Ryuu-9 locked his grip around the axe handle, driving his knee up. His exosystem let out a faint hum as he shouted toward the shadows where his brothers were pinned down:
"Switch weapons! Standard ammo's useless—it's a specialized chassis!"
A sharp bang—an exposed spinal module on the enemy mech detonated. The machine collapsed like a felled pillar.
Then, through the comms, a cold unfamiliar electronic voice slid in like static wind:
"Sixth vertebra is vulnerable. Standard rounds can penetrate."
Ryuu-9 snapped his head around.
A gaunt silhouette drifted out of the darkness like a specter, one hand clamping onto the hammer-wielding XI8. With effortless precision, it flipped the three-ton Exosuit aside and landed silently in front of Ryuu-9.
"Finish it," the voice said—calm, like it was telling him to play with a toy.
Ryuu-9 finally got a clear look.
Chassis-9. Stripped almost bare, skeletal frame exposed, twin CPUs glowing an eerie green. The same model that had been transported with Soulrender.
Who the hell was piloting it?
No time to process.
Ryuu-9 bent his knees and struck. Both blades came down like a guillotine.
Boom— the enemy's chest cavity ruptured; caustic fluid from its chemical battery erupted out, the air filling with the acidic tang of burning steel.
By the time he straightened, Chassis-9 was gone. Disappeared into the ruins like a ghost.
Ryuu-9 paused only two seconds—then sprinted toward the second line of defense: the Assembly Hangar.
The scene mirrored the gate—Galan Hall was now a graveyard of steel. Blood mixed with coolant. Shattered mechs lay in heaps like broken idols.
He flicked his wrist. Twin vibroblades slid from their sheaths, edges glinting with lethal light. Three XI8s still operational in the hangar—he prepared to charge.
Then he froze.
All that remained in the hangar… were corpses and wreckage. Melted Exosuits. Ruined high-spec combat units.
And at the center—the Lieutenant's Solaris Arc—ripped apart, smoking.
Ryuu-9's blood went cold.
There was no battle here.
There was a slaughter.
Chassis-9.
That ghost had cut through the Assembly Hangar and swept all the way to the gate—moving faster than radar, killing with inhuman precision.
A single thought detonated in his mind:
Kael.
"Achoo."
Kael wiped his nose.
Pyroline and Voidbreaker crouched beside him, actuator joints clicking softly.
"Boss, you cold?" Pyroline asked.
"I'm fine." Kael narrowed his eyes, a glint of ice in his smile. "Probably means Ryuu's thinking of me again."
"Ryuu is unbelievable," Arq snickered. "We split up for barely five minutes and he's already—"
Vyre rolled his eyes.
They lay prone on the dark ridge behind District 88's main compound.
Ahead, Soulrender's transport vehicle shimmered with cold light in the neon haze. District 88 had mobilized its full force—but its main hall was defenseless.
Kael's strategy: strike the heart while the enemy chases shadows.
In the distance, explosions flared across the southwestern sky—far more intense than anticipated.
Vyre's mechanical fingers tightened, arcs of static dancing across the alloy surface.
He waited for Kael's word.
Kael spoke, voice sharp, lethal:
"Pyroline. Voidbreaker."
"Lead the strike. Take 88 completely."
The Operators surged forward like unleashed war beasts. Steel and lightning roared as they descended the slope.
Pyroline's flame vents ignited, 24 jets firing in sequence—rolling waves of plasma fire consuming the night.
Voidbreaker followed close behind, deploying neutron traps along the ground. Any mech or human that touched the invisible field would instantly disintegrate at the atomic level, erased into nothing.
The night split open—
fire, steel, electric halos—
The battlefield had arrived.
Kael stretched lazily, eyelids half lowered, as if merely watching a pack of low-level NPCs scramble for kills in the snow. His gaze drifted across the battlefield—until it stopped, sharp and cold, on a line of heavy transport trucks behind the 88th main complex.
Something's off.
Those trucks were usually caked in grime, tossed around like junk. But now? They were lined up in a perfect row, covered with reinforced tarp—too neat, too deliberate. Kael motioned for his crew to cover him and slid silently down the slope like a phantom. Keeping his profile low, he crept along the wheelbase, gloved fingers hooking beneath the tarp.
Under the flickering neon glow, the cloth lifted an inch.
A massive Exosuit lay beneath—chrome armor gleaming like a blown-open star.
ChromeHaze.
Kael's pupils contracted.
He didn't waste a breath. Snow sprayed under his boots as he vaulted back up the slope, slipping once, cursing, nearly falling before scrambling into position among his men.
"Recall every Exosuit—now. Ryuu's about to get overrun."
"What?! Boss, what's—"
"Do it!"
Kael ripped open the driver's side door of the nearest transport, yanked the driver out by the collar, and threw himself behind the wheel. His knuckles turned white on the steering controls. The engine roared. The truck shot forward like a hypercoil round, racing toward the Gamma sector. Neon light from East Bridge Town stretched across the windshield like electric blood vessels.
The Dyne Syndicate.
Why the hell were their transports in East Bridge?
Kael slammed a fist into the dashboard. It wasn't retaliation from the Razorfang impersonation—no, the timing was too precise. This was orchestrated.
They didn't come here for 88th Street.
They came for him.
And more importantly—for Soulrender.
Behind him, in the side mirror, figures burst into motion—massive Exosuits sprinting across the snowfield, limbs powered by gravitic actuators, running in formation like steel hounds unleashed from hell.
Kael gritted his teeth. Ryuu-9 had to still be alive by the time he got there.
Ryuu-9 was alive. Barely.
He was standing amid a graveyard of wrecked machines and fallen brothers, barking orders, coordinating survivors with surgical precision. Kael vaulted out of the truck, stormed through the shattered gate, grabbed Ryuu-9 by his collar and yanked him forward.
"What the hell are you still searching for?! The courtyard's full of our dead!"
Ryuu-9's eyes flickered—worry, instability, and under it all, a faint, unspoken trust.
"That dual-CPU chassis… it took down four XI8s single-handed."
Kael stared at him like he was insane.
"You serious? Three confirmed kills. Chassis-9's still operational, Operator gone."
"That wreck kept me alive."
Kael's expression froze for a microsecond.
"The 88th isn't the real enemy. The Dyne Syndicate is."
"I know."
"We can't hold Soulrender any longer."
Kael's lips curved into a cold grin.
"Then let's return this bomb to the Freedom Legion—and let them choke on it."
He turned to leave.
Ryuu-9 called after him:
"Kael. There's one more problem."
Kael glanced back, brow arched.
"Orin from the Freedom Legion… he's dead. On our territory."
Kael's face went cold—like metal meeting liquid nitrogen.
"The body's been dealt with. At first light, I'll go to the Freedom Legion—"
"You won't," Kael cut him off, tone sharp as a circuit blade. "That's the Lieutenant of Neon Spire's East Bridge sector. You don't carry that weight."
The first strand of dawn bled into the neon-choked skyline, casting metallic reflections across the corpses covering Galan Hall's courtyard. Kael walked through them draped in fur, a razor-cut black suit fitting him like armor, slicked hair gleaming against the wind. He stepped over guns and frozen blood, ascended into his luxury sedan.
The convoy moved out. Behind him: Orin's coffin. Flanking it: two K-3 heavy carriers carrying Galan Hall's mark, rolling through the shattered gates toward the Freedom Legion's base thirty kilometers away.
The streets of Neon Spire were unnaturally silent, the air tasting faintly of neon and static. As Kael's convoy pulled into the Legion compound, rows of Operators in black tactical suits stood at attention, lined with military precision—eyes alert, posture rigid, their collective gaze fixed on him. Their faces held not just vigilance… but fear.
Kael stepped out alone, leaving Arq behind. Every step he took parted the crowd like a magnetic field forcing metal aside. His eyes swept over them, cold, sovereign.
He stopped before the grand steel doors of the council hall, sealed shut. Beyond that door, in the heart of the shadows—waited Saphira, overlord of the Freedom Legion.
"Kael of Galan Hall, Gamma East Bridge district," his voice cut through the wind like a coded transmission, "requests audience with Saphira of the Freedom Legion."
A rumble of discontent rolled through the ranks. The doors stayed silent.
Kael turned. With a flick of his fingers, Arq signaled the coffin team. Four men lifted Orin's casket and carried it toward the hall with slow, thunderous finality.
"Flatten Gamma!"
"Blood for blood!"
The chants broke out like metal clashing steel. Kael answered with a single cold laugh, then spoke, low and lethal:
"Orin wasn't killed by Galan Hall. He was killed by 88th Street. Their Lieutenant is already dead—by my hand."
Silence. Then chaos.
Like a virus through data streams, the news rippled through the ranks: Neon Spire. Etsu. Gamma. Power equilibrium shattered.
The council doors trembled. Kael lifted his right hand—not threatening, but absolute. Guns drew. Kael gestured once. Stand down.
The twin K-3 carriers groaned as their beds tilted. Hydraulic locks released with a hiss.
Out came the Freedom Legion's own Solaris Arc—and next to it… Soulrender, four meters of annihilation-grade alloy, humming with death. The air froze.
A thunderclap.
The great doors slammed open.
She emerged—boots striking steel, a woman in her early twenties, black ponytail swaying like a whip, eyes bright as laser sights in the neon glare. Her presence was a monolith of authority—so absolute that even the armed Operators bowed as one.
Kael spread his arms, easy, mocking.
"Saphira. You received Galan Hall's gesture of goodwill, I hope?"
Her eyes cut through him like a scalpel. Her laugh was sharp, toxic honey.
"Goodwill? You return my asset a day late and call it goodwill? My man dies under your roof, unexplained—and you think delivering a corpse counts as respect?"
The air locked. Neon light refracted in her eyes like blood crystallizing.
She reached behind her waist, drew a short blade glimmering with cold neon light, and let it fall.
Clang!
It struck the ground at Kael's feet.
"Stab yourself," she said, voice like an execution protocol activating. "Then we discuss goodwill."
Kael's brow twitched. His stare locked on hers—a silent collision of power. Then, he laughed.
He ignored Arq's outstretched hand, bent down, picked up the blade, weighed it in his hand.
"Good steel," he murmured.
He pulled open his suit jacket—unbuttoning one, two, three—revealing the left side of his ribs. No vital organs.
"If I stab myself," Kael said softly, lips curling, "you come with me into the war against 88th Street."
Saphira crouched slightly, chin resting on her hand, smiling a smile that could cut arteries.
"You stab first. Then we'll see."
Kael pressed the blade between his ribs. The tip kissed flesh. His jaw clenched. A silent thought flashed—Ryuu.
"Hnng."
Blood welled through the white shirt, crawling down his hand. But his eyes never left Saphira's.
Her smile died.
"Return the blade," she said quietly.
Arq erupted: "Freedom Legion, don't you dare cross that line!"
Surrounded by armed Freedom Legion Operators, not a single one dared speak.
Kael clapped his blood-slicked hand on Arq's shoulder, head tilting up as his lips curled into a feral, neon-lit smirk—dangerous, predatory, like a glitch in the city's pulse.
With a violent pull, he ripped the blade from his side. In a single motion, he swung his arm—the knife's edge brushed past Saphira's hair, slicing a strand clean—and thunk—embedded itself into the council hall door, trailing a streak of crimson across the steel.
Saphira rose slowly, one hand on her knee, voice cutting through the air like a sonic blade.
"Is everyone satisfied?!"
Silence detonated like a muted explosion.
She reached up, drew the knife from the door, wiped Kael's blood across her uniform, then raised the blade skyward. Neon flame flickered in her eyes.
"From this day forward—the Freedom Legion and Galan Hall are brothers-in-arms! On another day, I, Saphira, will personally step into Galan Hall's domain!"
A roar erupted across the compound. The ground shook. The echo of their war cry clashed with the neon sky like thunder ripping through steel.
Kael didn't respond.
Brow furrowed, he turned and stepped away through the snow. Each footfall left a clean red line—blood tracing a straight path behind him, unbroken, relentless. He reached the vehicle, collapsed lightly onto Arq's shoulder, suppressing a groan of pain that barely escaped his throat.
And in that moment—the entire metropolis seemed to tremble with him.