The silence that followed the collapse of the Homunculus Chimera God lasted less than two seconds.
On the raised dais, Apostle Vespera Nyx threw her head back and let out a sound that was half shriek, half sob of deep psychological ruin. Her clean fine china mask shattered down the midline. She fell away in jagged white fragments to reveal her true face beneath. A gaunt, feverish face ravaged by decades of toxic mutagen exposure. Her veins glowed with sickly violet soft glow.
The cut neural cables trailing from her throne whipped wildly in the air, discharging showers of blue spark sparks across the black glass steps.
“You have destroyed my masterpiece,” Nyx whispered, her voice trembling with poisonous, frantic rage. “You think you’re a healer, Vance? You’re nothing but a headsman! If this safe hall can’t birth the New Genesis, it will become the tomb of every living soul in this province!”
With a savage, clawed strike, Nyx drove her left hand into the twenty-foot queen-sac beneath her waist.
She didn’t aim to heal her wounds. Her fingers tore through the main around the heart membrane of the sac. It ripped out the internal safety valve. The crimson mutagen spark resting over her chest bone flared into violent, blinding crimson incandescence, its internal crystal structure fracturing as she triggered the sac’s end-post auto-rupture protocol.
