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The hologram faded, leaving everyone staring at empty air where revelations had been playing out moments before.
Nobody spoke. The silence had weight to it—the kind that comes when your entire understanding of reality needs recalibration. The memory extraction had been complete this time, not fragmented, and the sheer volume of information was overwhelming.
Newton and Gottlieb looked at each other, their usual antagonistic dynamic suspended. For once, neither had anything to say. Both their theories had been simultaneously proven and rendered inadequate.
At least one thing was certain: this was an alien invasion, not divine punishment. Cold comfort, maybe, but it was something.
"The energy restraints won't hold indefinitely," Aidan said, disconnecting the extraction device's ports from Scunner's exposed brain. "We have the intelligence we need. I'm killing it."
"Wait, what?" Newton's head snapped up. "You can't just—I haven't even studied a living Kaiju yet! Do you know how rare this opportunity is?"
His voice carried that manic edge of a scientist denied access to the world's most fascinating specimen.
"I don't have time to babysit a Category-4," Aidan said flatly. "If you're confident this cage can hold it without magical restraints, be my guest. Otherwise..."
He waved his hand casually.
The crimson energy cables vanished—just blinked out of existence like someone had flipped a switch.
Scunner's four compound eyes snapped into focus.
The Kaiju erupted.
Forty meters of armored muscle thrashed in berserk fury, slamming against the cage with force that bent steel support beams like they were made of plastic. The entire structure groaned, metal screaming under impossible stress. One of the main support pillars—solid steel as thick as a redwood trunk—buckled, bending at a forty-five-degree angle.
The ocean went berserk. Waves surged outward in all directions, rocking the pontoon bridges like toys in a bathtub. The surrounding ships listed hard, sirens wailing. People grabbed railings, posts, anything bolted down.
Several members of the group went sprawling onto the wet pontoon surface—undignified but alive.
Then, as suddenly as it started, the chaos stopped.
The crimson restraints materialized again, locking Scunner mid-thrash. The Kaiju froze like someone had hit pause, those four eyes going glassy and unfocused again.
"So," Aidan said into the stunned silence, pointing at the bent support beam above their heads. "Still confident in the cage?"
Several people stared at him with expressions somewhere between terror and anger. A warning would've been nice.
"We have what we came for," Pentecost said, climbing back to his feet with as much dignity as he could salvage. "There's no tactical advantage to keeping a liability like this alive. Kill it."
"But—" Newton started.
"Newton." Pentecost's tone didn't leave room for argument.
The scientist deflated, still staring at Scunner with barely-suppressed longing. So much lost research potential...
"If circumstances were different, I'd love to keep it alive for study," Aidan said, and he actually sounded regretful. "But I won't have time for that kind of project. Not with what's coming."
"How are you planning to kill it?" Gottlieb asked, morbid curiosity winning out.
"Magic, obviously."
Aidan's hands moved through the air, tracing patterns that left afterimages of scarlet light. A circular portal materialized in front of him—three meters in diameter, geometric patterns rotating within its circumference, the other side showing... nothing. Just darkness.
Scunner's massive head swiveled toward the disturbance, four eyes tracking the anomaly.
Aidan gestured, and the portal moved—gliding forward through space like it was sliding on invisible rails. As it advanced toward the Kaiju, it expanded. Three meters became five, then ten, then fifteen. By the time it reached Scunner's neck, the portal was large enough to encompass the creature's entire head.
The edge of the portal touched Scunner's neck.
Then it contracted—snapping closed like a bear trap, collapsing from fifteen meters to nothing in half a second.
Scunner's head was gone. Just... gone. Removed from reality, transported somewhere else entirely.
The body remained in the cage, headless, blood fountaining from the stump of its neck before the wound began cauterizing itself—posthumous biological processes trying desperately to seal damage that didn't matter anymore.
"I sent the head back to the Shatterdome," Aidan said conversationally, like he'd just completed a particularly mundane delivery task. "You'll find it in the specimen bay when we return, Newton."
"My God," someone breathed.
"Merlin's mercy," Gottlieb whispered, genuine reverence in his voice. He'd been skeptical about magic existing outside theoretical frameworks. Not anymore.
Compared to the Space Blade demonstration, this was orders of magnitude more reality-breaking. Instant spatial translocation of a multi-ton biological object across several kilometers with surgical precision.
"Forward the memory data to the Security Council," Aidan said, turning to Pentecost. "We need to discuss what happens next. Specifically, what happens on the other side of that wormhole."
Pentecost's expression was grim. Through everything Aidan had demonstrated—the magic, the technology, the casual reshaping of physics—he was beginning to understand what the young scientist was planning.
"Understood," Pentecost said quietly.
"By the way, let's not bother with the helicopter." Aidan's hands moved again, conjuring another portal. This one opened onto the Shatterdome's cafeteria—the view perfectly clear, showing dozens of personnel sitting at tables, eating lunch, completely unaware they were being observed through a hole in space.
"Food first," Aidan said cheerfully. "I'm starving."
He stepped through like it was a doorway.
The group exchanged glances. Newton shrugged—in for a penny—and followed. Then Gottlieb. Then the others, one by one.
The cafeteria went silent as a scarlet portal opened in the middle of the dining area and people started walking out of it.
Marshal Pentecost emerged looking stern and commanding, which helped sell the situation as official business rather than something to panic about. The others followed quickly. Aidan closed the portal as soon as everyone was through, cutting off the view of the offshore containment site.
"As you were!" Pentecost barked, his command voice echoing across the cafeteria. "Return to your meals!"
The assembled personnel—engineers, pilots, support staff—stared for another beat, then slowly resumed eating. But the whispers started immediately, dozens of overlapping conversations conducted in urgent undertones.
"That was definitely magic—"
"Actual teleportation! Just like the Magician Jaeger—"
"Hey, did you just eat my portion?"
"What? No!"
"That's mine. Also I have mono. Highly contagious."
"Oh, fuck you—"
Aidan spotted Mako and several other pilots at a corner table and led the group over. They claimed seats, and someone passed around trays of food—standard cafeteria fare, but nobody was complaining.
"So," Mako said, leaning forward with barely-contained curiosity. "Is there like... a Mages' Association? A council of wizards? Some kind of magical organization you're part of?"
"Nope." Aidan shook his head. "Just me."
"You're the only magician on Earth?" She looked almost disappointed.
"As far as I know, yes. But," he added, seeing her expression fall further, "I do have a biological evolution equation that can develop neural capacity and unlock abilities comparable to magic. Different methodology, similar results."
Every head at the table snapped toward him. Utensils paused mid-bite.
"You created that?" Raleigh asked, eyes wide. "A formula that gives people powers?"
"Yes. Though the requirements are steep." Aidan's expression turned more serious. "Your baseline spiritual energy needs to be significantly above human average. I discovered this during my own —if I hadn't already had a foundation from magical practice, I probably wouldn't have met the minimum threshold for the equation to work."
Translation: this wasn't designed for humans. It was designed for something with naturally higher psychic potential.
"But," he added quickly, seeing concern flash across multiple faces, "Jaeger pilots have exactly the kind of enhanced neural architecture that meets the requirements. You'd all qualify."
"You're just... giving us this?" Raleigh looked genuinely shocked. "Something that powerful?"
"Of course. Eventually, I want to make it publicly available. Global evolution would be ideal." Aidan said it like he was discussing distributing flu vaccines, not fundamentally altering human biology.
"Absolutely not." Pentecost's voice was sharp, authoritative. "Widespread distribution would collapse social structures overnight. You can't just hand that kind of power to everyone and expect civilization to remain stable."