Chapter 39 - Cira
Drax surged forward like a bull, his black metal arm catching the low violet gleam of the overhead lamps. The floor trembled under his boots, each step a heavy drumbeat in the silence that followed his words.
Cira didn't wait. She dove sideways as his fist slammed into the ground where she'd been—concrete cracked and dust exploded upward. She hit the floor in a roll, the grit scraping her back through the thin fabric of her jacket. Heat burned through her muscles, but she pushed up fast, drawing her blade.
Drax turned, too fast for his size. His fist came again—a blur of black steel—but this time Cira met it. She ducked low and slid across the oil-slicked floor, letting his strike pass overhead. She slashed upward as she slid past him, metal hissing against the reinforced plates on his side.
Sparks burst, but the blade didn't sink deep.
Armor. Of course.
He snarled and backhanded toward her, but she was already moving—scrambling behind a stack of crates buzzing faintly with electric hums. The scent of scorched wiring filled the air, bitter and sharp.
«You can't run forever, Red!» Drax growled. He moved like a tank—shouldering through the crates as if they were paper.
Cira ducked behind another crate as it exploded into splinters. One of the humming machines sparked violently beside her, flashing bursts of electric blue across her face. The air stank of ozone and hot copper. She bit down on the pain in her side and rolled clear just as Drax's boot came down where her ribs had been.
She came up fast, blade reversed in her grip, and drove it hard toward the unarmored joint behind his knee.
He grunted—more surprised than wounded—and twisted, catching her with his metal arm. She managed to wrench free, but the force sent her tumbling across the floor, shoulder-first into a stack of rusted fuel drums. The clang echoed through the chamber, deafening.
Cira groaned and pushed herself up, limbs shaking. Blood ran warm down her forearm. The air was thick with smoke and the rising heat of sparking machines.
Drax stalked closer, his breathing loud through the filters of his mask.
«You don't give up,» he muttered, almost admiring. His black gauntlet flexed. «I like that.»
She raised her pistol with her free hand and fired—three shots. One pinged off his chest plate. The other two hit softer spots, staggering him—but not stopping him.
He charged again.
Cira didn't run this time.
She stepped in.
The impact rattled through her bones as she used his momentum, sidestepping at the last second and slamming her blade hilt into his jaw—just beneath the mask. He stumbled. She spun, kicked his leg out, then surged upward with her elbow into his throat.
Drax reeled backward, coughing. A wire sparked beside him, casting lightning veins across the wall. His mask cracked slightly—enough to show a twisted grin beneath.
Cira moved like instinct—fast, low, relentless. She didn't hesitate as Drax stumbled. Her elbow slammed into his throat with enough force to make him choke, staggering backward with a mechanical hiss from his mask. He recovered quickly, faster than he should've. His enhancements were humming now, glowing faintly at the joints. Overclocked. Running hot.
Too hot.
She ducked as he swung wildly, the wind of his punch rushing past her ear. Sparks burst as his fist struck a support beam. She pivoted, eyes scanning the room, her pulse thrumming like war drums.
That's when she saw it—a split coolant pipe, misting the air with fog. Crates and metal drums nearby were rimmed with frost. Her eyes narrowed. That's it.
She feinted left, baiting Drax into another charge. He roared, metal arm swinging wide like a wrecking ball. She dipped under it and sprinted—not away, but toward the pipe. Her boots slipped on the slick floor, but she caught herself, used the slide, and drove her blade into the pipe.
With a shriek of ruptured metal, freezing mist blasted outward.
Drax turned just in time to catch the vapor full in the chest.
His black metal arm, glowing orange at the seams, shrieked as the sudden cold hit it. Steam hissed violently, and with a sharp metallic pop, the joint at his shoulder spasmed. He staggered, mechanical movements glitching—jerky, off-balance.
Cira didn't waste it.
She surged forward, ramming her shoulder into his ribs, forcing him back into the cloud of frost. The hiss of metal freezing and cracking filled the room. She grabbed a heavy chain from a fallen winch nearby and whipped it around his arm, locking the damaged joint in place with a snap.
He tried to move—tried to swing again—but the arm was seizing. Frost spread in branching patterns over his chest plate.
She brought her blade up to his throat. Again.
And then—he laughed.
A low, genuine, wheezing laugh.
Not mocking. Not cruel.
Just... amused.
Cira blinked, breath catching. Her blade didn't lower
«What the hell is so funny?»
He raised his one good hand in surrender, still chuckling.
«You're better than I heard,» he said through the smile. «Smarter. Meaner. You don't fight like a prodigy—you fight like someone who knows pain.»
Cira narrowed her eyes, weapon still trained.
«You didn't answer my question. Lena's gear. The crates you stole.»
Drax looked up at her, eyes glinting beneath the mask's cracked visor.
«I didn't steal anything, Red. Lena gave it to me.»
Cira stared, the floor suddenly feeling less stable beneath her feet.
«What?»
«This was a test,» Drax said, standing slowly. «Her idea, mostly. She wanted to know if you were still worth betting on. I just provided the venue.»
"You're lying."
«Would've been easier if I was.» He flexed his frozen arm with a wince, while nanoBots got to Work at His Neck wound . «She said if you couldn't take it back by force, you didn't deserve it. I figured that was harsh. But now…» He gave a soft, respectful nod. «I get it.»
Cira's arm lowered a fraction. Her breath still came fast, her wounds screaming—but her mind spun faster.
«You're telling me Lena sent me into this fight knowing you could've killed me?»
Drax's eyes softened, just a little.
«Knowing you'd survive.»