Interstellar Spark

Perhaps Aglaia deemed him a fool, blind to his doom yet grasping for love and liberty. But Michael knew the truth was otherwise.

For an Inferno Being, survival trumped all—freedom and women followed after. He'd spurned Aglaia only because an escape flickered in his mind; else, he'd have bent long ago.

For survival, no act was beyond him.

A steady stream of solar-degrading particles seeped through his spine, relentless and sure.

It was merely a bundle of negative microelectrons and protons, yet it could unravel the high-energy plasma, hydrogen, and helium in his nerves—triggering a cascading decay, shredding his energy field. He'd felt it before—when the neural cannon first stole his motion.

That decay was savage, rippling to other molecules, threatening irreparable ruin.

In normal times, he'd never withstand such an assault. But now, he was ready. While trading words with his goddess Aglaia, he'd subtly reworked his energy's microscopic lattice into a new form—one that, when struck by the degrading stream, reverted to solar power.

All matter shifts through atomic restructuring—a simple truth.

Yet without his superhuman gift, even the finest tools couldn't manage it. It was mastery over substance itself.

He couldn't reshape the external world, but his body's energy bent to his will.

Pain contorted his face like a mask as he waited for the complete transformation into solar power.

In the adjacent lab, over two hundred first- and second-tier Academics, like Aglaia and Li Wanxiu, stared at a giant screen zooming on Michael's features.

Aglaia's face drained of color, her lip caught between her teeth, hands clenched, fighting the urge to halt this.

Li Wanxiu cast her a sympathetic glance, silent.

Aglaia suddenly despised her role and responsibilities; if she hadn't been the supreme leader, she would never have issued such orders.

Then darkness swallowed the lab whole.

As his energy neared full solar rebirth—teetering on true Michael's

power surged, racing through the infusion channel beyond the gravity pod. It penetrated the Institute's automated hub, cutting off most of its power, nullifying the pod's field, lifting its lid, and opening all force-field doors.

Escape beckoned. Darkness blinded his foes, not him.

Within, all was black—but outside, daylight reigned. Twenty miles from the Institute, near the Academics' dorms, a fifty-meter silver ship gleamed on a landing pad, radiant in the sun.

Natasha, heart heavy as lead, lugged her baggage to the ship's hatch, her forlorn gaze drifting to Everest's cloud-piercing peak.

The residences lay hushed—all summoned to tackle Michael.

Alas! Why was she so useless? Sleepless last night, haunted by his soul-shaking eyes.

Would she free him, given the chance?

She didn't know.

As she stepped toward the hatch, a figure flashed in her periphery. Natasha whirled, trembling, staring in disbelief at Michael—naked and bold.

Alarms wailed faintly from the Institute.

Instinct seized her.

She drew her sidearm, aiming. Michael paused, startled, then advanced.