“The mechanics of colliding story worlds are headache-inducing,” Natsuki declared, rubbing her temples. “So, the story worlds have to travel much faster than the speed of light to reach the hub world, which, if I understand this correctly, is basically in its own dimension, based on the fact that the astronomy they taught in our high school didn’t match what’s in the multiverse. And the only way they can do this is to somehow move along the information stream connecting them to it, because otherwise they can’t cross the dimensional barrier. And yet, they manage to do this without causing massive disruption and destruction in the story worlds themselves, which we know because we’ve been on them, which means that they’re interacting with the information stream to travel faster than light while still travelling at their normal speed in their own relative space. And this means that the entire pocket of space they are occupying is what is travelling faster than light.”

    “That is much more thought than I’ve ever given to how any of this works,” Aquila stated.

    “I think I understood half of that,” Yuri said.

    Yukari shrugged. “Seems right to me.”

    Sayori stared at her. “That actually made sense to you?”

    Yukari grinned. “A lot of math and physics are involved in making the things I do safe. And, back when we were at school, my best grades were in physical sciences. So, I followed that. It made sense.”

    Sayori sighed. “Don’t mind me, then. I was just the literature girl.”

    Kasumi gave her a smile. “Nothing wrong with having specialized in literature, especially here in the story worlds.”

    “Not very helpful right now, though, is it?” Sayori said. “Escaping Balthazar doesn’t exactly scream out for an understanding of literary devices and tropes.”

    Yuri gave her a kind smile. “It’s okay not to be useful all the time.”

    Aquila stiffened. A low rumbling sounded from the direction of the town.

    Kasumi stared at her. “He’s here?”

    Aquila nodded. “It’s bad. It’s very, very bad.” She stood up and raced to the top of the hill, Kasumi and Cap right behind her.

    “Oh God, no,” Cap breathed beside her. In the distance, the town flickered with a bright orange light, a pillar of smoke rising high into the air, illuminated by the glow. A brighter light flashed, the sound of the explosion arriving a few seconds later.

    “What’s happening?” Yuri demanded, cresting the hill with Natsuki, Sayori, and Yukari.

    “He’s burning down the town,” Aquila said, her voice almost a whisper.

    “Why would he do this?” Yuri asked, staring in shock.

    Aquila swallowed. “Because he read Cap’s character description, and that’s how you flush out a superhero. You create a situation where they have to save people.”

    She glanced over at Cap. His fists were clenched, as was his jaw. His entire frame was trembling. “I have to get over there,” he muttered. “There’s still time to save some of them.”

    Aquila put her hand on his shoulder. “You can’t. He can get here from there in seconds. If you go down there, he’ll read your mind to find out where we are, kill you, and then kill us. If you go down there and we try to escape at the same time, he’ll detect me screening worlds, kill us, and then kill you on your way back. If we just try to escape, he’ll come and kill us. The only thing we can do is wait for him to conclude that the false trail is real, and leave.”

    “But all those people,” Sayori sobbed, tears running down her cheeks.

    “At least a third of them are slaves,” Natsuki said. “They don’t have any choice about being there.” She shook her head. “He’s murdering them all just to get at us! How could anybody do that?”

    “But, they’ll come back, right?” Kasumi asked. “This is an active story world. The information stream will update and all these people will be brought back to life, right?”

    “They’ll be replaced,” Aquila stated. “It’s not the same.”

    “It’s turning into a firestorm,” Cap stammered, his body shaking harder. “I have to...I need to–”

    “You can’t,” Aquila declared. “The only thing that happens if you go down there is that we all die too. And there will be no replacements for us when the information stream updates.”

    Cap turned to face her, his eyes wide and desperate, tears running down his cheeks. “You don’t understand – my hearing...I can hear their screams! They’re screaming in terror and agony right now, and I can hear every single one of them! I need to save them!”

    Aquila nodded. “I know. And I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”

    “If I don’t go down there, I will never be able to call myself a superhero again,” Cap sobbed. “How can I ever be a hero if I don’t save them?”

    Aquila felt a hand on hers. She turned to see Yuri wiping away her tears with her free hand.

    “I’ve got this,” Yuri said, removing Aquila’s hand from Cap’s shoulder. As Aquila watched, Yuri led Cap down to the campfire, sat him down, and pressed his head against her chest. “Listen to my heartbeat,” Yuri said. “Just focus on it.”

    “I...I can’t, Yuri,” Cap stammered, tears running down his cheeks. “I’m a superhero! How do I not try to save them? How can I ignore this?”

    “You can’t,” Yuri said. “That’s one of the reasons I love you. But if you go, you won’t save anybody. Aquila’s right – he’ll just kill you, and then us, and they’ll all die anyway. And I can’t bear the thought of losing you this soon. So, please, focus on my heartbeat, and let me help you bear your pain.”

    “How are you this calm?” Natsuki demanded, staring at Aquila.

    Aquila took a deep breath. “I’m not. We should get back to the campfire. All we’re doing by watching this is letting him torture us.”

    Aquila descended the hill and sat back down, staring at the fire. She felt more than saw or heard Kasumi sit beside her and Natsuki, Sayori, and Yukari take their own places.

    “You said that’s how you flush out a superhero,” Natsuki started. “And that means you knew. You knew this could...would happen.”

    Aquila nodded.

    “So you have to have figured it out during your war, right?” Natsuki said. “Did you ever do this?”

    “No,” Aquila replied. “You’re right, I figured it out shortly after my war began. But I also decided it was a line that I would never cross. There weren’t many of those, but that was one of them.”

    “He’s going to do this again, isn’t he?” Natsuki asked.

    Aquila nodded. “Until he’s certain it won’t work.”

    “When he’s gone, I need to go down there,” Cap growled. “I need to look into the eyes of the people I’m not saving.”

    “Cap, all that will do is torture you further,” Aquila said. “Please, tomorrow morning once we’re sure he’s gone, let’s just leave this world.”

    “I need to see them,” Cap insisted, turning his head to stare at Aquila. “I need to see their faces.”

    Aquila stared at her hands. “Okay. If that’s what you need, then that’s what we’ll do. Tomorrow morning you and I will go down there.”

    “I’m going too,” Yuri added, stroking Cap’s hair. “I’m not letting him face this without me.”

    “No,” Yukari said. “All of us are going.”

    “It’s a firestorm,” Aquila stated. “The carnage you’re going to see there–”

    “Is our fault,” Sayori declared. “That town is burning because we’re here. It’s time that we faced the consequences of our actions.” She glanced at Yukari. “Like adults.”

    Aquila nodded. “Okay. For better or worse, tomorrow morning once we’re sure he’s gone, we’ll all go down there. Kasumi, I think I need you to hold me now.”

    As Kasumi held her, Aquila pressed her head against Kasumi’s shoulder and began to weep. And no matter how hard she tried to stop, the tears kept flowing.

NEXT: “Wreckage”