The lunar dust, kicked up by the catastrophic impact of my own hijacked power, hung suspended in the vacuum like a shroud of grey fog. I lay at the epicenter of the crater, the silence of space pressing against my ringing senses. My body was a wreck. The backlash of unmaking my own Divine Edict had ravaged my internal energy networks, burning through my channels like acid, and the physical impact against the moon's crust had shattered bone and pulped muscle.
But I was Divine. And my Divinity was built on the foundation of Objective Truth.
'I am not broken,' I asserted internally. It was not a wish; it was a command issued to my own physiology, enforced by the Grey.
