Perched on the edge of battle, Rey narrowed his eyes and paused. Facing Jacob wouldn't allow for a drawn-out fight—he needed to strike hard, fast, and smart.
He glanced around, scanning the terrain for an edge.
Spotting some rods dangling above, Rey swiftly climbed the nearest wall and pulled himself onto the rooftop. From that vantage point, he crouched low, waiting like a predator in ambush.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Then came Jacob's voice—arrogant and venomous.
"Boy, I know you're here. Come out and I'll give you a painless death."
His voice echoed across the mechanical scrapyard. Jacob's large frame moved methodically, scanning the ground for movement.
Rey narrowed his gaze and used telekinesis to lift six fragments of metal from the ground. His mind throbbed under the strain, but he forced them forward—firing them like bullets.
Jacob spotted the glint too late. He smacked two aside with his arm, but the other four struck his chest and legs, staggering him.
Rey didn't hesitate. He dropped from the rooftop with both daggers drawn, his body a blur. Even though his mind screamed from strain, he pushed through, channeling everything into the descending strike.
Jacob spun in shock—too slow.
Both blades sank deep into his shoulder, three inches of steel buried in flesh.
With a grunt of rage, Jacob activated his armor. One of Rey's daggers shattered under the strain, metal twisting from the pressure. Rey barely yanked the second one free before it could suffer the same fate.
Now down to two daggers—one hidden—Rey backed off. Jacob roared and kicked him hard in the chest, sending Rey tumbling into a pile of machine parts.
Metal clanged, dust scattered, and Rey groaned as sharp pain lanced through his ribs.
But he refused to fall here.
His breath rasped, his vision blurred, and he felt the fight slipping away. Desperation gripped him. Then he triggered the one skill he had hoped to save.
A golden warmth surged through him. Torn muscles realigned. Broken ribs cracked and snapped back into place. His body began to restore itself with unnatural speed, but at the cost of stamina. A tenth remained.
—Skill Activated: Supreme Regeneration—
Active Mode: High stamina/mana drain for rapid healing.
Passive Mode: Slow, consistent regeneration that enhances physical endurance over time.
__
Within seconds, Rey stood tall again—damaged but functional.
Jacob's eyes widened. "That's no skill. That's an artifact."
Greed sparked in his gaze. He stepped forward, voice trembling with desire. "Kid, today's my lucky day. That healing item—it's mine."
He was already daydreaming of how it would complete his collection.
Rey took a cautious step back. But Jacob snapped back to reality and charged, his massive mace aiming straight for Rey's skull.
Rey ducked just in time—the mace whooshed past with terrifying speed.
The fight resumed. Jacob swung with rage, but each strike grew slower. The armor weighed him down.
Then Jacob made a mistake.
He removed his leg guards, underestimating Rey. It increased his attack speed, but left him exposed.
Thanks to Victor's gifted passive—Godly Adapter—Rey's body rapidly adjusted, compensating for Jacob's boosted aggression.
Jacob kept shedding armor until his upper half was nearly bare. The arrogance was staggering.
Then he tripped—his boot catching on a rogue pipe. A loud crash echoed.
Rey seized the moment.
He lunged forward and struck Jacob's wrist—the one holding the mace.
—SLASH!
The hand came clean off.
Jacob howled in agony.
Rey kicked the weapon away and grabbed it, only to feel the relic tear itself apart—Jacob reclaimed two-thirds through some hidden mechanism.
Still, Rey clutched his fragment of the artifact, panting.
Jacob dropped to his knees and tried to reattach his hand with dark particles—but failed. He could still feel it, like a phantom limb.
Bloodshot eyes locked onto Rey.
"You're dead, boy."
Jacob summoned what armor he could, but it was weaker—thinner. He was running out of energy. He knew it. Rey knew it.
Then—ding!
Rey froze. A way out—right now.
But only if he gave up the target.
He stared at the message.
Sweat ran down his brow.
The decision hovered before him.
Would he run—or finish what he started?
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--> To be Continued...
Will Rey flee, or claim victory through blood and fire?
Only fate knows.