeling like it carried life-or-death stakes.

"On three," the lead medic ordered, his tone sharp, commanding. The team braced themselves, and with a coordinated effort, they pried Toni's arms free from Matthew. The moment they were separated, both men were positioned onto the floor, their bodies sprawled out before the team.

It was only then, as the medics hovered over the two, that the full gravity of the situation settled in. Blood soaked Matthew's chest, the sight of the dagger grotesque and horrifying, while Toni's body bore signs of severe trauma, his breath faint and shallow. The chaotic energy in the room swirled around them, thick with panic.

Jasmine and Mya stood frozen, their pulse hammering in their throats as their eyes took in the scene. Both girls barely registered the rapid commands being shouted across the room.

"Assess the headmaster immediately!" a doctor barked, his voice slicing through the chaos like a knife. The medical team snapped into action, moving with the kind of efficient precision only seen in life-or-death situations. They tore open Matthew's blood-soaked shirt, revealing the gruesome wound beneath, and quickly attached monitors to his chest. Another medic deftly wrapped a strap around his arm, finding a vein and injecting a vial with expert speed.

"Holy... shit," Jasmine gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as the reality of what she was seeing hit her

Mya, standing beside Jasmine, felt the ground shift beneath her feet. Her knees buckled, and the air seemed to thicken, making it impossible to catch her breath. Her vision tunneled, locked on the bloody blade still embedded in Matthew's chest. So many questions flooded her mind, each one pounding louder than the last. How did this happen? How had someone managed to get the upper hand on him—to drive a dagger into his chest? Her mind raced, replaying scenarios, but none made sense.

And then the deeper, more disturbing question: Why hadn't Toni pulled it out? Matthew's body had the ability to heal—so why hadn't Toni removed the blade to give him that chance? It gnawed at her, the irrationality of it, the madness that none of this fit the way things should have played out.

Her eyes flicked to Toni, sprawled and battered on the floor. The way his body looked—broken, like he'd been through hell and back—what the hell had happened out there? The sight of him sent a chill down her spine. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. Toni, who was usually so strong, looked... fragile. Vulnerable. As if something far more terrifying than a dagger had broken them both.

"We need a stretcher immediately!" the lead doctor barked, his voice cutting through the chaos with urgency. "Prepare the operating rooms. I need four units of AB positive blood here without delay! Dr. Fraser, status on Toni!?"

"Toni's condition is critical," Dr. Fraser responded, his tone steady but laced with tension. "Severe internal bleeding from the abdominal wound, compound fractures in his leg and knee. Signs of hypovolemic shock—shallow, rapid breathing, hemotympanum from the ear. And..." He hesitated as he lifted Toni's shirt, revealing the gaping exit wound. The room seemed to pause for a heartbeat. "There's an exit wound from the sword. Significant trauma. We need to start fluid resuscitation —if we don't act fast, we'll lose him."

Mya's chest tightened as the severity of Toni's injuries hit her like a sledgehammer. Her gaze drifted back to Matthew, still sprawled motionless. There wasn't even time to process the emotional weight of what was happening, only the pressing, suffocating urgency.

"Shields, status on the headmaster?" Dr. Fraser snapped, shifting focus as panic threatened to creep into his tone.

Dr. Shields knelt beside Matthew, his movements swift yet controlled as the team surrounded them on the floor. The dagger, still embedded in Matthew's chest, was dangerously close to his heart. Every second it remained unsecured could mean further damage.

"Pupils fixed and dilated at 6 millimeters, unresponsive to light," Shields muttered, his face darkening as he shined a penlight into Matthew's eyes.

Shields quickly moved to palpate Matthew's carotid artery, pressing his fingers into the side of his neck. After a tense moment, he moved to the radial artery at Matthew's wrist. "No palpable pulse. No carotid or radial pulse detected. Skin cool—possible hypoxia," he confirmed grimly.

The dagger was a problem they couldn't afford to ignore. "We need to stabilize this dagger now," Shields said, motioning to one of the nurses. "Any movement could tear the heart or major vessels."

A nurse hurried over with thick gauze and bandages, and Dr. Fraser added, "If it shifts even slightly, it could puncture the heart wall or lungs. We can't risk that."

The team moved carefully, padding around the dagger with layers of gauze to stabilize it in place without applying pressure directly to the wound. Their hands moved in sync, securing the makeshift bandage.

"Alright, it's as stable as it'll get in this position," Shields said, his tone more focused now. He leaned down, listening for any breath sounds while palpating Matthew's sternum. "No spontaneous respirations—he's apneic. Prepare the intubation kit—laryngoscope, endotracheal tube, and bag-valve mask. We need to intubate right here."

Dr. Fraser nodded, his voice stern but urgent. "Let's get him on IV fluids for resuscitation. Eighteen-gauge, bilateral. Someone get the EKG monitor set up—I want to see if we've got any electrical activity. We don't have time to move him yet."

As the nurse secured the IV lines and another rushed to set up the monitor, Dr. Shields glanced at the clock. "Time is of the essence, people. If we don't stabilize him now, we won't have a chance in surgery."

"He's in full cardiac arrest," Fraser muttered, his brow furrowing. "The ICD should have fired."

Dr. Shields glanced up at Fraser, his jaw tight with tension as the gravity of the situation pressed down on him. "We're heading into surgery now," he said sharply, his voice laced with urgency.

Mya stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest as the scene unfolded around her. The frantic movements of doctors and nurses, the sharp commands cutting through the air, and the bloodied forms of Matthew and Toni on the floor filled her with a mounting sense of dread. The reality of their condition—battered and near death—was almost too much to comprehend.

"Mya?" Jasmine's voice trembled beside her, barely audible amidst the chaos. "Jesus, what's happening? What does all this mean?"

Mya opened her mouth, but her words caught in her throat, trapped by the overwhelming panic that gripped her. She blinked, struggling to find the right words, but nothing made sense. "I—I don't know..." Her voice faltered, her hands trembling as she helplessly tried to grasp the horror of what was happening. "Oh my God... I—"

Before she could finish, the doors to the hallway burst open, and a team of nurses and doctors rushed in with two stretchers. The urgent whoosh of the automatic doors filled the air as they swiftly transferred Matthew from the floor onto one of the beds. Another team worked with equal precision to carefully lift Toni onto the second stretcher.

The frantic pace blurred before Mya's eyes, each moment a whirlwind of motion. Shields and Fraser worked quickly, their hands bloodied as they directed the transfers, the beeping monitors and flashing lights adding to the intensity. Her breath caught in her throat, the weight of everything crushing down on her chest as she watched them wheel Matthew and Toni toward the surgical wing.

"Get mecotec here immediately," Dr. Shields barked, turning to another doctor. His voice cut through the air, clear and commanding despite the chaos. "And page Dr. Keaton! We don't have a second to waste!"

The doctor nodded sharply and sprinted away, disappearing into the haze of medical staff scrambling around them.

Dr. Shields, his face grim with resolve, cast a quick glance at Mya and Jasmine. His eyes held a steely determination that sent a chill down Mya's spine, a look that spoke volumes about the severity of the situation. With a firm nod, Shields jogged after the stretcher, disappearing through the swinging doors that led to the surgical wing.

Mya turned to Jasmine, who stood beside her, trembling and ashen, her wide eyes flicking between the closed doors and the blood-streaked floor where the stretchers had just been. The frantic rush of activity had died down, leaving behind an eerie, suffocating silence. The weight of what had just transpired seemed to press down on them both, thick and unbearable.

Tears filled Jasmine's eyes, her voice barely holding together as she gasped, "W-what just happened? Mya, what the hell just happened?" Panic threaded through her words, her breath coming in ragged bursts. She looked at Mya with a raw, desperate need for reassurance, but Mya's heart pounded wildly in her chest. The words wouldn't come, stuck somewhere between her own fear and the nightmare unraveling around them.

"Matthew... is he dead? Mya!" Jasmine's voice cracked, breaking as the weight of her fear spilled over. "You heard them—he wasn't responding! What if it was Cid, or Xero? Who could have done that?"

Mya's throat tightened, and she had to fight against the rising wave of panic that threatened to swallow her whole. Her mind spun, searching for some semblance of control. "Jazzy, I—I don't know," she stammered, her voice trembling. The urgency in her mind snapped into sharp focus. "Call Jesse. Now. Get her here immediately!" Her eyes flashed with determination. "And find Richie—tell him I need him to keep Eko in check. If she finds out... she's going to start a war with this."

Jasmine nodded shakily, fumbling with her phone as she tried to compose herself. Mya didn't wait; she spun on her heels and bolted toward the frosted doors that led into the main infirmary. The antiseptic air hit her hard as she pushed through the doors, the sterile brightness a sharp contrast to the suffocating dread swirling inside her.

She navigated the maze of corridors, dodging doctors and nurses who rushed past her, their faces tight with urgency. She scanned the hallway, her pulse quickening as she spotted a group huddled around an emergency room door. Mya sprinted toward them, her breath catching in her throat. But just before she could push through, Dr. Shields stepped into her path, his expression firm, stopping her just inches from crashing into him.

"Mya, no," Dr. Shields said sharply, his tone steady but unyielding, a barrier to the chaos unfolding behind him.

"Dr. Shields, move!" Mya's voice cracked, her desperation bleeding through every word. "I need to scrub in for this!"

His expression hardened, unflinching. "You're not scrubbing in." His tone was clipped, resolute. "You're too close to this. Practically family. Your judgment is compromised."

Mya's chest tightened, panic surging through her veins. "Of course I'm scrubbing in!" she shouted, the words trembling with urgency. "He has a dagger in his chest! I'm a trauma surgeon, I need to be in there! I need to help!" Her hands shook as she tried to push past him.

But Dr. Shields blocked her path, his presence immovable, his hand raised to command authority. "Mya, the team is already handling it."

"So?" she shot back, her voice rising with the fury of someone desperate, losing control. 

"Mya," he said firmly, "I said no."

"Why are you shutting me out? Why?"

Dr. Shields' gaze never wavered. "Because the Mercy One team is en route," he said, his tone grave, weighted with the severity of the situation. "This surgery is beyond your jurisdiction. Your expertise doesn't cover the specifics of his condition."

Mya froze, her breath hitching. "Mercy One?" she whispered, her face draining of color as realization crashed down on her. "The heart transplant team?" Her hand flew to her mouth, disbelief turning her blood cold. "Are you doing a transplant? Here? Now?"

Dr. Shields gave a tight, confirming nod. "Yes, Dr. Keaton will be with them. We're prepping the OR as we speak."

Mya's mind raced, panic swirling in her chest like a hurricane. "I don't understand," she stammered, her wide, desperate eyes searching Dr. Shields' for any semblance of hope, something to hold onto in the madness. "I thought..."

Dr. Shields exhaled, his expression shifting into one of clinical detachment as he prepared to give her the blunt truth. "Mya, Matthew's condition is critical. His heart has ceased functioning entirely. We've got him on mechanical ventilation for now, but it's only a temporary measure. His heart is beyond repair." He paused, his voice lowering, weighed down with the gravity of the situation. "He knew this was coming, Mya. At his last appointment, we made it clear—a transplant wasn't just an option anymore. He was in the process of figuring out dates for the surgery. But today's trauma... it forced his heart into full cardiac failure. Without an immediate transplant, he won't make it. Even with the surgery, the risks are enormous."

Mya felt the ground give way beneath her. The reality hit her like a sledgehammer, shattering her world. Her chest tightened painfully, the words barely forming in her mouth. "W-why didn't he say anything? Why didn't Eko tell us?"

Dr. Shields' expression softened, but his urgency remained palpable. "I don't know why they kept this from you," he started, but the rising voices from the emergency room cut him off, pulling him back into the present chaos. He grimaced, the weight of the situation bearing down on him like a physical force. Turning to Mya, he locked eyes with her, his voice steady but filled with sympathy. "Mya, I need to go. I'll make sure a nurse keeps you updated. We're doing everything we can."

With that, he turned and disappeared through the operating room doors, the heavy steel swinging shut with a deafening finality. Mya stood there, frozen, her mind unable to process the avalanche of information that had just crashed over her. Her body felt like lead, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her as the enormity of the situation settled in.

**** *****

Jasmine paced the reception area, her heart racing erratically as her trembling hands gripped the phone. She took a deep breath, dialing Jesse's number, anxiety surging with every unanswered ring. Finally, a voice broke through the static line.

"Jesse's receptionist speaking. She's busy at the moment and currently on a—"

"Aiden, uh, hi, can you put Jesse on the phone?" Jasmine interrupted, her voice trembling, the urgency in her tone barely masking the panic threatening to break through.

There was a pause, and then Jesse's familiar voice came through, her tone confused as she glanced at the caller ID. "Jazzy?"

Jasmine inhaled sharply, but the words caught in her throat. The silence hung heavy for a moment before Jesse's voice shifted, deep concern replacing confusion. "Jazzy, what's wrong, hun?"

"Where are you?" Jasmine asked, her voice tight, desperation creeping in.

"On base. Why?" Jesse's reply was cautious, concern growing. "Jazzy, it sounds like you've been crying. What's going on?"

"I need you down here, okay?" Jasmine's voice quivered, barely holding back the flood of emotion.

"Down where?" Jesse's voice rose, her alarm clear, and the sound of flurried movement filled the background. "Jaz, where are you?"

"In the infirmary," Jasmine finally said, her heart pounding in her chest, the weight of what she couldn't say suffocating her.

"The infirmary?" Jesse's voice sharpened with fear. "What happened? Is someone hurt?"

"I don't have all the details, but it's both of them," Jasmine replied, her voice quivering.

"Jasmine, you are—" Jesse's voice was abruptly cut off by the sound of a loud slap, followed by a sharp, furious whisper. "Fucking STOP. This is serious!" Her tone lashed out, clearly directed at Aiden nearby, who had apparently said or done something that Jesse wasn't in the mood for.

There was a brief muffled exchange, and then Jesse returned, her urgency piercing through the call. "Both of who?"

"Matthew... and Toni," Jasmine whispered, her voice barely holding steady. "They were attacked... and they're both in surgery."

"Attacked?... What ar...are.... Wait, wait, wait....surgery? SURGERY!" Jesse's breath hitched, disbelief and terror flooding her voice. "I'm coming! I'm COMING!" Before the call abruptly cut off.

Jasmine stood there, frozen, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as a wave of suffocating fear and uncertainty washed over her. Her hands clutched at her chest, trying to hold herself together, but she knew the truth—deep down, Jesse saw both Matthew and Toni as her lifelines. They were her fragile anchors to humanity, the only thing keeping her tethered in a world filled with chaos and darkness.

If anything happened to them—if they were lost—Jesse's fury would be a force that no one could contain. She wouldn't just mourn. She'd tear the heavens apart, burn everything in her path, and pledge to rip the gods from their thrones. The infinite western seas would run red with the blood of those responsible, driven by her unrelenting wrath and unbearable grief.

Heaven help them all if it came to that, because the only person more terrifying than Jesse was Eko.