Gaia still stood. She still lived. A million years in the blackness of space. Fourteen years in a hole in the ground, growing, mutating, becoming the gaiaphage. Not dead yet. The body it inhabited was beyond agony, but the gaiaphage lived, and it could still kill. And there before her was Caine, somehow smiling. Not a cynical smirk: a genuine, happy smile. And there, rushing up the road, Diana yelling, “No, Caine. No!” Even Sam, still alive, excellent: her powers would be undiminished. “Hello, Darkness,” Caine said. Gaia’s face fell. Her bloody, feral grin faded to be replaced by lips drawn
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