Chapter 26 - Broken

The smoke parted, and there he was—walking through the wreckage like he belonged there. Like none of it mattered. His suit was pristine. Untouched by the chaos. His posture unshaken by the weight of the bodies strewn around him. He moved with an easy, deliberate grace, eyes scanning the battlefield as if he were merely inspecting his property.

Vilrux.

The second Daglan saw him, the world exploded.

A snarl tore from his throat, raw and unrestrained. His legs moved before his mind could catch up. His body launching forward like a beast loosed from its bindings. His knuckles ached to collide with flesh, to break, tear, for the world to rain with blood—

But his fists found only empty air.

Vilrux moved like a phantom, shifting just enough to avoid each strike. A subtle step to the side. A tilt of his head. His hands never leaving the pockets of his pristine suit.

"Impressive," he mused, easily slipping past another wild swing. "I hadn't expected you to last this long."

Daglan let out a ragged growl and threw another punch, putting every ounce of fury behind it. Vilrux merely moved, letting it skim past his jaw by a hair's breadth. The bastard didn't even blink.

"Perhaps I underestimated you."

Daglan spun, driving his elbow toward Vilrux's ribs—empty space. He overextended, nearly falling forward, but catching himself just in time. 

Each breath grew heavier, his wounds screaming at him.

"You're angry. Understandable." Vilrux's voice was smooth, almost conversational. Like this was all beneath him. Like Daglan wasn't even worth taking seriously.

"Stop moving and FIGHT ME!" Daglan bellowed, throwing another desperate strike.

Vilrux sidestepped again, this time smoothly pivoting behind him. "You've got quite the grasp on Lechi," he murmured. His breath ghosted over Daglan's ear before he casually stepped back, out of reach. "Who taught you I wonder."

Daglan spun to face him, chest heaving, fists trembling. The rage was a monster inside him, but his body wasn't responding. His muscles felt like dead weight, exhaustion creeping in, dragging him down.

Vilrux studied him, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "You know," he mused, tilting his head, "I brought Rozeree along because she had potential."

Vilrux's gaze flickered to Rozeree's unmoving form before settling back on Daglan. "But after watching you three..." He gestured vaguely as if Daglan were some mildly interesting specimen. "...perhaps I should have brought you as well."

Daglan's blood ran cold, but fury surged hotter.

Vilrux's smile widened. "What do you say? Why waste your strength fighting against me, when you could stand beside her?"

Daglan barely heard the words leave Vilrux's mouth before he was moving.

"I will kill you!"

His fist swung with everything he had left—Vilrux sidestepped. Daglan whirled into another strike, aiming for the ribs—Vilrux twisted away. A quick jab—Vilrux batted it aside like an afterthought.

"You're careless," Vilrux sighed. "You let your anger dictate your movements. That's why you're so easy to read."

Daglan grit his teeth, a quick jab followed by a brutal elbow strike meant to break ribs.

But Vilrux saw it. He stepped inside Daglan's guard, caught his arm mid-motion, and twisted—fast.

Daglan barely bit back a cry of pain as his shoulder wrenched at an unnatural angle. Before he could react, Vilrux drove a knee into his stomach.

The impact crushed the air from Daglan's lungs.

Vilrux let go, and Daglan staggered back, gasping, barely keeping himself upright.

"You can't use soaring style with as little energy as you have." Vilrux shook his head. "And your wounds are making your river style sloppy."

Daglan coughed, blinking past the pain. I can't stop. I won't stop!  His body screamed in protest, but he ignored it, pushing forward with a desperate, wild swing.

Vilrux didn't dodge.

He caught Daglan's fist mid-swing.

Daglan barely had time to register that before Vilrux yanked him forward and slammed his forehead into Daglan's skull.

"And your mountain style is nowhere near the level of your others."

White-hot pain exploded behind Daglan's eyes.

He reeled, but Vilrux didn't let him fall. Instead, he yanked him in again, twisting his arm behind his back.

"You fight just like Koshu did when he was younger," Vilrux murmured near his ear, voice maddeningly calm. He hesitated—just for a moment—before his grip tightened. "All power, no control."

Then he drove his elbow into Daglan's already-bruised ribs.

Daglan choked on the pain, his knees nearly buckling. He stumbled forward, vision swimming, black spots clouding the edges of his sight.

"Still standing?" Vilrux mused, taking a step back. "Come now, you really should stop before you get hurt."

Daglan growled, forcing himself upright. "Not… even… close."

"As you wish."

Daglan charged.

But Vilrux was already moving.

His foot snapped forward—a kick straight to Daglan's chest.

The force lifted Daglan off his feet. Daglan felt the breath leave his lungs, felt his body fold around the impact. Then—he hit the ground.

Hard.

He felt his bones crack. His ears ring. His lungs burn for air.

Above him, Vilrux exhaled slowly, adjusting his sleeves and pressing the wrinkles from his suit.

"A decent attempt," he admitted. "But still not good enough."

Daglan tried to move.

His body didn't listen.

His arms trembled, barely pushing him up an inch before collapsing.

Vilrux crouched beside him, resting his forearms on his knees. Watching with mild curiosity. Daglan's entire body felt cold. The world around him was slowly encroaching on total darkness. 

Vilrux stared deep into Daglan's soul, as if searching for something he couldn't find. "You remind me so much of him."

Daglan barely managed to lift his head, blood dripping from his mouth. His vision blurred, but hatred burned through.

His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

"Go… to hell."

Vilrux didn't react at first. Just stared. And when he finally spoke, it was softer, almost distant, like he was speaking to someone and himself at the same time. "He would have said the same thing."

Then he stood, turning away from Daglan like he was nothing more than a forgotten piece of debris.

Daglan's breathing hitched. He screamed at his body to move, but he could only watch—helpless.

Vilrux stopped beside Rozeree's motionless form.

He studied her, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Amusement? Curiosity? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the way his hand reached toward her, casual, careless.

Get away from her!

"Oh?" His lips curled slightly. "Still kicking?"

Daglan's body refused to listen to him. He couldn't move, couldn't even lift his head. Every breath was a struggle rattling through his chest. Pain rooted him to the ground, heavy and merciless.

But his mind still screamed.

No! No, gods please!

His fingers twitched uselessly against the dirt. The edges of the world began slipping into a dull haze, but he could still see Vilrux standing there, could still see him reaching down, hands closing around Rozeree's limp form.

Dont touch her! Leave her alone!!

A shuddering breath forced itself through Daglan's aching lungs, but no sound came. No words. His throat convulsed, but he was silent. Powerless. Mute.

He tried to move, tried to force something—anything—to work. His arms trembled, but there was nothing left. He could only watch as Vilrux straightened. Watch as Rozeree's broken body hung weightless in his arms.

Not again!! Stop it stop it stop it!!

Vilrux turned without another word. Stepping over shattered stone, and broken bodies, weaving through the wreckage like a ghost. He walked slowly, unhurried, as if none of it mattered.

Daglan's chest heaved. His breaths came faster, sharp, ragged, like a drowning man gasping for air.

Do something! Anything! Move! MOVE!

Vilrux grew smaller, disappearing into the haze of fire and ruin, his figure fading like a nightmare slipping just beyond reach.

Daglan's hands curled into the dirt, fingernails dragging through the dust. His head throbbed, his vision swam, but his fury burned through it all. His lips parted in a silent scream.

Please… No… Not again…

But no one heard him.

When Rozeree finally awoke, it was under the same harsh fluorescent lights that had watched her transformation. The clinic's sterile air carried that familiar metallic tang—blood and antiseptic mixing with synthetic oil. Just like that first time. When she'd let Knuckles tear her apart and rebuild her. It wasn't even a year ago. But it felt like another lifetime. Another person.

The light above swam in and out of focus. Each breath sent tremors of pain through her reconstructed body. As she stared into the bulbs, memories came like shards of glass, sharp and fragmented. 

Pain. Anger.

"Daglan..." The name escaped her lips like a curse. His face burned into her memory—rage and desperation twisting his features. "WHERE IS MY SISTER?!" The force of his blow still echoed through her reinforced bones. She blinked away the memory, fury coiling in her chest. Where did you even come from?

"I told you not to ruin my work." Knuckles' voice cut through her haze, as gruff and angry as the day he'd first strapped her to his table. "If Wolf wasn't paying for you, I'd double the cost."

She barely managed to turn her bandaged neck, the movement sending fresh waves of agony. When she finally did his eyes were burning coals in the dim light. The same eyes that had watched her scream through her transformation.

"And you still owe me from before. Don't think I won't forget that."

Rozeree tried to push herself up. Bandages crinkled across her torso, her limbs, her neck—everywhere. The movement sent lightning through her nervous system. Every metic implant screamed in protest. Systems misfiring, bones grinding against metal, flesh tearing against synthetic fiber.

A howl of agony ripped from her throat. Her arms gave out and she slammed back onto the table. The impact sent fresh waves of torment through her body. Each breath came in ragged gasps, her lungs struggling to process the air.

"Idiot," Knuckles growled, "the damage went deep. Your systems are still reintegrating. Try to move again and I'll strap you down."

Vilrux came into focus, looming above her like a shadow. His mismatched eyes, cold and indifferent, not a flicker of emotion. His suit remained pristine as it always was.

"Who was that boy?"

"Daglan?"

"Yes."

Fury ignited in her chest. She glared at her mentor. "A nobody. Why do you care?"

"He and his friend thoroughly beat you. That's not a nobody." His voice was smooth, measured. "Who are his parents?"

She hesitated, breaking eye contact. "He's my adopted brother. His dad designed the wall in Greybarrow…but he was killed by yokai."

Vilrux's gaze pressed into her like a blade. "And his mother?"

"I don't know."

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, until finally, Vilrux shifted.

"You did a fine job at the checkpoint." His voice was distant, already detached. "But this is the last time I'll be in contact with you."

Something sharp twisted in her gut. Her hand shot out despite the searing pain—but he was already gone. Already turning toward the door. 

"Knuckles, zero her out and put it on my tab. Mute, I'll be waiting at the Chrome Cobra. Find me when you're ready." 

She tried to speak, but her throat felt raw, her voice little more than a horse rasp. 

Then.

He was gone.

Leaving Rozeree alone once more. But this time, for good.

Daglan. Why is it always Daglan?!

Her fist clenched, ignoring the sharp protest of pain shooting up her arm. Her teeth ground together as the metallic tang of blood filled her mouth. Everyone always had their eyes on Daglan. Everyone always cares about Daglan. Thoroughly beat me?!

A growl curled in her throat.

I'll show him. Just you wait. Next time, it'll be you on the ground. You nobody.