THE CORONA CALENDAR (Part 2): The Fight for Hite

 THE CORONA CALENDAR (Part 2): The Fight for Hite

(Excerpt from Vol. II KARLA, To Live and Die on Mars #20)

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The transmission flickered into existence beside Amara like a bad thought. Lumo—or a sliver of him, anyway—stood there, four eyes scanning the war room’s carnage. Maps burned on the walls. Advisors bled from their ears after too many hours jacked into the Menu. Amara himself was a mountain of muscle and metal, his skull-plate gleaming under the crimson light of Deimos’ false sky.  

"You look like hell," Lumo said.  

Amara didn’t turn. "You look like a bad connection."  

Lumo grinned. His hologram was glitching at the edges, a side effect of splitting himself too many times. "Got a job for me?"  

"Always." Amara finally faced him. "But this one’s different."  

A pause. The kind that came before a knife slid between ribs.  

Lumo’s grin faded. "How different?"  

Amara exhaled through his nose, the sound like a steam valve releasing pressure. "You ever hear of Hite?"  

Lumo’s fingers twitched. His Menu flared to life, data scrolling across his vision. "Old Zemord tech. Shockwave weapon. Triggers from high ground."  

"Smart kid." Amara leaned in. "I need it back."  

"Back from who?"  

"Pitt."  

Lumo’s hologram flickered. Somewhere, in another timeline, another version of him was already running the numbers. Here, he just said, "You gave a Demon illegal Zemord tech?"  

Amara’s jaw tightened. "I didn’t give him shit. He stole it."  

Lumo exhaled. "And now you want me to steal it back."  

"I want you to make sure Ari does."  

That got a laugh out of him. "Ari? You’re sending a street brawler after a gravity weapon?"  

Amara’s voice dropped. "I’m sending *you* to make sure he doesn’t get flattened."  

Lumo’s hologram dissolved, reforming into three separate transmissions—each one a sliver of his consciousness, each one set to fire at a different time. The first would reach Ari mid-fight. The second would hit Karla when she least expected it. The third?  

That one was a surprise.  For the future.

The original Lumo—what was left of him—watched the timers tick down. Then he turned back to Amara. "Try not to start a war while I’m gone."  

Amara smirked. "No promises."  

Lumo’s transmission vanished.  

———

Karla stood on the balcony of her spire, the digiton smog below twisting into neon serpents. The city pulsed—alive, hungry. She wore Atkan, the color shifting with her mood, currently a deep violet edged in gold. Expensive. Unreachable.  

A ripple in the air.  

Lumo’s transmission appeared beside her, glitching slightly.  

"You’re early," she said, not turning.  

"I’m late, actually," the transmission replied. "This is from yesterday."  

That got her attention. She faced him. "You sent me an apology before you screwed up?"  

Lumo’s grin was all teeth. "I’m learning."  

Karla sighed. The transmission was just a shade—a ghost of him, pre-programmed to say the right things. But it was still him. Still that infuriating, brilliant bastard.  

"What did you do this time?" she asked.  

The transmission flickered. "Nothing yet. But when I do—"  

"—you’ll have already said sorry." Karla shook her head. "You’re impossible."  

The transmission stepped closer. "You love it."  

She didn’t deny it.  

Then, because he was Lumo, he ruined the moment. "I gotta go. My friend’s about to get his ass kicked."  

Karla rolled her eyes. "Of course he is."  

The transmission dissolved, leaving her alone with the smog and the distant hum of the city.  

Somewhere below, a shockwave was coming.  

————

Ari was losing.  

Not that he’d admit it. But Pitt had the high ground, and that meant Hite was primed to fire. The weapon was a relic—a Zemord artifact that turned elevation into a killing field. Whoever stood higher won. Simple. Brutal.  

Ari spat blood onto the dusty hill. "Cheating bastard."  

Pitt grinned down at him, gold fangs glinting. "Should’ve brought your Blue Goo."  

Ari’s fingers curled into fists. "Don’t need him."  

Pitt’s laugh was a rasp, the sound of a blade dragged over bone. "You’re dead, little clown."  

Then—  

A ripple in the air.  

Lumo’s transmission appeared beside Ari, cobalt-blue and already annoyed. "You’re really bad at this."  

Ari didn’t look at him. "Took you long enough."  

Lumo’s hologram flickered. "I’m literally from the past."  

"Excuses."  

Pitt’s grin faltered. "The hell is this?"  

Lumo ignored him, turning to Ari. "Hite’s got a three-mile radius. You get above him, you win."  

Ari cracked his knuckles. "Then I’ll climb."  

Pitt lunged.  

————

The shockwave hit like a god’s fist.  

One second, Pitt was mid-air, gold chains swinging, claws out. The next, the Hite weapon activated, a pulse of distorted gravity slamming him into the dirt. His gang—Demon thugs with too many teeth—dropped like stones.  

Ari stood atop the hill, breathing hard. "Told you I didn’t need help."  

Lumo’s transmission glitched. "You’re welcome."  

Then it vanished.  

Ari scowled. "Asshole."  

Pitt groaned in the dirt, twitching. The Hite’s effects wouldn’t last forever. Ari had maybe five minutes before the Demon got back up.  

He turned to Fozi and Ren. "We’re going to war."  

Fozi cracked his knuckles. "About time."  

Ren’s black eyes gleamed. “Sí, jefe."

Ari's fist crackled with stolen Hite energy, the shockwave priming in his knuckles. One good hit—just one—and Pitt's smug face would be a distant memory.  

"Game over, Demon," Ari spat.  

Pitt grinned, gold fangs glinting. Then—  

A ripple in reality. A shimmering staff materialized in Pitt's clawed grip. He slammed it into the dirt.  

The ground warped.  

A wormhole erupted beneath him, swirling like liquid obsidian. Pitt fell backward into the void, still grinning. His thugs lunged after him, vanishing into the abyss.  

Ari's punch hit empty air. The shockwave tore through nothing, kicking up dust.  

Silence.  

Fozi blinked. "What the hell was that?"  

Ren's black eyes narrowed. "Un agujero de gusano portátil."  

Ari stared at the spot where Pitt had been. "Since when do street thugs have illegal spacetime tech?"  

Lumo's voice crackled through Ari's Menu—a delayed transmission, glitching. "Told you he was cheating."  

Ari clenched his fists. "Next time, I'm throwing him into Corona."  

Above them, the digiton smog swallowed the stars. Somewhere, Pitt was laughing.  

And the war was just getting started.

————

Lumo wasn’t there to hear Ari’s declaration. The real Lumo—the one who hadn’t been a transmission—was already walking across a landing platform, the wind tugging at his sleeves.  

At the end of the platform, Karla waited.  

She didn’t smile when she saw him. But her dress shifted—Atkan softening at the edges. That was enough.  

Lumo reached her. "Miss me?"  

Karla exhaled. "Like a headache."  

Then she kissed him.  

The Blade swallowed them both, engines humming, and shot into the smog-choked sky.  

Somewhere below, Pitt stirred.  

Somewhere farther, Amara watched the stars.  

And somewhere beyond that, the third transmission—Lumo’s last surprise—waited to fire.  

To be continued…

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ATILA

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