Asher didn't hesitate.
He ran straight at the Omega, fists clenched, ready to break something—anything—before the machine could finish the Knight off.
The Omega turned its head toward him. Its red visor narrowed like a focused scanner.
Asher swung a punch at its side.
The Omega lifted its arm and blocked the punch as if it weighed nothing. The impact sent a sting up Asher's knuckles, like punching a wall made of steel and anger.
"…Yeah. That's solid," Asher muttered.
The Omega raised its other arm fast.
Asher barely moved in time. The claws sliced through where his ribs had been a second ago. He felt the wind of the cut.
He stepped back, eyes sharp.
The Omega stood still, perfectly balanced, claws dripping fragments of the Knight's broken sword.
"Assessment," it said in its cold voice.
"Target combat ability: above average. Margin of victory: high."
Asher scowled.
"Above average? Really? That's the rating I get?"
The Omega didn't react.
It stepped forward once.
