The machine-man lunged, his long metallic legs propelling him forward with unnatural speed. Vas ducked the first strike—a vicious swipe from the creature's mantis-like arm blades—but this was only the beginning of the onslaught. Sparks flew as metal clashed against the concrete floor where Vas had just been, narrowly avoiding the deadly blades.

As he dodged, Vas mentally commanded one of the chakrams to spiral toward the machine-man from behind. Controlling the weapon with his mind required intense focus, splitting his attention between defending himself and maneuvering the chakram like a predator circling its prey. The chakram whizzed through the air, aimed directly for the machine-man's exposed back.

The machine-man seemed to sense it and spun with remarkable agility, deflecting the chakram with his arm blade. The weapon ricocheted off the metal, and Vas instinctively pulled it back to him through sheer will, positioning both chakrams defensively in the air.

"You think you can outsmart me with your little toys?" the machine-man growled, his glowing red eyes narrowing.

Vas gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his brow. It was taking every ounce of his concentration to maintain control over the chakrams while also evading the creature's relentless attacks. His mind felt like it was being stretched in two directions—controlling the floating chakrams while simultaneously maneuvering his own body to avoid the machine-man's strikes.

The machine-man lunged again, both blade arms coming down toward Vas in a deadly arc. Vas mentally sent one chakram hurtling toward the creature's chest while using the other to intercept the incoming blades. The chakram met the blades with a resounding clash of metal-on-metal, halting their descent just inches from Vas' head.

With a surge of anima, Vas spun out of the way and redirected the second chakram, sending it slashing toward the machine-man's leg. The blade connected, tearing into the cybernetic limb with a spray of sparks. The machine-man let out a screeching roar of pain as he stumbled, his movement briefly faltering.

But the machine-man wasn't down yet. He thrust one arm forward, extending a set of razor-sharp blades from his forearm like daggers. They sliced through the air toward Vas, and he had to react quickly, controlling both chakrams to deflect the barrage while simultaneously ducking and weaving out of harm's way.

It was a delicate dance—his body dodging attacks while his mind guided the chakrams with precision. Each movement had to be carefully timed, every mental command executed perfectly. One misstep, one lapse in focus, and it would be over.

The machine-man charged again, this time more ferocious. Vas launched one chakram into a wide arc, sending it curving around the room to strike from behind. At the same time, he sent the other chakram into a rapid spin, aiming for the machine-man's chest. The creature caught one of the chakrams mid-flight, but the other found its mark, embedding itself into his exposed shoulder.

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Sparks flew as the machine-man snarled, pulling the chakram free and tossing it aside. "You'll pay for that!" he roared, his voice glitching as his systems faltered.

Vas took a deep breath, steeling himself for the final blow. He had to end this quickly—his concentration was waning, and the strain of controlling both chakrams was beginning to take its toll. Summoning all the power of his anima, he mentally directed both chakrams into the air above the machine-man's head.

With a fierce command, he brought them down simultaneously—one targeting the creature's neck, the other his remaining blade arm. The machine-man tried to block, but his damaged systems slowed him just enough for the chakrams to strike true. One chakram sliced through the creature's arm, severing it cleanly at the joint. The other buried itself in his throat, cutting through metal and flesh alike.

The machine-man let out a garbled scream, his body convulsing as his systems short-circuited. Vas released his mental hold on the chakrams, letting them fall to the ground with a heavy thud. The machine-man staggered backward, sparks and blood pouring from his wounds, before finally collapsing in a heap of twisted metal and broken flesh.

Breathing heavily, Vas stood over the defeated creature. His mind was exhausted from the intense concentration, but he had won. He retrieved his chakrams, their edges still glowing faintly from the anima-infused battle. With the immediate threat eliminated, he turned his attention back to the crates and the massive door at the end of the room.

Even if he had wanted to pursue the truck down that underground highway, every instinct in Vas told him it would be a mistake. He let out a breath, feeling the tension release from his shoulders. The immediate danger had passed, and now there was space to think. He quickly sent a message to Madeline with his location and waited, standing amidst the eerie glow of the ultraviolet lights, the stillness of the room somehow unnerving.

It wasn't long before the heavy sounds of boots echoed through the space. Madeline arrived with a small squad of her own people, efficiently taking control of the area. They had already dealt with the guards at the entrance and cleared the surrounding perimeter, moving like a well-oiled machine.

Madeline stepped into the open floor, her presence commanding the room. She glanced at Vas, giving him a quick once-over, but her eyes were drawn to the crates almost immediately. She moved with purpose, counting each one methodically as if every missing piece were a personal offense. Her expression remained composed, but Vas could sense the tension beneath the surface. When she finished, she let out a soft breath. Only three crates had been lost.

"You know," Madeline finally spoke, her voice tinged with a mix of admiration and amusement, "I didn't expect you to find all of this in one night."

Vas smirked, though his thoughts were still clouded by what he had seen earlier. "Neither did I. But... a beggar a couple blocks away actually helped a lot."

Madeline paused, a sharp glint of surprise flashing in her eyes. "A beggar?" she repeated, her tone skeptical. "There haven't been beggars around here in ages. The gangs made sure of that. No one lingers in these streets anymore unless they have a death wish."

Vas frowned slightly. He had been so certain—the figure he'd seen had seemed real, solid. It, or rather, he, had pointed Vas directly to this place with uncanny accuracy. But now, Madeline's words planted a seed of doubt in his mind. Who—or what—had that figure truly been?