After five months of relentless efforts to save Farrah's life, a doctor emerged from the operating room, peeling off his surgical mask and gloves.

  "Well... How is she, Doc?" Marla's voice was tight with anxiety.

  The doctor sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Farrah's Viltrumlight physiology is truly astounding. They possess an almost unbelievable healing factor; they can sustain injuries that would be fatal to any human and keep fighting. They can literally have their guts hanging out and still stand a chance." He held up a bloodied human-sized diaphragm for emphasis, before placing it gently on a nearby tray.

  "However, even a Viltrumlight has critical weaknesses: the brain and the heart," he continued, pointing vaguely to his chest and head. "In humans, solid organs like the liver, kidneys, pancreas, and heart are inelastic and typically take the brunt of internal trauma. In Viltrumlights, while most organs are exceptionally resilient, the solid organs are 50% to 90% more inelastic than ours, meaning injuries that would be lethal to a human often aren't to them."

  "So, she's going to be fine, right?" Vitaliya pressed, her eyes wide with hope.

  The doctor's expression softened into one of profound regret. "No. I'm so sorry."

  The air instantly left the room. Every face fell, the hope draining away like water.

  "They are incredibly difficult to kill, but even they have limits," the doctor explained, his voice low. "Her heart was catastrophically damaged. To be completely honest, I don't know how she survived this long, but she is stable for now. I recommend... saying your goodbyes." He offered a brief, sympathetic nod and walked out, leaving them alone with the silence.

  After hearing the news, T'Jadaka stormed into his room, his whole body shaking as he desperately tried to hold back tears. A wave of profound grief washed over the others—Marla and Vitaliya broke down, their sobs echoing in the sterile hallway. Meanwhile, Farrah lay alone in her room, staring blankly out the window at the distant sky.

  33 years... I never thought I'd live that long, she thought, a faint, phantom pain resonating in her chest. I had a shitty childhood, killed some people, lost my virginity to a fucking humanoid monster, and had a kid... A small, rueful smile touched her lips. I wish I could have done some things differently. But honestly, I don't really regret much.

  In the quiet hours that followed, the room became a silent parade of grief. One by one, they entered to say their final farewells, their voices thick with unshed tears.

  Vitaliya, her face streaked with tears but her gaze resolute, approached the bedside. "Thank you, Farrah," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Thank you for showing me what a strong, independent woman really looks like. You taught me how to fight for myself, for others... You gave me a blueprint for being truly badass, and I'll never forget it." She squeezed Farrah's hand, a silent promise in the gesture, then stepped back.

  Ruy followed, his usual swagger completely gone, replaced by a raw vulnerability. He just looked at her, his eyes shining. "You are," he began, his throat tight, "you are the most awesome person I have ever met. A complete and utter badass. You loved us all, Farrah. Every single one of us." He couldn't say more, simply pressing his forehead against her hand for a long moment before retreating.

  Then came Remigio. He approached tentatively, his body trembling, and collapsed onto his knees beside the bed. "I'm so sorry, Farrah," he choked out, the words ripped from him. "Please, forgive me. For everything. I was so stupid, so selfish—"

  Farrah held up a hand, a small, tired smile on her lips. "It's okay, Remigio," she whispered, her voice barely audible. The rage that had once simmered was gone, replaced by a serene resignation. "What's done is done. We all make mistakes. I just wish you'd realized yours sooner." She closed her eyes, the exhaustion of the past five months finally catching up to her. "I forgive you."

  Marla walked into the room, pulling a chair close to the bed. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick.

  "Karma is bullshit," Farrah stated, the words a weary sigh.

  Marla reached out, gently rubbing Farrah's arm. "What makes you say that?"

  Farrah gave a faint, bitter laugh. "Because I only ever wanted good for so long, and I did so much good for others... I killed so many bad people, gave some of my earnings to those who are starving, I can't say I lived a righteous life, but it was a good one, at least." She sighed, the sound catching in her throat. "And now I'm dying before my son can grow up. This is true bullshit."

  "I can understand why you feel that way." She began to focus her magic, her fingers subtly weaving an unseen thread. "But let me tell you something about me."

  "I really don't need you preaching to—"

  She cut Farrah off, her voice dropping to a register Farrah had never heard—cold, brittle, and commanding. "Yeah... I'm gonna preach, and you damn sure need to listen." The chill in the woman's tone silenced Farrah instantly.

  "When I was 33, I already had three sons and one daughter. My boys were Henry, Liam, and Oliver. Oliver was my oldest, fifteen, and the others were a year apart." Her voice began to waver, a tremor of pain running through it, yet she maintained a terrible composure. "Now, these were my bastard children. I had them long before I met my husband, back when I was hustling, tricking just to put food on the table."

  She inhaled sharply. "I thought providing for my boys would be enough, so I kept doing what I did to provide, but I was never there." A sob escaped her, quickly stifled. "I didn't raise my kids. I let the streets and the gangs do it. Liam and Oliver told me I was dead to them. They said I never told them I loved them once in their lives, because their trash friends in the neighborhood told them I didn't. Of course I loved them—with every part of my being—but I just didn't know how to show it."

  A momentary tenderness softened her eyes. "But Henry... God bless his soul. He told me he knew I was trying. He tried to talk to his big brother... But they all got gunned down by his 'opps'... I lost three of my kids in one night."

  Rage contorted her features, stark and terrifying. "When I found out... I hunted them. Not much later... I used my string magic to strangle every last one of those murderers with their own clothes."

  She got done sewing and it was a sweater. "But even then... I still failed my baby girl too... I was obsessed with the boys' deaths. I forgot all about her too. and ran away... Left a note saying that 'she didn't want to cause you more pain.'" Farrah was stunned.

  "I... I never knew... I'm-" Farrah got cut off. "To be completely honest with you Farrah, I wasn't able to be this person either. The only reason that I like this is because of Henry. His favorite thing was reading religious Bibles, it didn't matter what kind... So, after I lost all my children that's all I read too, still do till this day and till I die. Because I learned two very hard life lessons: that children don't care much if you provide well for them or not, they only care about you being there the most, and that..." She paused, showing that the sweater says, "Hate is a cycle that needs to be broken."

  Marla met Farrah's gaze, her own eyes shimmering with unshed tears, but her expression held a terrible, quiet strength. "That's why I'm telling you this. Your death is tragic, Farrah, an utter travesty. But you broke your cycle. You had a terrible beginning, but you chose to love your son. You chose to fight for all of us. You chose good. That is not karma punishing you, Farrah. That is just life being brutal."

  She leaned forward, her voice dropping to an intense whisper. "You are dying having broken the cycle for your son. He will grow up knowing he was loved, knowing he had a mother who was a warrior, a hero, a badass. He has that now because of you. And that is the only thing that truly matters."

  Farrah's eyes welled up, and a single tear tracked a path through the grime on her cheek. "I... I love him so much, Marla," she managed, her voice thick with emotion.

  "I know you do," Marla whispered, her voice gentle again. She placed the small, hand-stitched sweater into Farrah's hands. "But you need to break his cycle, too. Listen to me, Farrah. When he learns who did this, he is going to be consumed by hate. He will do whatever it takes to get even. I know how hard it is to eat that on the chin when you want your eye back, but an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. You have to make sure you tell him that when he gets old enough to understand."

  Marla stood up, turning to leave. As she reached the door, Farrah's weak voice stopped her.

  "You never told me the girl's name."

  Marla paused, her back to the bed. "She was your best friend."

  Then she opened and closed the door, the soft click echoing in the sudden silence. Farrah lay stunned, a new, sharp pain piercing the haze of her exhaustion.

  Bella…

  Back in T'Jadaka's room, he drove his body through a relentless set of push-ups. The raw effort was evident in the pool of sweat staining the floor beneath him.

  Lilia entered quietly. "Are you good to talk?"

  He stopped instantly, pushing himself up. His eyes, still unnervingly marked with black sclera and white pupils, fixed on her. "Yeah... I can." He grabbed a towel and began drying off the sweat that glistened on his powerful frame before sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. Lilia joined him, sitting close.

  "You still mad at Remigio?" she asked, her voice soft.

  "For life," he stated without hesitation, looking down at his hands. "I'm never gonna let this go."

  A wave of sympathy washed over Lilia. "Yeah... I can't blame you."

  T'Jadaka took a slow, deep breath, wrestling with the contradiction churning inside him. "But... My mom forgave him. So I should too."

  Lilia raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Really? I thought you were still mad."

  "I am. I will forever be mad at him," he clarified, his jaw tightening. "But I just can't hate him, because the person he wronged doesn't. She let it go. So what the hell is my place to hate, when she doesn't?"

  A warm, genuine smile spread across Lilia's face. She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Are you sure you're fifteen? Because you're way too wise."

  T'Jadaka let a small, genuine laugh escape. "Well, I got it from the old lady who preaches scripture twenty-four seven."

  They both laughed, the sound a brief, much-needed moment of lightness in the heavy atmosphere.

  Lilia watched T'Jadaka wrestle with his conflicting emotions. "So... Are you gonna talk to her?"

  He looked away, his expression shadowed. "I... I don't know what else to talk to her about." His sadness was palpable.

  She reached out, gently rubbing his arm. "Just talk to her, T'Jadaka. She's your mom. Whatever you have to say, she'll love to hear it." Her smile was warm, and it coaxed a faint response from him.

  "You're right. Might as well talk to her one last time." He pushed himself off the bed, heading for the door.

  Lilia's voice was soft but firm. "T'Jadaka, wait." She grabbed his hand, and he turned back to see a faint blush rising on her cheeks.

  "What's up?"

  "Can I be... a little selfish for a few minutes first?"

  He stopped, confused. "What do you mean?"

  She moved closer, cupping his face in her hands, her gaze fixed intently on his eyes. "Turn them back for me, please."

  He blinked, and the unnerving black sclera and white pupils instantly reverted to his natural, brown eyes. A genuine, relieved smile lit up Lilia's face. "I love your normal eyes more."

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  "I know you do."

  She rose onto her toes and kissed him—a soft, tender press of lips that spoke volumes. I love him so... so much, T'Jadaka.

  He broke the kiss, his own gaze intense. Then, without a word, he gently pushed her back onto the bed, following her down. He leaned over her, holding her hands on either side of her head.

  "Jadaka..." she whispered, her breath catching.

  "I understand what you meant now," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

  "Are you sure this time?" she asked, her eyes searching his.

  She nodded, and he closed the distance between them, kissing her deeply, a fierce, passionate affirmation of their shared moment in the face of inevitable grief.

  Few minutes later Remigio was sitting outside alone.

  He buried his face in his hands, running his fingers through his hair in a gesture of raw despair. That was so dumb, Remigio. I just destroyed everything I had.

  The memory of T'Jadaka's fury—the black sclera and white pupils of a boy ready to kill—flashed behind his eyelids. Jadaka almost killed me... and he had every right. The weight of everyone's judgment was a palpable burden. Everybody is disgusted by my actions.

  Yet, the most crushing thought was Farrah's forgiveness. And even though I set up Farrah, she still forgives me for all of this... He dropped his hands, staring blankly at the ground. I don't deserve to live.

  Back in T'Jadaka's room, he and Lilia lay tangled together on the severely broken bed. Lilia was still breathing heavily, her body spent, while T'Jadaka lay beside her, a wide, triumphant smile plastered across his face.

  "Oh god... THAT was amazing, Jadaka," she managed, her voice a breathless whisper.

  A triumphant smile stretched across his face. "Yeah, it was. I was a little worried I might hurt you, but... Heh, it seems like I hurt the bed way more."

  "Well, I'm glad I can make you feel better, it feels like the least I can do." T'Jadaka pulled her closer, tracing the curve of her waist with his thumb. "You seem very happy now."

  "Yeah, you made me feel really good," she giggled, nestling her head beneath his chin. "Oh, you're so naughty."

  "Well, you started it," he murmured, his voice thick with affection, before leaning down to kiss the delicate skin just beneath her ear.

  "Stop," she whispered, a breathless laugh catching in her throat, "I'm still sore."

  Then T'Jadaka got up and got dressed. "Now... I think I can face her now."

  Lilia watched him, a mix of exhaustion and affection in her eyes. "Go on, tiger. Make sure you tell her everything. Even the silly stuff."

  He grinned, his mood significantly lighter than it had been moments ago. "Will do." He paused at the door, turning back to look at her one last time. "Thanks, Lilia."

  "Anytime, T'Jadaka," she whispered, her voice husky.

  He pushed the door open, his cheeks still flushed, and found Marla, Vitaliya, and Ruy standing in the hallway, all staring at him with knowing expressions.

  "Oh... U-umm... were we really that loud?" he asked, a nervous laugh escaping him.

  Ruy shook his head, a wry grin on his face. "Loud? Dawg, you've got a broken bed in there. I think 'loud' is an understatement."

  T'Jadaka covered his face, mortified. "Sorry..."

  "Don't be," Marla chimed in, a sparkle in her eye. "I wish my husband made me sound like that."

  "Please stop..." he pleaded, his voice muffled by his hands.

  Vitaliya added the final blow with a teasing smile. "Well, at least now we know you won't be able to sneak off for any more private time."

  "OK! I'M GOING TO TALK TO MY MOM NOW, DAMN!" T'Jadaka exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before quickly walking away, leaving the trio laughing softly behind him.

  He pushed the door open to find Farrah awake, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. Her face was pale, and the weariness of her long struggle was etched around her eyes, yet a certain peaceful acceptance now rested on her features.

  "Hey, Mom," he said, walking to the bedside.

  Her eyes drifted down to him, and a small, genuine smile touched her lips. "Hey, sweetie." Her voice was weak, barely a breath. "You look... happy."

  T'Jadaka sat down, taking her hand gently. "I am. Lilia and I... we just talked."

  "Oh, yeah?" she prompted, her eyes twinkling faintly with maternal curiosity.

  He felt a flush rise to his cheeks, but he met her gaze with a straightforwardness that surprised even himself. "Yeah. We, uh... we just became official."

  Farrah squeezed his hand weakly. "That's wonderful, T'Jadaka. I'm so happy for you both." She paused, her expression turning serious. "She's a good girl, son. Don't you ever hurt her. You treat her right, you hear me?"

  "I will, Mom. I promise."

  A comfortable silence fell between them, filled only by the soft, rhythmic beeping of the monitoring equipment. He wanted to say so much, to pour out all his grief and anger, but the words felt too large, too overwhelming.

  "I'm sorry," he finally managed, the words catching in his throat.

  Farrah looked confused. "For what?"

  "For... for not being around more. For being a dumb kid. For giving you hell sometimes."

  She let out a soft, dry laugh. "Please. That's what kids do. You've been the best part of the last fifteen years of my life, Jadaka. You made me want to be better. You made me be better." She coughed lightly, the effort draining her. "Don't ever apologize for existing, sweetie."

  He swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes. "Don’t worry mom, I’ll avenge you."

  T'Jadaka's hand tightened around his mother's, the metal of Javier's dog tag biting into his palm. He held it up, letting the faint hospital light catch the etching on the silver disk.

  "That guy who gave me his dog tag when I found you... I opened it," T'Jadaka said, his voice flat, dangerously calm. He squeezed the tag, his eyes fixed on the name inscribed on the hidden paper inside. "It gave me the name of the man who put the money on your head. Jackson Dezideriu."

  He looked at his mother, the black sclera flashing back into his eyes, a silent promise of violence. "He put that bounty on your head, Mom. Now I've got a name, I can put one on him—for free."

  But Farrah grabbed his hand, her touch surprisingly gentle, stopping the grim confession in its tracks. "No, son," she whispered, her voice weak but firm. "I don't want that."

  His eyes went wide, the rage momentarily stalling, replaced by sheer disbelief. "WHAT!?"

  Farrah nodded, her gaze distant for a moment. "It's true. I don't want you to be consumed by hate. When you find Jackson..." She trailed off, searching for the right words. "You're gonna want revenge. You're going to feel like you have to. But you can't. You have to be bigger than that, T'Jadaka. For me. For yourself."

  "So what do you want me to do? Just eat that on the chin? You got payback for Bella, so why shouldn't I?" His voice was thick with fury.

  "I know, honey, I know," she whispered, her voice strained. "But because of that, my pimp Urbano had to pay for it. How long are you going to let your life be defined by hating Jackson, sweetie? Are you going to leave Lilia and your family—for God knows how long—" She was overcome by a fit of weak coughing, and T'Jadaka held her gently until it subsided.

  "Just to chase one man?" she continued, her voice weaker but her intent clear. "With you gone after him, who will protect them? And when you do kill him, what does it fix? You might feel good for a little while, T'Jadaka... just long enough to realize you threw most of your life away for one act of revenge against one man."

  He looked at her, his face a mask of conflict. "But they... they took you from me, Mom! How am I supposed to just let that go?"

  "You don't let it go," she whispered, her eyes meeting his with fierce intensity. "You use that fire inside you to protect, not to destroy. You fight for the people you love. You be the hero I always told you that you were. Don't become them, Jadaka. Don't let their hate win."

  He lowered his head, tears finally slipping onto his cheek. "I don't know if I can do that."

  "Yes, you can," she insisted, her voice gaining a surprising strength for a moment. "You are my son. You have my resilience, and you have a heart bigger than you know. You will be okay. You will live a full life, you will love, and you will do great things. I know it."

  She cupped his cheeks, her gaze softening. "Hate is a cycle, baby... You have to break yours. You need to be better, do better... If not for yourself, then do it for me. Can you promise to at least try?"

  Jadaka's eyes, still clouded with inner conflict, searched hers. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll try, Mama... I'll try really hard."

  He looked up, meeting her fading gaze. "I love you, Mom."

  "I love you, too, T'Jadaka. More than anything."

  He leaned in, hugging her carefully, his head resting gently on her shoulder. The soft, familiar scent of her—a mix of sterile hospital air and her own faint, determined essence—filled his senses one last time. He held her tight, scared that if he let go, she would vanish.

  "Just hold me for a little longer, sweetie," she whispered, her voice barely a breath against his ear.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imprint the moment forever in his memory. The rhythmic beep... beep... beep of the monitor was a steady counterpoint to his racing heart.

  Then, the beeping changed.

  It became a long, flat, unbroken tone—a terrible, unwavering BEEEEEEEEEP.

  T'Jadaka froze, his mind refusing to register the sound. He pulled back slightly, his eyes snapping open to look at his mother. Her gaze was still fixed on him, a peaceful, small smile on her lips, but the light in her eyes was fading, dimming like a candle whose wick had finally burned down.

  "Mom?" he whispered, his voice cracking. He shook her gently, just enough to elicit a response. "Mom, what's wrong? Why is the machine making that noise?"

  He looked down at her chest, searching for the familiar, steady rise and fall of breath. There was none.

  "Mom! Open your eyes! Please!" he screamed, his voice dissolving into a raw, desperate sob.

  The door burst open and the doctor, Marla, Vitaliya, and Ruy rushed in. Marla immediately went to the monitor, her expression grim, while she moved to T'Jadaka, frantically checking for a pulse at his neck, then immediately starting chest compressions. After a few minutes she stopped and looked at him.

  "T'Jadaka... she's gone," Marla said, her voice quiet, final.

  T'Jadaka didn't move. He couldn't. He just held her, pulling her close one last time, burying his face in the now-lifeless curve of her neck. His body shook with a force that seemed too great for his frame, and the air filled with the sound of a boy's heart utterly breaking.

  Marla stepped away, her tears finally free, and knelt beside the bed, beginning a low, fervent prayer for Farrah's soul. Vitaliya's shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Ruy openly wept, his hand covering his face.

  T'Jadaka remained rooted to the spot, his mother's body still in his arms, his mind suspended in a silent, icy shock. The world felt muted, unreal. He didn't cry. He couldn't.

  Then, a low, guttural sound began to rise from deep within his chest—a sound that was not grief, but pure, nascent rage. A violent, unseen force erupted from him. The hospital room shuddered violently. The lights flickered and burst, showering sparks across the floor. The flatline alarm, which had been a steady BEEEEEEEEEP, warped into a high-pitched, metallic shriek before the machine itself exploded.

  Marla screamed, stumbling back as the very air around T'Jadaka became visibly distorted, rippling with raw, chaotic power. On his skin, dark, intricate lines began to burn themselves into existence, mapping a web of Mazoku marks across his face, arms, and chest. His black sclera and white pupils returned with a horrifying intensity, now outlined by the pulsing, black energy.

  He raised his head, and the terrifying, black-eyed gaze he fixed on the shattered ceiling was one of absolute, uncontainable devastation.

  Everyone in the room stood frozen, paralyzed by the sheer, terrifying spectacle of T'Jadaka's unleashed power. Fear held them back, but Lilia, tears streaming down her face, broke the spell. She launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around his trembling, convulsing body. The intense, destructive energy immediately began to recede, as if her touch were an anchor pulling him back from the brink.

  "You don't have to mask your sadness with anger, T'Jadaka," she whispered into his ear, her voice firm despite her sobs. "It's okay to feel."

  The chaotic energy vanished entirely, but he remained rigid, shaking, his black sclera and white pupils still glowing with residual anguish. Marla, taking Lilia's cue, was the next to approach, followed by Vitaliya and Ruy. One by one, they enveloped him in a protective, communal hug, forming a tight circle around the devastated boy.

  "Crying is good for the soul, Jadaka... Let it out," Marla said, her voice choked with compassion.

  "It's okay to break down when you're safe," Vitaliya added, rubbing his back. "You need a rock too."

  Ruy, tears staining his cheeks, managed a watery smile. "I won't call you a bitch for crying, bro... We're all hurting."

  The dam finally broke. T'Jadaka released a primal, gut-wrenching wail of grief, the tears flowing hot and fast as he clung to them, finally allowing the immense weight of his loss to crush him.

  He sobbed until his throat was raw and his body was slack with exhaustion, held safely in the embrace of his chosen family.