No. This isn't something you have to stop. Stella said it herself - the world has been returned to chaos, whose one and only law is that the wasp lays its eggs within the living, and this prison is merely prey that doesn't understand yet that it is dead.
Let's.
Kill.
It.
You emerge knife-first from the inside of a riot visor, shattering and splintering the helmet; your blade pushes into the guard's eye, and you hit its chest feet-first, coiling and springing away, leaving that blade behind. It doesn't even have time to scream as its blood warms your sticky body, layering over the cooling gore of the last set. You snatch the truncheon from its belt as it falls and crack it across the side of another's head, and the noise attracts the attention of its comrades who turn, guns raised, while the red haze descends on your vision.
Idiots. The right move was to drop the guns. You grab the visor of your victim and send it lancing into the guard's face, spikes of glass piercing bone in a flood of crimson before you shove it into one of its comrades, who shrieks in terror and vomits behind its visor. Thick liquid is splattering the catwalks and splashing onto the concrete far below, adding a sludgy dripping sounds to Marie's prayer:
"...I walk from safety and comfort, beyond the reach of kindness, into your dominion; I call the name of the old law, which is Wasp, and seek its wisdom..."
You kick out and toss the pepper spray you'd taken from the guard earlier. Some part of you, the part that is tearing its way from sleep to kill and not stop killing until you know you're safe because everything is dead, wants to flex your power and make it release mustard gas or fire or something else dire, but that won't be necessary. All it has to do is explode; the cloud of stinging chemicals makes your eyes water instantly, forces you to turn away, but the three guards within it are breathing capsaicin instead of air, and are already dead, just like the prison. They just don't know it yet, though from the way they choke and vomit and strain, failing to speak, they're learning quickly.
Good. Suffer. Die.
The door at the ground floor flies open, and Nattie wastes no time throwing a knife at the catwalk opposite to you; its shadow breeds into a storm of tenebrous blades that hurtle along the walls and across the floor, some sticking in the shadows of books and shelves, others lancing into the guards and releasing torrents of blood and bile from wounds that appear under their armor, gifts from blades of no iron.
"...cast me into chaos and let me return not until I can carry the embers of its lore back to a home that loves me!"
And the Wasp says, in billions of droning voices: It is done.
The physical prison doesn't change. What happens is not there, is not present; it is not a thing of the world of concrete physics, where objects fall when you drop them and actions have an equal and opposite reaction. But you hear Marie scream in agony, smell charring flesh, and then, and then, and then...
Worms. No, not worms. Larvae. Dozens of them, hundreds, thousands, flooding into the Panopticon from the epicenter that is Marie's pain, chewing through the manifestation. You see shelves in the physical prison buckle, bend, huge rending bites taken from them that continue into the walls and the floors; guards scream from other rooms as the young of the Wasp chew through legs and arms and torsos with mandibles that do not care for the real reality. The lights flicker, then die in a single moment, the air conditioning cuts out, and you can hear the Warden calling for a general retreat, to fall back to defensive positions. Bullets pregnant with its hollow Law spit from clattering guns, and insectoid voices shriek in hunger and in pain, while they kill, while they die, and you catch the truncheon of a guard who thought you were vulnerable and hurl it off the edge of the catwalk without a second thought.
Nattie calls from down below: "YOU SUMMONED THE FUCKING WASP? THIS PLACE IS GONNA COME DOWN -"
Shakily, thickly, her voice full of pain, Marie says: "It might not. The manifestation's not st-stable, but it's...it's strong." You hear a buzzing sound, see a glow, and then...
Oh. She's glorious. Marie rises into the air on wasp's wings, crystal-clear things as delicate as gossamer whose glass panes contain and restrain the raging infernos of the god of chaos.
"Orchid?" she asks, and you nod. "Gods be praised," she whispers in pure relief. "...Orchid, we gotta kill the Warden. Please."
Nattie swears in a language you don't speak. "We need to evacuate whoever we can."
Choose 1
[ ] Agree with Marie
[ ] Nattie has the right of it
[ ] Those two should lead an evacuation, you're killing the Warden
