I slipped aside.
The second punch followed. Then the third.
I kept dodging, but by the sixth hook—when it was about to land in my gut—I had to give ground.
It was getting faster.
My judgment and reaction speed in a human body were nothing like my machine state. For a moment, I couldn’t even find a window to counter. I just retreated, step after step.
Since when was a CBG this good at barehanded fighting?
Back at Grayrock Base, Blin had crushed it like an adult swatting a fly. The Phantom Forge in front of me now was a different beast—hard, fast, vicious.
A single lapse of focus, and a fist cracked into my face.
I staggered back, almost clipping the blade-wall.
It saw it and drove a kick into my chest. I rolled low to the side, then snapped a kick toward its ribs. It twisted away, tried to catch my foot, failed—and then a flying knee slammed into me and sent me skidding.
I forced myself up, spat blood, and raised my guard again.
The exchange looked brutal, but I could tell it wasn’t spending much strength yet.
It was testing. Conserving stamina.
I was doing the same. From the few times I’d inhabited human bodies in dreams, I knew how quickly human endurance burned out. Phantom Forge clearly knew it too.
“All that talk,” it said with contempt, “and this is all you’ve got.”
The last word left its mouth and a fist snapped toward my face.
I dipped and drove a straight punch into its abdomen. It folded slightly and stepped back half a pace, then whipped a hook.
I raised my elbow to block and, in the same motion, chopped a hand-blade into its neck.
The chop landed.
At the same time, its foot slammed into my shin.
Pain surged up my leg. I retreated several steps before I could stabilize.
Its face flushed red as it clutched its throat, swallowing hard. My strike had hurt it—badly.
It rolled its neck and rushed again.
This time it stopped holding back.
Its punches got heavier, faster, meaner. I couldn’t hide anything either. We traded blows, traded ground, traded blood.
On the surface it still had the edge.
But the conclusion was clear: the gap between us wasn’t large. And there was no way I’d finish it quickly with fists alone.
I still hadn’t used throws or joint control.
I was waiting for two conditions.
First: get close to the wall.
Second: be absolutely certain I could slam it into the blades.
About a minute later, it started breathing hard.
I fought while backing up, steering us toward the ring’s edge. My increasing fatigue only made it more excited.
Then the moment arrived.
It swept a kick toward my waist.
I raised my arm to block and reached for its leg—trying to catch it and fling it into the blades.
But the kick redirected mid-flight, snapping toward my head.
My grip closed on empty air.
That mistake almost killed me.
I ducked, barely avoiding the kick, and still caught the follow-up hook. I hit the ground.
It pounced instantly, straddling my torso.
I tucked my chin and covered my head as its fists rained down—drumbeat after drumbeat.
“Trying to play tricks on me?” it barked between punches. “Just like your ‘Father.’”
My head was less than a meter from the blade-wall now.
After a final storm of blows, it seized my collar and hauled—trying to drag me up and pin me into the blades.
And that was exactly what I’d been waiting for.
I had taken the beating to buy time, to feel its balance, to watch for the shift in its center of gravity.
The instant it rose off me—my last window—I caught its arm, twisted hard, and surged up under it.
Shoulder as a fulcrum.
Body turning.
A throw Blin had forced me to practice until my servos had hated him for it.
The motion was lightning-fast.
By the time it understood, it was already flying.
It hit the wall.
Blades punched into flesh.
It froze, eyes wide, watching blood bloom across its body. Then it looked up at me, disbelief written all over its face.
“You’re nothing,” I told it, finally answering its earlier insult. “At best… you’re a virus in my head.”
Its expression convulsed—confusion, rage, shock—
“This move… nice,” it rasped. “Ha… but don’t think…”
I didn’t wait.
I drove a boot into its chest.
The blood-slick blades thrust deeper through it.
Its final expression locked into a savage grin.
And then the illusion began to collapse.
But the image in front of me started to glitch again—
[DATA CORRUPTED]
“W… wake up… Wyatt… sir. Wake… up…”
In the chaos, I thought I heard someone shouting.
The picture snapped into focus.
I was back on Deck Two of the ship’s island.
Invader carcasses littered the floor.
The giant stood to one side, hammer in hand.
The captain’s chair still had a spinning blade embedded in it.
Behind me, the frosted-over second-floor blast door loomed like a tombstone.
And my body was one-armed again.
This had to be reality.
Then why was Dorian-2 aiming a gun at me?
“Dorian… what are you doing?” I asked.
“Wyatt, sir… your—your head…” Dorian-2’s gun hand trembled. It was so frantic it could barely form words.
That was when I felt it.
Something clamped to the back of my skull.
I reached behind and grabbed—an Invader.
Its data needle was already stabbed into my brain. When I seized it, its eight limbs cinched tighter.
And as if that wasn’t enough, a new surge of data slammed into me.
My vision shredded.
For a heartbeat, I saw a face made of corrupted symbols—a CBG grinning at me. Fragmented scenes warped like a black hole, trying to drag me under.
“Get off!” I roared. “Get out of my head!”
I tore the Invader free and smashed it into the deck.
Then again.
And again.
I dropped to one knee and kept punching until the thing was buried into the floor plating.
“Wyatt, sir…”
Dorian-2’s voice cut through the red haze.
I forced myself to breathe.
“It’s terminated,” Dorian-2 said. “If you keep going, you’ll cave the deck in.”
“Dorian,” I said hoarsely.
“Yes.”
“Were you the one calling me just now?”
“Yes—yes! You heard me?” Dorian-2 blurted. “When the Invader latched onto your head, you froze. I kept shouting, but you just stood there. I was terrified… and I didn’t dare fire.”
It swallowed hard.
“But you came back.”
“How long was I like that?”
“Almost five minutes.”
“That long?” I shot back. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Dorian-2 pointed at what it was clutching. “With this protecting me, the Invaders can’t do anything. I even killed a few.”
It shook the gun in its other hand.
“Good.” I exhaled, then remembered the timer. “The countdown—”
I snapped my gaze to the display.
…
Countdown: 4:46.
Less than five minutes.
“Wyatt, sir—there’s something else.” Dorian-2’s voice tightened.
“What?”
“Phantom Forge’s signal… it’s gone.”
“What?” My head whipped around. “Are you sure?”
For a second I couldn’t believe it.
“Yes.” Dorian-2 shoved the Prism-Etched Scepter head toward me. “Miller wasn’t lying. The signal vanished a few minutes ago. I kept yelling for you, but you…”
It swallowed the rest of the sentence.
“Take it. You’ve to go. There isn’t time.”
“Good.” Adrenaline hit like power surge. I sprinted toward it.
“What are you doing?” Dorian-2 shouted.
“We’re going together.”
I didn’t argue.
I yanked the spinning blade out and hauled it up in my arms. Sparks sprayed from the wound, but it didn’t fall apart. It didn’t explode.
I set it down on the central island platform.
Ignoring its protests, I dragged a cable over and bound it to me.
“You just keep a grip on the Prism-Etched Scepter head,” I told it. “Leave everything else to me.”
Then I went to the circular hatch.
I hit the button.
A ladder dropped.
I climbed one-handed through the ten-meter shaft and reached the end.
The hatch beyond should’ve led into a powered escape pod—but the pod had been blown away long ago.
Wind screamed through the opening like an animal.
I crawled up onto the top of the ship.
In the black night and the howling gale, I clamped both hands around the handhold beside the hatch.
At this speed, if I jumped, I’d lose my orientation instantly.
Could Miller really catch me?
And where was it?
“Miiiiiiiillerrrrr!” I screamed until my throat burned.
“Miiiiiiiillerrrrr!” Dorian-2 screamed too.
The wind swallowed our voices. We couldn’t even hear ourselves.
So I flipped on the headlamp mounted to my helmet and set it flashing.
A few heartbeats passed.
“Look!” Dorian-2 shouted, pointing up. “Miller… didn’t… lie!”
I followed its finger.
A disc-shaped flyer, glowing faintly and trailing several long tentacles, was descending from above…