Chapter 51: A God Made of Steel, Part 5

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Should try to recover the katana.

If Sylvester fought the giant hand-to-hand (that is, in his specialty, even if not by training but by virtue of his size, reach, and natural strength), he would lose.

Well, maybe he would have a chance with Heather's help, but the risk wasn't worth it.

It was much less risky to get into the narrow cockpit where he wouldn't have space to dodge than to try his luck hand-to-hand. He had no doubt about that, at least.

So, he gathered his courage and approached the giant with fists raised. He had no choice; he was in the middle of his real goal. He dodged the first four punches the giant threw as smoothly as if it were a single movement.

On the other hand, that's all he could do.

With all his effort, he could only dodge. Instinctively, he knew that if he tried something else (despite what might seem like openings), the next thing to fly off would be his head from his shoulders.

There was no need to say how bad it was to get stuck in defense. The best defense was a good offense.

Fortunately, after the first four punches, he had his chance.

Sylvester punched him in the face, and it hurt.

It hurt him.

He pulled his hand away as quickly as if he had put it in the fire, but what he felt was as if the bones in his hand had been turned to mush. Okay, he didn't need the helmet to protect his head. Damn.

The giant punched him in the throat, and instead, he collapsed.

Maybe he would have finished him right there, but Heather sprang into action, finally stepping up and throwing herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing with all her might. The giant growled, but it didn't seem to hurt him; rather, he just seemed annoyed.

Sylvester crawled towards the hole that bastard had opened with his body.

Panting, struggling for every breath he took. He hadn't broken his throat with the punch, but he was sure he had come close. It was like suffocating on dry land, with not even a drop of water visible for miles around.

He got pretty close.

Then the giant grabbed Heather, lifted her off his back, and held her above his head. Was he going to throw her? In any case, what caught his attention was that before that happened, Heather pulled another black crystal sword from her body and threw it in his direction.

Oh. Right.

He didn't need to recover his katana, not for now. He would have to do it in the end; relying on a weapon that only Heather could provide would be dangerous, but for now, he could manage.

He grabbed the sword, getting up from the ground, still coughing, panting heavily.

He wasn't going to throw Heather but try to break her back over his raised knee. He saw her descending rapidly towards his raised knee. But at the last moment, he changed his mind and threw her towards him. Sylvester caught her with his free hand and barely avoided both of them ending up on the ground by stabbing the sword there, using it as support.

He didn't thank her, but there was no time for that. Neither did he want nor expect that.

They advanced toward the giant from another planet, whether from this universe or a completely different one.

They exchanged a look. It wasn't enough to set aside their differences. If they wanted to get out of this, they would have to work together. One thing he had said was true, at least: he was like them. He had proven it. He had definitely proven to be different from all his companions he had massacred in Kaleidoscope, from the crew he had easily disposed of.

They attacked him again, doing their best to coordinate and maximize their chances of victory. They weren't a team; they had never been. They couldn't leverage their full potential, but even if it was just forty percent, it was much more than going each on their own. Forty percent or less, in any case, it would have to be enough.

Even the most basic thing, attacking the enemy while he was busy with the other, helped. Especially now that both were armed. Before, he would have said his whole body was a weapon; he didn't need the katana to destroy someone. But against this man, it was different.

He had to adapt to the current circumstances. He had to overcome him.

Because...

Sylvester swung the sword at the giant's head once again, and he caught it with a bare hand. With the other, he punched him, and that was the straw that broke the camel's back; he saw it shatter into a thousand pieces of black "crystal." He had destroyed Heather's swords several times during their only battle so far. That is, he should have seen it coming.

The giant took a step forward and roared triumphantly, lunging at him.

Sylvester dodged the attack by jumping over him.

He caught the object that came at him, seeing it only from the corner of his eye until it landed.

A black crystal sword. Another one.

It didn't seem to tire Heather; she could supply him as many times as needed until the end. Until that son of a bitch's head rolled.

Everything was at stake now. If they were defeated here, humanity wouldn't have a second chance. The world wouldn't end; it would be worse than that, as if it had never started.

He couldn't let this thing erase the slate.

He didn't care that life would continue on other worlds and realities; this was his Earth, his story, his life.

Can you bear that weight?

Can you bear the weight of destroying those other planets, those other stories and lives?

Well, he didn't know. He couldn't know. But he would find out.

Soon. Very soon.

Sylvester's sword sank into the giant's side, piercing the armor for the first time. Heather was about to do the same, but in his neck, no need to pierce the armor. However, that bastard caught the weapon (probably letting it hit him because he couldn't react well to attacks) and effortlessly made it spin, throwing it towards him. Sylvester caught it with his free hand and barely prevented both of them from ending up on the ground by stabbing the sword there, using it as support.

He didn't thank her, but there was no time for that. Neither did he want nor expect that.

They advanced toward the giant from another planet, whether from this universe or a completely different one.

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They exchanged a look. It wasn't enough to set aside their differences. If they wanted to get out of this, they would have to work together. One thing he had said was true, at least: he was like them. He had proven it. He had definitely proven to be different from all his companions he had massacred in Kaleidoscope, from the crew he had easily disposed of.

They attacked him again, doing their best to coordinate and maximize their chances of victory. They weren't a team; they had never been. They couldn't leverage their full potential, but even if it was just forty percent, it was much more than going each on their own. Forty percent or less, in any case, it would have to be enough.

In any case, even the most basic of basics, attacking the enemy while he was busy with the other, helped. Especially now that both were armed. Before, he would have said that his entire body was a weapon, that he didn't need the katana to tear someone apart, but against this man, it was different. He had to adapt to the current circumstances. He had to surpass him. Because...

Sylvester swung the sword towards the giant's head once again, the giant catching it with a bare hand. With the other hand, he delivered a punch, and that was the last straw, Sylvester saw it shatter into a thousand pieces of black "glass." The man himself had destroyed Heather's swords several times during their only battle so far. That is, he should have seen it coming.

The giant took a step forward, triumphantly roaring as he lunged at him. Sylvester dodged the attack by jumping over it. He caught the object that came at him, seeing it only from the corner of his eye until it landed. A sword of black crystal. Another one.

It didn't seem to tire Heather; she could supply him as many swords as needed until the end. Until that son of a bitch's head rolled. Everything was at stake now. If they were defeated here, humanity wouldn't have a second chance. The world wouldn't end; it would be worse, as if it had never begun.

He couldn't let this thing erase the slate. He didn't care that life would continue in other worlds and realities; this was his Planet Earth, his story, his life. Can you bear that weight? Can you bear the weight of destroying those other planets, those other stories and lives? Well, he didn't know. He couldn't know. But he would find out. Soon. Very soon.

Sylvester's sword plunged into the giant's side, piercing the armor for the first time. Heather was about to do the same, but at his neck; no need to pierce the armor there. However, the bastard caught the weapon (probably letting it hit him because he couldn't react well to attacks) and effortlessly made it spin, throwing it high. With the wings torn off, he couldn't stop the inevitable. It fell on him, knocking him to the ground.

Not that it weighed much, but still, Sylvester gasped at the impact. He tried to get it off him. The giant lifted a leg to crush them. The robot's head tilted to the side, like the Leaning Tower. Everything was in flames; it had always been a matter of time before it started to collapse. In any case, that's what saved them. The giant withdrew the leg and also stepped back to maintain balance. Just that, a stroke of luck prevented him from trampling Heather and trapping him against the ground as well.

It's not like he could kill them with a stomp, but with the strength he had, it would have been very difficult to escape. Sylvester remained dry, unable to use his repertoire of skills.

That stroke of luck gave Heather time to get out from under him, crawling on the floor, and him to stand up. Which meant they were back to square one. Nothing more and nothing less than that. No, there was no need to look at it in such a pessimistic way. They had wounded the nameless giant while they were more or less intact. That was something. Little by little. Together, they had the upper hand.

Heather reached the enemy first this time. She managed to hook him with the sword, but even though he reacted in time and didn't touch her, it didn't matter. The force of the blow lifted her feet off the ground. Now it was his turn. He didn't do much better. The enemy stopped the blow that should have split his head in half just millimeters from the skin, but he did it. With one hand.

It wasn't even the first time it happened. The ease with which he broke the sword by squeezing it wasn't new either.

But Sylvester didn't dodge by jumping over the giant this time; he didn't make that dangerous mistake. It could have caught his legs and then beat him up like an angry child with a toy. Instead, he dodged backward, doing a few somersaults, and then...

Nothing.

It had been too fast, much faster than he had expected. He punched him in the face, knocking him down. He slid on the floor, sparks flying; he was about to fall off the edge into the flames. Sylvester recovered, massaging his chin. When he did the first somersault, he had narrowly avoided a hook to the chin, but this time, he wasn't so lucky.

The sword was broken, but it didn't disappear without a trace; it was just the size of a knife now.

Growling, he turned on his heels and threw what was left of the sword at the approaching enemy.

He hit it in the air with a forearm, sending it spinning far away like a metallic top, now just a blurry spot among the flames.

He dodged a series of blows, looking for the opportunity to counterattack every second, but he had to catch the last one. He used both hands to stop a single punch. But he succeeded; that was what counted. The enemy didn't withdraw his fist to attack again, nor did he use his free hand. He pushed, applying more force, as if breaking his defenses this way was particularly significant. But Sylvester didn't move an inch.

He was more than tired of losing ground to the whims of the unreasonable world and the monsters that fed on its bones.

So not only did he not give ground, he managed to gain strength for the first time, pushing him backward. He felt filled with a mysterious power, as if he had discovered a spring. But it was nothing strange or special. It was willpower. The simplest thing in the world. The most powerful and fundamental.

He came at him again, and not only did he stop the blow, he hit him twice as hard in the face. For the first time, he threw a kick, but as if he had seen the future, he rejected it perfectly with a kick of his own.

Then he turned and kicked him in the stomach, making that steel giant bend even through the armor.

I feel like I can do anything. Untouchable.

Although he stopped one of his attacks, and it could have turned into a setback, it immediately revealed itself as an opportunity. Sylvester flew, grabbed his head, and slammed it against his knee, unbalancing him. He wasn't sure what that move was called, if it even had a name, it probably did.

Immediately after landing, he swept his legs, making him slide on the metallic floor as he had done, roles reversed.

"Get ready to disappear!" Sylvester practically roared. "You better introduce yourself while you can because at this rate, I won't even remember your name."

The giant slowly got up. He coughed, spitting blood, and then ran a hand over his mouth to wipe the corners.

"Roman," he said simply.

He walked toward him.

In the midst of the exchange of blows and dodges, Heather threw another black crystal sword and joined the fight. Although he rode that surge as if it were a wave, Sylvester recognized that continuing to fight hand-to-hand would be a bad idea. Despite having better results than any of his attempts with the sword, he couldn't stop much.

So he caught the sword handle in the air.

The giant Roman caught his neck.

God, his grip was like a bear trap. He returned the favor while choking.

Roman pulled, forcing him to let go. But more importantly, it gave him the chance to break free from his grip.

Heather came from behind, stabbing him so deeply that it came out the other side, the blade wet and shiny with the blood that dripped. Sylvester tried to stab him again, but this time...

That bastard caught the sword between his teeth!

He couldn't believe it; he just stared.

Then everything changed, maybe for the last time, maybe this was the final one. Heather ended up in the flames, a rippling shadow dancing and screaming; first, she had cut off his wings, but she had taken her time to throw her into the fire. Only Roman hadn't moved; the robot had caused that with a swipe.

Can he still move, so damaged, without a crew? he thought, panicked, but soon realized it was probably just the arm.

He had saved that trick as an ace up his sleeve, and it had been very useful. Heather's sword had remained stuck in his body; he moved a hand to his back to pull it out without making a single sound, as if it were less than a loose tooth. As if he did it all the time.

Total naturalness and not a single sign of pain, even though they were so close that he would have noticed the slightest change in his expression instantly.

He didn't discard Heather's sword; instead, he attacked with it.

Sylvester hurried to stab him as well, and he succeeded, it was a mutual stabbing, but Roman did much more. When his enemy removed the sword, he lost the last thing keeping him on his feet. He staggered backward, looking at his hands. Looking at the large piece of his side that had disappeared without a trace. It was as if he had been shot with a shotgun instead of stabbed.

He collapsed, fell to the ground like a garbage bag.

Damn. Damn. He had touched victory with the tips of his fingers, so how had everything twisted so easily? Heather's screams rose in the air, echoing in his ears. Still. That meant she was still alive, but...

Damn.

Roman prepared to finish him off with Heather's sword.

Damn.

It seemed he was the one who had lost... who was going to be erased from the face of the universe. Wiped, but no clean slate, he thought. Wiped, and that's it.

However, the arm holding the sword suddenly exploded. Ice spikes blossomed on the stump, almost as if an ice arm were growing.

But he hadn't done anything.

Heather even less. He couldn't see her anywhere, so she must have fallen from the robot. What he could do was smell her. The nauseatingly sweet smell of burning human flesh.

So...

Roman lifted his head, and Sylvester followed his gaze. Cynthia, who had finally arrived with the other agents, but she had taken the express route. That is, she had jumped from the helicopter with her revolvers ahead, without a landing plan.

She's crazy, he thought.

I could kiss her right now, he thought.

And he laughed, hysterical, as he struggled to get up. Someone had to help her land.

A God Made of Steel, Part 5: END