At the instant the wreckage struck the ground, blinding light erupted first—a result of immense heat generated by twisting Ceramite. The energy was so intense that entire sections of the material at the impact site melted into glowing white liquid.
Under such colossal kinetic force, the spire's thick Ceramite walls and surrounding structures behaved like fluid. The wreckage became a stone hurled into water.
Molten-white steel and countless metal fragments erupted outward in a radiating tsunami, surging hundreds of meters high. Explosions from severed pipelines and facilities bloomed within the expanding wave.
It happened so swiftly that only now did the shockwave reach the chapel—a violent wall of compressed air from the wreckage's supersonic descent, now expanding explosively. It carried a storm of debris that slammed into everything.
Even at this distance, the shockwave struck like a battering ram, hurling Zhang Ge backward through the chapel doors.
Midair, pain flared across his body. Forcing himself to curl inward, he extended his arms as he neared the ground.
His palms hit the Ceramite floor. He felt muscles compress and bones fracture, yet he twisted mid-fall to adjust his landing. His body crumpled and rolled, dissipating force to minimize damage.
Still, when the shockwave passed, Zhang Ge lay sprawled on the floor, strength sapped. He barely managed to push himself into a half-kneeling position before vomiting a surge of blood clogging his throat.
Only then did the sound of impact arrive—a roar magnified a millionfold, drowning all tonal nuance into a deafening, omnidirectional shriek.
Soon, even this noise faded. Zhang Ge glanced at his trembling hands, realizing temporary deafness from the acoustic trauma.
He tried to slap his face to rouse his fading consciousness, but lifting an arm threatened to collapse him entirely.
His head swam. Remaining strength bled away alongside awareness.
Am I dying?
He should have felt joy. Instead, the shock left him numb, devoid of emotion.
Darkness swallowed his vision.
Within it, fragmented faces flickered—memories replaying like a film he couldn't pause. Ghosts of his past blurred beyond recognition, vanishing before he could grasp them.
Am I dead?
Uncertain whether eternity or a heartbeat had passed, the words resurfaced in Zhang Ge's consciousness. Then everything contracted. A sensation of falling upward flooded him, and gradually—from skull to toes—he regained awareness of his body.
How am I not dead?
He pried his eyelids open to a sterile white ceiling. Attempting to turn his neck yielded only faint tremors.
After what felt like hours, he managed to tilt his head sideways.
A glaring red medicae sigil filled his vision.
A hospital? No—no time for evacuation. The chapel's infirmary, then.
His sluggish mind finally registered another presence.
A figure sat nearby. Matching the face to memory: Dominica.
Her eyes were closed in prayer, palms pressed together. Tear tracks glistened beneath a veil of sorrow. Had her duty not been patient care, Zhang Ge might have been moved. Unfortunately, he was the unnoticed patient lying inches away.
He wavered between exasperated laughter and grudging gratitude for her earnest efforts.
Truthfully, Dominica was the ideal choice for guard duty—someone nonessential to frontline combat. Given the countless shockwave victims overwhelming the medicae, assigning a full Medical Sister to him would've been wasteful.
As clarity returned, Zhang Ge found strength to twitch his arm. He scraped fingernails against bedsheets, producing a rasp.
Dominica's head snapped up.
He meant to tease her, but her radiant, relieved smile disarmed him. What emerged was a whisper so frail it startled even himself:
"I'm alive."
Dominica nodded vigorously before bolting outside. She returned dragging a Medical Sister by the wrist, the outmatched caregiver stumbling to keep pace.
The Sister wasted no words. At Zhang Ge's bedside, she retrieved instruments from her power armor's med-kit. Scanning beams swept his body as she muttered technical assessments, her gloved hands moving with clinical precision.
Dominica paced nearby, brows knotted into anxious furrows. Her hands wrung together in helpless fidgeting, though she knew better than to interfere.
After repeated scans, the Medical Sister finally declared:
"Colonel Zhang Ge, your recovery is remarkable... or rather, complete. Your body is adapting."
Zhang Ge attempted a nod. The Sister instantly cushioned his skull with her palm, guiding the motion as she added:
"Still, avoid unnecessary movement. Sister Dominica—he's your charge now."
"Aye!"
No sooner had the medic withdrawn than Dominica clamped her gauntleted hand against Zhang Ge's cheek. Dissatisfied, she added her other armored palm to cup his face fully.
Trapped in this iron vise, Zhang Ge could only stare into her unblinkingly earnest gaze. Closing his eyes felt rudely theatrical, so he waited until gathering enough breath to rasp:
"Release... Her order meant... caregiving. Not... you absolute... ugh, never mind."
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