The rhythmic thudding grew louder, a deep, resonant pulse that vibrated through the Arkangel's dying structure. It was the sound of salvation, or perhaps, the harbinger of a new kind of horror. But within the grand ballroom, now a grotesque, candlelit sex cathedral, the women were too lost in their dazed reverence to fully register it.
Kavi was catatonic, his body a limp, unresponsive vessel. He lay sprawled on the velvet chair, his eyes still glazed, fixed on some unseen point beyond the flickering red glow. His nose, still faintly bleeding, left a dark smear on his cheek. Around him, the women whispered, their voices hoarse from screaming and chanting, their bodies weak from days of starvation and relentless exertion.
Lili Zhang, her face serene and almost beatific, knelt beside him. She gently wiped the blood from his nose with a scrap of silk, then anointed his forehead with more coconut oil. "The Seed has been blessed," she murmured, her voice a low, hypnotic hum. "The age of the matriarch begins." Her followers, "The Seed Keepers," echoed her words, their eyes wide with a shared, delusional faith.
Sloan Vega, ever the pragmatist, moved with a strange, almost regal grace. Despite her disheveled appearance, she exuded an eerie composure. She applied fresh gold leaf to Kavi's stomach, meticulously covering the fading lipstick marks, as if preparing him for a sacred display. "He is ours," she declared, her voice firm, possessive. "Our future. Our legacy."
Jada Valentine, the tactical cynic, moved with a grim efficiency. She forced another dose of electrolyte gel down Kavi's throat, her touch surprisingly gentle, yet utterly devoid of warmth. She checked his pulse, her brow furrowed. "He's weak," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "But he'll survive. He has to."
The water system was completely dry now. The last few drops of desalinated water had been consumed hours ago. The air was thick and stagnant, heavy with the reek of sweat, bodily fluids, and desperation. The women huddled together, their bodies weak, bellies bloated from the ration bars, emotions frayed to breaking point. They murmured things, half-formed thoughts, desperate hopes. "I think I felt something implant," one whispered, stroking her distended stomach. Mona, her eyes cold and possessive, leaned in close to Kavi's ear. "I want to name mine Ruin," she breathed, a chilling promise.
The rhythmic thudding from above grew louder, closer. It was undeniable now. The distinct whump-whump-whump of helicopter blades. A few of the women stirred, their glazed eyes slowly focusing on the ceiling. A flicker of something new – confusion, then a dawning, terrifying hope – crossed their faces.
Then, a blinding white light pierced through the gloom, slicing through the ballroom's cracked skylight. It was followed by a deafening roar, the sound of powerful engines, and the unmistakable clatter of heavy boots on metal.
The ship shuddered violently. A loud, metallic CRASH echoed from above, followed by shouts.
The women froze, their murmurs dying. Their eyes, wide and disbelieving, darted towards the sound.
Kavi, still catatonic, lay unmoving. But a single tear, silent and unnoticed, tracked a path through the gold leaf on his cheek.