Claus's blade hissed back into its sheath as the last wave of shock troopers fell to Aiku's explosive artistry. Smoke and ozone filled the air, mixing with the scorched scent of melted alloys and burning plastic. The sound of distant sirens and crackling fires rolled across Sector III like a death march.
"Enough theatrics," Claus muttered, adjusting his glasses as a chunk of concrete clattered nearby. "We need to move. Now."
Aiku gave a dry chuckle, fanning himself with a single card like he was lounging at a masquerade ball rather than standing in the middle of a warzone. "And miss the encore?"
Claus turned, eyes flashing. "You're bleeding time, Aiku. Reinforcements are minutes out. Maybe seconds, if we don't leave now our deal is off Aiku."
Aiku sighed, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. "Fine, fine. You win, Claus. Let's flee into the shadows like the sensible fugitives we are."
Claus blinked.
Aiku smirked.
"But..."
"...a king doesn't retreat. He clears a path."
