Chapter 52: A God Made of Steel, Part 6

Sylvester finally stood up. He had to help her land, but everything in life was easier said than done. He couldn't think of anything, but he didn't have time to think either. He was still practically dry. He didn't have enough skill points to use [Infernal Wings] or any of his skills, but maybe he could...

Well, it was worth a try. And if he couldn't, he could jump after her or something.

Sylvester hit the ground, activating [Needle Mountain]... or the needles he could manifest before the ability drained him of energy. Instead of a mountain, the needles barely reached above his ankles. This was only step one of two in his hypothetical plan, but he thought he could give up now and regret wasting time trying that.

He ran to try to catch her before she crashed, but then she provided the simplest answer to why the hell she had jumped from a moving plane without a parachute. Not that she had a parachute and it had malfunctioned, or that she had stupidly forgotten it, but she didn't need one.

A few meters before impact, she pulled the triggers, but only gusts of wind came out. Right, as he had seen on the island. Fire and ice. That way, she could land smoothly on the battlefield surrounded by flames.

"I see. So, she's the last," Roman said. "Well, good. That way, I can kill three birds with one stone."

The last one.

So, she was one of them, a Champion of this world.

No, of this universe.

She was like him, like them, now.

Cynthia had received the power of the wind the same night the Lunar Princess had come into the world. Heather might have accelerated this disaster, but she wasn't responsible for the important things. The invasion, this cruel game. What would happen when Sylvester killed Roman and the other Champions, wherever they were. Because he had to be the one to deliver the finishing blow, no matter how much help he received to defeat them. He couldn't make someone else bear that burden.

He wasn't even sure if he could handle it himself, but well...

Forgetting wasn’t an option. And someone had to do it.

(someone has to do it, and it's always you, always you)

"I am what I am," Cynthia said. "You're a dead man."

For a moment, he wondered if the gun had jammed. Roman punched the air with the only arm he had left. Or at least, it seemed like he only hit the air. However, Cynthia grimaced.

"Or not," she simply said.

Sylvester understood everything very quickly. The ice had come quickly and without warning, not just because he had been too engrossed in the fight to notice the details. The ice must have been nothing more than invisible energy before hitting Roman and exploding. After all, it wasn't that he had lost his arm due to the violent growth of ice, but it had started to grow after he lost it.

In any case, it wasn't so invisible.

Roman had somehow seen and intercepted the shot.

He refused to fall, to stop fighting. How could he with everything at stake? He understood that, but he couldn't feel compassion for him.

Do you even have a heart that can feel compassion?

Cynthia shot that bastard several times, but he intercepted each shot with a punch. Sylvester supposed that it wasn't energy if it could break so easily, if it didn't take effect just by touching him, whether after a punch or by surprise. But the problem was that, even with only one arm and bleeding profusely, he was a dangerous bastard.

***

When the flames engulfed her, her mind went blank.

Heather was only pain as she screamed, tried to crawl out of the flames only driven by the impulse to escape the pain, and fell from the giant robot. Hitting the ground after such a long fall didn't help much.

Moreover, she hadn't escaped the flames. They kept devouring her, and she couldn't bear it.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Maybe she should be able to endure this and move on, but it was her first experience with this level of pain. Not even Sylvester had hurt her so much in the fight. She didn't have the tools to handle it, the experience.

And she didn't want to have experience with this; she could smell her own burning flesh!

Heather crawled on the ground blindly. She didn't scream now. She couldn't even, her throat was sealed by pain. Anyway, there wasn't enough air in her lungs to scream as she did at the beginning when she felt the flames' kiss for the first time. Now, all that came out of her throat were silent gasps, like... yes, like a flat tire, she had seen that plenty of times in the last few days (meaning, ninety-nine percent of her life).

It was that. A flat tire.

In flames, wings torn off, was she going to die here? How absurd.

It was so absurd that it was impossible to accept.

She had been born for a 'reason,' not just because two people had fucked. What sense would it make for her to die without accomplishing anything?

The fate that had laid the groundwork for her birth had not abandoned her yet. Weak and agonizing, she managed to crawl to the source. To extinguish herself. Her whole body hurt, even breathing was painful, but she was alive. And she would recover. That monster hadn't followed her to finish her off; he must be busy with Sylvester.

She saw it with Sylvester and that woman. The name escaped her right now, as it usually did. Sylvester was an exception in many ways. Not only was he her equal, but he was the one who gave her a name.

She couldn't forget someone so important, but there were literally millions of people like that woman.

She took a deep breath, trying to control her breathing, waiting for her lungs to heal. Could anyone blame her for her indifference? The opposite would make as much sense as a human bending down to ask the names of the ants that had settled in their backyard.

When she recovered, she would join the fight again. And she would be the one to win, fighting side by side with Sylvester.

She would be his companion, his equal.

Not that woman.

That intruder.

***

Roman closed the distance after repelling the shots and grabbed Cynthia by the throat, squeezing, lifting her effortlessly. As if he were handling a doll. Maybe they were Champions with the same powers (or rather the same power), but there were still clear differences between them. Heather had called it a difference in the quality of the base material. He supposed she was right.

Sylvester lunged at the enemy; at this rate, he wouldn't drown her; he would crush her throat, and she would suffocate herself.

Roman shattered his sword into a thousand pieces without even turning to look at him. Maybe he should have gone for my katana after all, he couldn't help but think as the fist aimed to crush his skull like a hammer.

But it didn't happen. What happened was that Ryan landed, transformed into Lunar Remnant and ready for the fight.

Ryan hit the enemy with both arms, with all his might. First, making him release Cynthia. And second, sending him to embrace the warm hug of the flames. He should have counted on reinforcements, but as usual, he had the arrogance that only he could make a difference in the end, and Ryan hadn't even crossed his mind.

Heather managed to climb to the top of the robot. She had serious burns all over her body, and it could be said that she was staggering forward rather than walking. There she was, alive and ready to join the fight again.

Furious, more than hurt. Furious enough not to even wait to fully recover, just enough to get moving again. Human or not, she possessed incredible willpower. In that state, Roman would crush her even more easily, but it was still admirable.

Well. She would if it weren't for the fact that she was now being grilled.

It was satisfying even for him to see that she had taken the place of Heather just a minute ago. Sylvester got into the robot just in time to pull the katana out before losing it forever to the flames. Or when something exploded.

He saw Cynthia shoot at him twice as soon as he emerged. Not with wind or ice, but with real bullets. One of them came quite close to killing him, hitting his left cheek, passing through his dentures, flying through half a dozen teeth, and coming out the other side. If the bullet had flown a little more to the right, it would have shattered his chin and reached his brain.

"No," Sylvester said. "Not yet."

Sylvester approached the flames and dragged the giant out, or what was left of it. Shattered just like the ruins of his robot in an equally bad state. The armor was charred, but mostly his face. The left eye grotesquely hung from its socket, only a miracle (a miracle and some last shreds of flesh) kept it in place.

"Where are the others?"

"I'm like you. You know I'm not going to tell you. And..."

"What? And what?"

"I'm not dead. That means I'm not defeated."

He could say whatever he wanted. The truth was that he was burned and defeated, surrounded by the strongest people on this planet. The truth was that the helicopters had landed, and the agents had broken the broken god made of steel. Even if he escaped them, reinforcements wouldn't let them leave here; they would stop him.

Still, he sounded too confident.

And that smile. That damn smile.

"What have you done?"

"I still had another card up my sleeve. Don't bother; it's already too late."

Heather hugged him and threw him to the ground, lying on top of him. Maybe in her state, she wouldn't have been able to, but Sylvester went with it, thinking that there was probably a good reason for that. Thinking that maybe she knew exactly what she was talking about in that lunatic state.

A hug was no protection.

Heather manifested a black dome-shaped barrier around them. It spread, covering Cynthia and even Ryan when he crouched. On purpose, as if he cared, or by accident? He didn't know; actually, only the result mattered, and he didn't have time to think about that. Or anything.

Because the ruins of the robot, that god made of steel, twisted, broke, and melted.

Exploding, turning into a nuclear bomb.

At that moment, he didn't know that, of course.

He only knew that Roman had seen the opportunity to kill three birds with one stone and had seized it. He only knew about the great force that hit the shield and the tremor that shook him to the bones.

He only knew that his mind and vision were left tinted white.

A God Made of Steel, Part 6: FIN