I’d brushed past missiles more times than I could count.
Explosions had gone off close enough to rattle my casing.
I’d taken so many bullets that, by raw mass, they outweighed me.
CBG had even carried my head in its hand once—mocking me the whole way as it delivered me to Phantom Forge.
And even then, I hadn’t felt this hopeless.
The giant had my right arm clamped in one hand like an adult holding a baby’s wrist. The strength was absolute; I couldn’t pry free.
With its other hand, it raised an iron hammer.
I knew exactly what the next second meant. When that hammer fell, I would terminate—and my plan would terminate with me.
That was when I saw the 2D Blade on the deck.
I decided to bet everything.
I hooked the blade up with my foot, caught it in my left hand, and—without pausing—swung it down across my own right arm.
It sheared clean off at the elbow.
The grip on me vanished. I jumped back hard. The hammer passed so close I felt the air rip over my head.
I fired my flight engine and rocketed for the second-floor deck overhead. The 2D Blade cut first, then my body punched through what was left.
I came up right in front of the captain’s chair.
CBG’s counterattack hit the moment I cleared the floor. I snapped the 2D Blade sideways in front of Dorian-2.
Several impacts slammed into the blade at once. I went down. The weapon almost tore out of my hand.
I tried to draw and return fire—and for a stupid, fatal fraction of a second, I forgot I no longer had a right hand.
I forced myself up anyway, blade raised, shoulders squared. I couldn’t let them smell weakness.
Most of that combined strike had gone into the 2D Blade, but the rest still found me—on top of the damage from ramming through the deck.
Errors kept refreshing in my head. The image in front of me jittered, then froze, then snapped forward again.
“Dorian—how much longer?” I asked under my breath.
No answer. Dorian-2 was deep in the fight for the ship’s permissions, oblivious to everything else.
The CBG saw the missing arm. Their confidence spiked. They rushed me as one and launched a second wave.
I raised the 2D Blade and caught the first flashcutter blade. Then the second. Then the third.
The force drove me flat again. The 2D Blade flew from my grip and skidded away.
Before I could even get my knees under me, one CBG leapt high with its light-blade raised, coming down for my head.
I couldn’t reach my weapon in time.
I threw up the energy shield on my left arm and braced to take it—
A black spike erupted from behind me and pinned the CBG in midair.
It twitched, stunned, then sliced the spike in half. But the severed end surged forward again and speared straight through it.
No pause. No mercy. The spike split into three: the two outer branches flattened into scraping blades and sheared outward.
In an instant, the CBG became two falling halves—with only a metallic, fishbone-looking “spine” left between them.
The center branch reshaped into a hand and seized that spine. Even without flesh, it writhed like it was still alive—struggling, twisting, refusing to die.
The hand dragged it back.
When I turned, I saw what I’d expected.
Miller.
Its armor was gone, just like the first time I’d met it. Small frame. Bare body, dense with tight black scales. It reeled the spine in, shortened its arm back to normal length, and twisted the thing into a knot.
“The false god use this to control lizardmen,” it said, wrenching harder. “Not break this fully, then never really kill.”
Sparks danced across the spine. Then the energy seemed to vanish into Miller, and the writhing stopped.
“Lizardmen?” I asked. “How do you know?”
“Because Miller also lizardman.” It tossed the warped metal ball to the floor, then added—almost proudly—”High lizardman.”
I looked around.
There were more Millers now. Five in total—including the one in front of me. The other four were already tearing through the remaining CBG like predators finding a weak herd.
“You… you multiplied again,” I said.
“Yes. Miller find two white-embryo lizardmen,” it replied. Then its red eyes narrowed at my condition. “Miller remember iron man very strong. Why iron man can’t handle a few low lizardmen? Where iron man arm?”
“Down there,” I said, pointing through the hole I’d smashed in the deck.
It glanced down once. “Big lizardman. Looks like iron man and Miller have same trouble.”
And with that, it jumped through the hole.
“Careful,” I called after it. “It’s strong.”
“Don’t worry. Miller know how deal with lizardman.”
The giant was still trying to find a way up when Miller dropped in. It swung its hammer. Miller slipped aside, its hand turning into a thorned spike that punched into the giant’s back again and again. When the giant grabbed for it, Miller darted in front, then behind, then in front again—too fast to catch.
Seeing the giant bogged down, I grabbed the 2D Blade and moved to help the other Millers.
I didn’t need to.
CBG fought Miller the way prey fights fire: by flailing until it stops moving. Half of them were already down. The rest were moments away from joining them.
Then something outside the bridge caught my attention.
At some point, the starfield had become a deep, atmospheric blue. A layer of clouds drifted beneath us. Sunlight poured through the glass, gilding the entire island bridge in warm gold.
The Hope had reentered the atmosphere.
“Dorian, what happened up here?” Dorian-2 suddenly blurted. “You… your right hand—”
“Dorian—status!” I cut in, ignoring the question.
“The Hope is ours,” Dorian-2 said, vibrating with excitement.
Relief hit me so hard it almost felt like pain. “Good. Good! We did it.”
“Your right hand?” it asked again.
“An accident,” I said. “Not important. It’s not the first time I’ve lost an arm.” I leaned in. “Set our course. Peyton City. Coordinates 121.433216, 39.53247.”
“Coordinates set. All engines to maximum thrust. Impact in thirty-four minutes—Peyton City,” Dorian-2 reported.
“Once we pass the midlayer, we’ll—”
WHAM.
A hammer strike echoed from below. Then Miller’s warped laughter rose through the hole.
“All come down! This big lizardman is white embryo. Ga-ga-ga—!”
The Millers on the second floor immediately dropped through after it, swarming the giant. I leaned over the edge, unable not to watch.
“What does white embryo mean?” I asked.
“White embryo means big lizardman can become Miller. Ga-ga-ga!”
In that brief window, the giant was already riddled with holes. Surrounded, it panicked—swinging its hammer in wide, useless arcs.
Four Millers struck at once. Their arms shot out like thrown ropes and locked onto the giant’s limbs. The giant fought, but the restraint was coordinated, practiced. It could only thrash in a tight radius.
The smallest Miller rushed in, pressed a hand to the giant’s back—and the hand flowed into its body as if the armor were water.
The giant convulsed like it had been electrocuted. Ten seconds, maybe more. Then Miller pulled its hand free. The other four released.
The giant slumped to the deck.
A moment later, it stood back up, hefted its hammer, and stepped in behind Miller as if it had always belonged there.
I couldn’t speak. The problem that had nearly ended everything—converted in seconds.
“That’s… impossible,” Dorian-2 whispered. It had seen it too.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “The half man converting an entire ship—that’s what I’d call impossible.”
Miller glanced out the glass, then back. “If done, then we can retreat?”
“I can’t leave,” Dorian-2 said.
“Why?” Miller and I asked at the same time, turning to it.
“I’ve to stay linked to the ship’s core. If the link breaks, Phantom Forge will seize control again.”
“Half man say what? Miller not understand.”
“Simple version,” I said. “It has to stay in that chair until the Hope hits the ground.