Chapter Text
The research room didn’t seem very significant at first glance.
To anyone who would’ve opened the door despite having been told not to, only darkness and the muffled ticking of machinery would be presented.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Like a timed bomb, counting down the moments until the inevitable explosion.
Yet, to the man behind it all, those ticks were not just sounds. They were words, whispered in a language only he could understand.
Quiet, promising whispers. Inviting.
As the sound of an old, buzzing light came to life, the true face of those dirty four walls was revealed.
Desks, aged computers, busy machines, and that, the dream that the man in front of it worked so hard to make real.
Just bits and pieces, but not for too long now.
The nearly perfect ambience of a room created by pure genius was soon disturbed by footsteps cutting through the silence, approaching.
A soft voice spoke up behind him. “Sir… We are ready to start a breach. I am almost certain it will give us the answers needed.”
The man turned to her—a petite Child of his, a smart one. He remembered the day she got in; her hair, red like a burning flame, and a fierce, brave look in her eyes. It had reminded him of the past buried deep. She intrigued him, and her intellect was a payoff he couldn’t be more satisfied with.
“Understood. I am delighted with your work, Child.”
A small, almost invisible smile spread across her face, two dimples revealed in her pale cheeks. Ah. Still a child. Yet one who managed to gain access to that very special room.
His train of thought was discarded as the quiet beeping morphed into a roar, foreshadowing a miracle soon to come.
Soon, it would all end.
And Capitano’s story would finally come to a close.
When faced with a difficult situation or an unexpected problem, Kinich’s first course of action was to find the best possible outcome.
The next step was to find a way to achieve it, obviously.
Regardless, he could hardly believe he would even get to that point now.
After all, thinking itself was pretty difficult when three vastly different beings were stuffed into his tiny apartment. Coming up with a practical strategy seemed near impossible.
The usually quiet kitchenette was now filled with Furina’s numerous complaints about toast and Ajaw’s complaints about Furina. Only Alhaitham - bless him - was silently sipping the coffee that Kinich kind of messed up. He should reconsider every negative thought he had ever had about Alhaitham.
The man in question evidently liked the noise as much as Kinich, which became apparent when he let out a sigh so loud that he might’ve as well just cleared his throat like a normal person instead.
Furina clasped her small mouth shut, and Ajaw redirected his gaze as well.
“Furina. Yesterday, you mentioned your intention to tell us something, yes?” Alhaitham’s voice remained calm, albeit with a hint of frustration.
Recognition flicked in Furina’s eyes. “Oui! Right, right. You are correct.” She gracefully sat down in one of the two chairs (leaving none for Kinich, thanks), and crossed her legs.
“I had every intention of confronting you about that dreadful little black creature you keep - truly, a scandal in itself! Yet, alas, a far graver predicament demands my attention! For I find myself most assuredly not in Natlan, and yet—quelle ironie!—everyone around me insists I am! Have they all gone mad, or has the world decided to play a cruel farce at my expense?!”
The two other men share a look.
“What are you talking about?” Kinich said after a moment, half-asking for a translation. “Where else would you-”
The voice, with an unnecessarily dramatic edge, interrupted him immediately. “Natlan—ah, Natlan!—a nation once sung of for its valiant warriors, its blazing pride, its unyielding spirit of war! And yet... mon dieu! What is this mockery I behold?” She brought a hand to her forehead. Kinich guessed an imitation of collapse was her intention.
She then stood up, clasping her hands. “Of course, I cannot claim to be its most frequent visitor, non, but my dear, this—this is most certainly not the Natlan engraved in my memory! Those gimmicks in everyone’s hands—sacrebleu! I’ve never even heard of such infernal devices! And your… schools? Your people? Non, non, non! This is not the Natlan I once knew, my friends—this is a masquerade wearing its name!”
A…. rather awkward silence filled the room. Furina didn’t seem too bothered, sitting back down and brushing invisible crumbs off her pants. Kinich slowly blinked at her, then focused on the farthest wall to properly sort his thoughts.
Well, it could be said that… she was right. Her confusion when she first saw a phone was genuine, even given her love of drama. Wasn’t familiar with cars either, and screamed on a bus.
Could it be…
“How about a time machine?”
Two pairs of eyes locked with his, and a charged silence followed. Even Ajaw shut up for two seconds, although he might’ve just been stunned by Furina’s impactful speech (performance?).
Furina reacted almost immediately. “If it is that, my Fontaine doesn’t have that. And I am sure no other nations do, either. I would’ve known.”
Alhaitham hummed. “Kinich does have a point, though. I do not believe that we have time machines where I come from, but perhaps we got pulled in here because the original… is here.” He paused, looking down at his unfinished toast. “I was reading some articles on the Alchemax nearby, and it certainly seems more advanced than what I am used to.”
Neither Kinich nor Furina had any time to consider it before he continued with an argument against himself properly. “Even so, this theory also appears flawed to me. Based on my observations, it appears that Kinich and I originate from very similar eras, if that’s how we are going to refer to them for this hypothesis. It just doesn’t add up very well, not to mention… Spider-Man never existed here. Nor Furina de Fontaine. There would be some records. I found none.”
Kinich nodded, crossing his arms. It was much easier to listen to the calm, calculating words than the too-loud-for-seven-am dramatics, that was certain.
“Alhaitham is right. I don’t think we are talking about time here. Moreover… Furina, if the black slug disturbs you so much, there must be a bigger meaning to it. I am sure at least one of us would know something about it.”
For once, Kinich was sure that Furina’s expression wasn’t a result of her star actor skills, but rather an honest fear. The color drained from her otherwise red cheeks, and a slight stutter crept into her words.
“Ah… Right. That.”
She shifted her weight on her feet and coughed into her fist. Buying time, probably. The two-colored eyes flicked down to the ground. “I… I might be mistaken, but what you’re investigating—it bears an eerie resemblance to something I once knew. It’s a… thing, though even now I cannot claim to understand it in full. Only this, I remember with certainty: it does dreadful things to people.” Her mouth pressed into a thin line as she paused to consider her following words.
“It wraps around your very soul and squeezes until you forget where you end, and it begins. You start feeling emotions that were never yours to feel… hurting those you swore you never would.” A shudder ran through her. “That little ‘slug’ right there is merely a small part of it. I had believed, naively, that I’d destroyed it.”
Furina’s eyes look back up at them, no act left in them. “But it seems we have yet to learn the rules of this cruel, infernal game. Because if that remnant still exists here… then the rest has already found another host.”
Practices were Mualani’s, like… eighth favorite thing. Maybe seventh, because some concerts really sucked, so that would put them in eighth place instead.
It wasn’t like practices didn’t sometimes suck, too, but not this one - hah. That theater wasn't prepared for her new arsenal.
Neither was Mr. Lumai, who still thought of her as a little girl with pigtails. She definitely knew how to properly twist those drumsticks, alright.
The bald man she was just thinking of appeared from around the corner, so she put on her best smile and walked over to him. “Mr. Lumai, hi!”
The old man smiled. “Mualani, welcome back to the theater, welcome. Where’s the rest of your band?”
Mualani let out an amused huff. Leave it to Mr. Lumai to unnecessarily put her above others. “It’s a school band, sir. I am not even the lead. And, well, I am here a teensy bit sooner. Wanted to practice my solo in advance, y’know.”
The theater manager nodded, although Mualani doubted the words had actually appropriately registered in his head. “School band, yes, yes… Feel free to use whatever you like for the practice, ‘lani,” the man’s words were raspy and a little too quiet - he honestly looked like he was about to fall asleep right there and then. That’s what age did to you, or so Mualani could guess. She was experiencing the finest years of her life, after all.
Either way, Mualani had energy for both of them and then some, so she simply hopped onto the stage, a clear goal in her head. She prepared the drums beforehand, long before Mr. Lumai realized she had arrived.
Only took one slip-up on the shiny floor before she was seated on the hard, old chair with drumsticks in her hand.
See, her solo was like an old friend by now, with how much she had rehearsed it. The fast-paced rhythm welcomed her like one, too.
It was… magical, seeing the fancy walls, plush red chairs, and old paintings while the unique sound of drums bounced off them, like something that didn’t really belong, but fit in easily.
Didn’t take long before the sight was pushed to the back of Mualani’s mind, however. Her eyes fluttered closed as the familiar push and pull of her instrument enveloped her whole.
The world slowly faded, and the earthly colors around her blended together.
She was in the zone. The only thing that truly mattered was the response the drums gave her, and the kicks that seeped into her bones, becoming one with her very being.
One and two and three and four-
And five?
No, that was not how music worked. No losing rhythm now, stay focused, Mua.
One more time.
One and two and three and four, and one and two and-
Dum.
There it was again.
Like an echo. But it couldn’t possibly be a response to her own doing. It wasn’t… predictable. Had no rhythm.
Dum.
Huh. Or maybe it did.
Dum. One..
Dum. Two..
Dum. Three..
And one and two and three and-
Bang.
Mualani immediately pulled away. The feedback was different this time, more akin to... a vibration than a distant reflection like the one before. Like someone was breathing down her neck.
Her pulse quickened.
What in the world…
She swallowed dryly and gripped the drumsticks tighter. This time, she only hit the drums once, hard.
And-
Huh?
Nothing changed. Mualani could sigh and blame it on some weird acoustic loophole (if that even existed?), or so she thought. Because just when the tension in her body started to melt and the drumsticks left the white surface, a flash of blinding light stunned her, followed by a sound so loud it forced her back, her back hitting the floor.
Drumsticks fell out of her hands, which immediately flew up to cover her ears. It hurt, oh, it hurt so much, the high-pitched frequency close to shattering her eardrums, it went higher and higher, please make it stop, make it stop, please stop-
...
Oh.
Quiet.
Maybe Mualani just lost her hearing, but everything had suddenly become muted. Just a buzzing hum that might’ve as well been the result of her imagination.
Or maybe her hearing wasn’t lost, which - good news for a musician.
How she ended up pressed against the wall, after being in the middle of the stage just moments ago, was beyond her.
With a soft groan, Mualani forced her legs to cooperate and clumsily stood up. What in the holy springwater had just happened?
There wasn’t even proof that it happened in the first place, besides a purple mark forming on her elbow, that is. Yikes.
She took a few uneven steps toward her instrument to inspect it, but the only thing out of place was the drumsticks, fallen on the floor. And, of course, the quiet zzz at the back of her mind.
Maybe she just hit her head too hard? At the thought, her hand shot up to rub the sore spot. She must’ve crashed right into the column… probably that one right there.
Turning around, her suspicions were confirmed by a bunch of messy papers lying around it. Huh. Weird. Some things scattered there weren’t even on the stage before. Like the schedule for the performances and Mr. Lumai’s old showman hat that he kept on a shelf nearby.
How did Mualani even fall that hard anyway? Pushed by sound? That… sounded like something out of Ifa’s comics. Oh, wait, no. Not back.
Her eyes focused on the whole image, the fog in her mind beginning to clear.
She was never pushed back; she got pushed aside. The pillar was right next to the drums, not behind them. And the trinkets' positions made no sense either.
Almost as if everything was made of metal, and that pillar was one big magnet.
Mualani’s senses finally fully sharpened enough to register something brushing against her-
Something brushing against her back?!
In a split second, she whipped around, but the only thing observing her frantic movements was the empty stage and an unseen audience.
And yet, the feeling lingered - the cold sensation now caressing the back of her hand. It was crazy; Mualani was literally inside a theater, and the only plausible explanation for the goosebumps on her arms would be the wind. However, when she had last been outside, it had been sunny with no clouds or hint of wind. Besides, Mr. Lumai struggled to open the large windows backstage by himself, given his hunched, aching back.
A shiver ran down Mualani’s spine, and adrenaline flooded her veins. With a shaky hand, she reached for the red curtain. “Mr. Lumai?” she tried.
As anticipated, no response followed.
After one last attempt to calm herself down (because she was totally freaking out for no reason!), Mualani willed her fingers to stop trembling and pulled the red fabric-
“Yo, Mualani!”
Namaka’s voice rang through the fog in her mind, alongside the slam of the door. Right. Band practice.
Without inspecting the darkness, Mualani let go of the curtain and whipped around, putting on one of her best smiles. “Guys! Hi! I’ve been waiting for you.”
Whatever that was could wait.
The moment to rock and roll had arrived.
Having eaten nothing but burnt toast for the entire day had its disadvantages, or so the churning feeling in Kinich’s stomach tried to suggest.
Or maybe it wasn’t nausea mercilessly turning his gut upside down as he was walking down the streets.
With every step closer to the ‘small café’ Mualani picked for their… meeting, the remains of his singular meal burned, reminding him of the inevitable situation he willingly bestowed upon himself.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to spend the time with Mualani, he just… didn’t know how.
They haven’t spoken properly since what, middle school? They’ve been tight back then, but growing up, both undoubtedly changed and drifted apart, day by day.
(Even though Kinich’s gaze always strayed back to her. Never meant for anyone else, as Ifa liked to remind him.)
At the thought of his friend, Kinich had to fight a sigh; he had received many instructions on how to survive this, though his gut was telling him it was best to do the exact opposite. Especially taking Ifa’s past experience into account. Or rather, lack thereof.
Within a minute, Kinich stopped, looking up as the café stared right back at him. He observed it slowly, like the brave man he was. Never had been there before, but a certain kind of warmth was radiating off the golden pillars set between the stone walls. Of course that was the place Mualani would pick.
The thought put his soul at ease, just slightly. After all, Mualani still felt like the same bubbly girl from a bunch of years ago whenever he talked to her these days. She wouldn’t change just because they were meeting voluntarily. In a café. As a pair.
No, like a duo, not a pair.
Discarding the concerning train of thought, Kinich took one step closer to the fancy-looking door with a polished-glass rimmed by green wood. He could peek inside now; it had gotten easier to decipher the faces of people seated in the plush burgundy chairs.
Amongst them, she was the one Kinich had noticed first - to be honest, it was hard to miss the blue hair.
Mualani was sitting right there, comfortable in the comically large armchair. That familiar smile was playing on her face - seeing it made something in his chest spark. From the view through the nearly shining glass, Kinich could clearly see her leg frantically jumping up and down under the table. Her back was slightly hunched and tilted to the side, while her hands played with the napkins, brushing over the pink, imprinted hearts there.
Looking at her, something warm and almost liquid-like filled Kinich’s chest to the brim. It was overwhelming, uncomfortable, and far too hot, burning his lungs and urging them to ask for much more oxygen than necessary.
Perhaps he should actually do something. Yes. Sounded reasonable.
The universe worked in funny ways, though (especially when it came to Kinich’s life).
The very moment his hand landed on the handle, it hit.
A razor-bright sting shoots down his spine.
Not the soft, twitchy spider-sense he gets when an elderly lady strolls through the road with no care in the world.
No.
This one was sharp, hot, and urging, like an army of agitated bugs making their way up his back.
His instincts kick in immediately. Just as the dreadful silence around turns into a crowded chaos, his body turns around in a rush, eyes widened.
A force rippled through the street, rattling bus-stop signs, sending pigeons exploding into the sky like confetti.
The café windows shivered behind him. People screamed, chairs scraped.
And yet, Kinich stands glued in place, heart pounding against his ribs.
The old wall of graffiti opposite him started cracking on its own, a stripe of blue-violet light flickering behind it.
Inside it, something moved, pressuring the crack to open.
Until-
The remaining bricks crumbled, forcing the boy to step back and shield his face with his arm. People who were trying to flee from the café stopped behind him, running back inside instead with horrified gasps.
Four half-metal, half-organic limbs - slick, jointed, snapping like angry insect legs - slammed against the shimmering tear and forced a silhouette out of it.
Kinich moved in an instant, tugged his hoodie off, and carelessly threw it away to reveal the costume underneath. His hand reached out as the other one pulled his mask on. A split second later, he was in the air.
Because out of that crack…
Otto Octavius emerged.
Well.
A strange replica of him, anyway.
Because the real Otto Octavius was dead, and definitely not a scorched, glitching, and furious problem in the present.
Just as Kinich landed on the side of the building close, his eyes glanced around wildly - confused, dangerous, locked onto the first person in sight.
Which was, of course, the one in a literal Malipo suit.
“You,” the doctor’s copycat snarled, his voice like a distorted radio. “You dragged me here-?!”
Kinich had no chance to respond as one of the arms lunged at him, snapping in the air like a whip.
He cursed under his breath, jumping off the wall and spinning in the air. The second arm was already centimeters from his face as soon as he landed back on it, and his heart froze in his chest -
“Non!”
A shiny web, so distinct from his own, wrapped around it and changed its direction, causing it to just barely miss Kinich’s neck. Losing his balance, he quickly jumped down.
In front of him, a person with a familiar frame and a very theatrical costume in the shades of blue waved at him. Above, a glass cracked, well signifying the entrance of more controlled chaos; Alhaitham swung over, his leg precisely aimed at the doctor’s face. Missing wasn’t an option, of course.
A surge of adrenaline rushed through Kinich’s veins as the two other spiders landed by his sides.
“There are three of you now?!” The copycat growled. He wiped at his bloody mouth before lunging at them.
The two organic arms squealched disgustingly, slashing the air by Kinich’s head. Alhaitham jumped into the air. Furina followed him soon after, yet the limbs kept bothering him, thus taking all the time to check the others’ plan.
Their speed was far too quick for him to do anything else but defend himself, jumping up onto the nearby walls and doing somersaults in the air.
That was before the ground shook again, though.
Even the doctor seemed surprised; his head whipped in the direction of what was presumably an explosion.
Furina suddenly appeared back by his side, but only for a split second, as she used the surface to launch herself at the burning building, too.
Kinich’s eyes followed her, and a sense of dread crept up his neck.
The café.
In shreds.
Panic and the thought of Mualani Mualani, the people hid inside, so she probably never left that café, clouded his senses.
He immediately jumped forward and swung toward the café, following Furina. The clunking of metal didn’t hesitate either, forcing a curse out of Kinich’s mouth.
The smoke overwhelmed his senses, burned his nose and eyes, but he pushed through it. Furina was already inside, using her sparkling webs - which seemed almost made of water, as strange as it was - to… put out the fire? Trap it between them until the path was cleared, that’s what it was.
He ran further into the building.
The once well-placed furnishings were scattered everywhere, with people hiding here and there, at best.
“Malipo!” a weary voice called out, and he whipped around to find a young blonde woman stuck under a fallen pillar, with a little weeping bundle in her arms. His chest tightened.
That’s what he hated about this job the most.
As quickly as he could, he scurried over to them and took the fragile baby out of her arms. “Furina!” he yelled to the smoke, but no reply echoed.
“It’s fine,” he whispered under his mask. “You’ve been alone this entire time.”
“I’ll be right back, yeah?” was what the woman got to hear. With no time to waste, he hurried out of the café. A wave of relief washed over him when his eyes spotted a familiar firefighter truck.
Not bothering to even look into the eyes of the fireman, he shoved the breakable human into his eyes and turned on his heel, rushing back inside.
Malipo was in complete control now, even with Kinich’s voice asking about Mualani every three seconds.
He shoved those whispers down and found the fallen pillar. The woman was crying, trying to free herself. Which, obviously, was not the best choice.
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. We will get you out of here, okay? There is help outside, you just… You just need to stop moving now,” Kinich murmured, attempting to sound as reassuring as he possibly could.
His eyes were already scanning the surroundings, his brain inventing thousands of concepts, yet only one could work.
Thank the Ancient Archons that he liked Physics.
Using his abilities, he stuck to the wall opposite the fallen pillar - no matter how unstable - and shot webs from either of his hands, anchoring them around the pillar at uneven angles.
He didn’t try to lift it. That would’ve been impossible.
Instead, he pulled—just enough to shift the weight.
The moment the pillar was high enough, the woman crawled from underneath and, apparently too scared to care about her injuries, ran out of the café.
Kinich let out a sigh of relief, and the pillar fell back, shattering in most places.
Nevertheless, catching a break was not realistic.
Not now, not ever.
A dark, swift figure that was neither the spiders nor Octavius rushed past him at unbelievable speed.
Usually, he wouldn’t bother, since he couldn’t even register its features, and the tricky play of shadows wasn’t unusual in places like these.
There was something he could make out, though - the blue accented by the bright orange of Mualani’s eyes, wide with fear.
He froze in place, panic clouding all of his thoughts.
Before he could move, a sharp tug at the back of his mind stopped him. He obeyed the order to turn and face the mechanical arm rushing toward him.
His instincts became muted.
After over a year, his senses numbed.
The world slowed down, and the smoke finally started to settle in his lungs.
The prickly tension at the base of his spine stopped pushing.
And the arm had a clear path, suddenly much faster than before.
Kinich’s mind cleared a second too late, and although his body attempted to move away, it seemed much more difficult than before. Almost as if he wasn’t Malipo anymore, just… a teenager in a fancy costume.
A hoarse yell cut through the static in his mind. “Watch out!”
In a flash, a bigger body was covering his now; arms spread out, a groan forced out of its chest. Considering his speed, Alhaitham had no problem with his instincts.
The newfound metal in his ribcage may cause some, though.
As the realization sank in, Kinich’s senses finally sharpened again. He quickly jumped down and moved in front of the older man, whose torso now had one terrifying mechanical limb latched to it.
What was surprising, however, was the… nonchalant way Alhaitham himself went about it. The slumped way he was leaning against the wall didn’t say “I am in so much pain because something is literally attached to my chest in a rather painful way”, it was more of a “Kinich, you are an annoyance, and we will discuss this later, am I the only responsible adult here?” kind of body language.
The “wound” didn’t look very… convincing either. Instead of the intruding arm being stabbed, the four claws just rested on his chest. Huh…
Kinich tilted his head, eyes flickering up to Alhaitham’s head again.
Octavius - or the imitator, anyway - appeared to be confused, too, if the way he cautiously approached gave any clue about that.
Kinich took a step back, shuddering at the powerful presence. His eyes nervously flickered between them and the broken doorway that had earlier served as the exit for the figure who was holding, unmistakably, Mualani. Alhaitham sighed, obviously irritating the doctor, who was just about to start barking.
“Kinich. Go. Furina and I will take care of this.”
He didn’t need much more reassurance.
As quickly as he could, Kinich used his web to latch onto the top of the doorway and swung inside.
It led to a staircase, or so it seemed.
With all the smoke biting at the corners of his eyes despite the mask, it was getting harder to see - but the panicky feeling at the back of his mind was enough to fuel his legs, helping them to push up the stairs. At the speed, his lungs burned even more, though he pushed through, forcing his own body farther by clutching the hot railing by his side.
The narrow hall around him seemed to tilt; only determination and the sight of a door swung open at the end of it were enough of a push for him to reach the top at last.
As soon as Kinich’s foot landed atop the now black concrete, sharp pain thundered through his chest and punched a heavy grunt from his chest.
Only the tickling at the base of his spine forced him to lift his chin, glancing ahead. The pain was forgotten, then, and only the sharp pang in his gut remained.
Haphazardly thrown on the ground in front of the opposing wall was Mualani, clutching her chest and supporting herself with her other hand. An obvious cut was on it, the dark red seeping through her clothes.
Kinich was never one to flinch at the sight of blood; nonetheless, the sense of dread that filled him then couldn’t have been avoided - not as much as the action he took before any conscious thought.
His legs bent reliably, then pushed him across the room with the gloved hand outstretched. Mualani’s gaze lifted, her eyes widened, and then her head started shaking frantically.
It was too late to realize that, amidst his hasty motion, he failed to recognize the quite lazily set up trap he jumped into like an unsuspecting prey.
The time seemed to slow for a second, then it painfully sped up again as something quick and dull crashed against his side.
The world became a blur before being snapped into place alongside the edged sound of something in his arm moving out of its place. The impact shaped into a razor-sharp ringing in his ears.
Except the thing causing the audible agony wasn’t the harsh way he was pushed against the wall, but rather, the very reason he was held there, suspended in the air.
Kinich’s sight cleared up within a moment, giving way to intense green light that consumed the room. His mind was hazy and weak, so it took a moment before it could realize the source, being nothing but the already familiar sphere of colorful shapes and fragments. The spikes sticking out were spreading, stabbing the hot air around, and coloring the smoke surrounding the big ball, which seemed to have started everything.
As the pressure kept pinning Kinich to the burned wall, he couldn’t do anything but watch its speed increase while the weight on his chest pushed more and more.
From the corner of his eye, he could see the same dark figure that dragged both him and Mualani here, sneaking away through the leftover shadows.
And before long, much sooner than his weakened mind could catch up, the light gave out, and the room went quiet.
The feeling of silence was like a blessing, a soft caress, although it didn’t last long. No moment of respite ever did.
Much like the quiet before the storm, this quiet, too, exploded into a piercing screech right when the sphere exploded, sending an invisible wave of force through Kinich’s body. The incorrect arrangement of his shoulder snapped back into place, followed by a sound he didn’t even realize came out of his own throat.
The pressure gave out after, roughly dropping Kinich back to the ground. With no time to prepare, his knees suffered the impact. Nevertheless, this time, he didn’t get to soak the pain in. Not when his ears caught the sound of walls breaking and people screaming, with one particular yell closer than any other - Mualani’s.
His eyes snapped up and caught the exact moment when the last bits of the pressure wave broke the side of the building that was already weakened by the fire.
The wall opposite him crumbled down, the broken ground following suit. His body froze; his spider sense was probably still in that room downstairs.
The last thing he saw before his world crashed into itself was Mualani’s pale face, now devoid of all its usual cheekiness, with only the ugly panic painted across her soft features.
Too soft for death.