Chapter 53 - You Gave Me Wings

The flames landed with unrelenting precision. Flames roared across Myrrh’s metallic Frame Unit, searing through its armor like a knife through butter. Her left shoulder had melted into a warped mass, her hip and leg now unrecognizable as functional components. With a pained groan of grinding metal, her Frame Unit crumpled to the ground, scattering fragments across the steel arena floor. Each piece hit the ground with a sharp, echoing clank that reverberated through the vast chamber.

The damage was devastating. The left side of her Frame Unit's face was obliterated, leaving exposed circuits and tangled wiring that sparked faintly in the aftermath. Her once-pristine features now resembled a grotesque mosaic of molten steel and raw mechanics.

“Myrrh!” I yelled, my voice cracking as it tore through the chaos.

My heart pounded like a war drum, drowning out reason. The quarrel we'd had earlier felt insignificant—trivial compared to the fear clawing at me now. My partner, my steadfast companion, lay motionless, her Frame Unit lifeless as if her very essence had been extinguished.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, frustration surging like a tidal wave. I gritted my teeth and slammed the activation button for the WEEB System. A shimmering hologram interface sprang to life before me, bathing my surroundings in a cool blue light.

Amidst my frantic attempts, a voice cut through the tension. The opposing support unit shouted with urgency, “Now’s your chance, Jenny! Deal the finishing blow!”

“Got it!” the opposing WAIFU shouted, their Frame Unit adjusting its stance with a chilling precision. The weapon began to hum ominously, drawing energy from the very air, its glow intensifying with each passing second.

A shiver ran down my spine as cold sweat dripped from my brow. My throat felt dry, my chest tight—paralyzed by the sight of that weapon charging. At this rate, Myrrh would be obliterated, nothing left but smoldering ruins. I glanced at her, her battered Frame Unit still slumped on the arena floor, lifeless, unresponsive.

And then—

A surge of pain erupted in my left arm, a sharp, searing agony that made me stagger. My arm glowed fiercely, crimson circuits etching patterns beneath my skin, pulsing like molten veins. It wasn’t just pain—it was desperation given form, a boiling inferno coursing through my bloodstream, demanding I act.

A mechanical voice pierced the air:

[Weapons of Mass Destruction Unlocked]

The display in front of me flickered, cascading through a list of options, each more powerful than the last:

* [Level 1 - Particle Cannon]

* [Level 2 - Uranium Blade]

* [Level 3 - Shadow Curtain]

* [Level 4 - Lightning Storm]

* [Level 5 - Particle Accelerator]

* [Level 6 - Proton Slicer]

* [Level 7 - Ion Cannon]

Each weapon name blazed across the screen, a grim testament to the power I had just unleashed. My arm trembled, but not from fear—it was raw, unfiltered determination. I wouldn’t let Myrrh fall. Not now. Not ever.

At this moment, Myrrh needed mobility—extreme mobility—to stand a chance against the oncoming assault. With her left arm and leg reduced to molten remnants, survival demanded a miracle. Desperation clawed at my chest, and my mind raced. If my hunch was correct, Level 4 wasn’t just an offensive weapon. It was a variant designed for flight. Wings. Wings might be her only salvation.

“Fire!” the enemy support unit bellowed, their voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

“This is your end!” The opposing Frame Unit leveled the massive Radioactive Flamethrower and pulled the trigger.

The weapon roared to life, releasing a torrent of emerald flames that surged forward with devastating speed. The arena lit up in sickly green hues, the intense heat distorting the air itself. It was a death sentence barreling toward Myrrh.

I clenched my glowing crimson hand and thrust it forward, my voice ringing out in defiance:

“Lightning Storm, Activate!”

The instant the words left my lips, a deafening explosion erupted, shaking the arena to its core. Lightning crackled violently, forking in all directions as if the heavens themselves had descended into battle. Smoke billowed outward in a suffocating wave, obscuring everything in sight.

The audience gasped, their awe-filled murmurs barely audible over the cacophony. Sparks danced across the arena floor, painting the chaos with bursts of light.

“Did I get her?” the opponent WAIFU muttered, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Then, through the swirling smoke, a faint glow emerged. It grew brighter, a figure materializing within the haze.

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The silhouette was unlike anything they expected. Slowly, the figure took form: a Frame Unit, its presence radiating raw power. Towering X-shaped wings spread out from its back, their pristine white surfaces shimmering with arcs of lightning.

The wings pulsed with energy, releasing streaks of lightning particles that coalesced into a protective barrier. The electric aura crackled menacingly, warding off the surrounding chaos.

It wasn’t an angel. No, it was something far more formidable—a harbinger of retribution, reborn amidst the storm.

“N-no! It can’t be!” The opponent’s support unit gasped, their voice trembling with disbelief. The glowing Frame Unit before them, crowned by radiant X-shaped wings, was unmistakable. It was Myrrh’s Frame Unit—reborn, stronger than ever.

Her transformation was awe-inspiring. The melted armor that had once signaled her defeat was now pristine, gleaming with a renewed sheen. Her left arm and leg, previously destroyed, were restored, their movements fluid and precise. But it was the jetpack that drew all eyes. The X-shaped wings hummed with power, releasing chaotic bolts of lightning that lashed out unpredictably, searing the air with deafening cracks.

The arena trembled with the force of her resurgence. Bolts of electricity ricocheted wildly, as if the jetpack's energy was too immense to contain. The opposing Frame Unit darted backward, its ankle thrusters firing at full force to avoid the erratic strikes.

“We still have the Radioactive Flamethrower, Jenny!” the opponent’s support unit urged, desperation lacing their words. “Try it again!”

“Got it!” Jenny’s Frame Unit snapped into action, repositioning her massive flame cannon with deadly precision. Her target was clear, and she locked her sights. “You will—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Myrrh vanished from her crosshairs, leaving only a crackling afterimage in her wake.

“What? Where did she go?” Jenny cried, her voice edged with panic.

The answer came in a shout from her support unit:

“Above you!”

The opposing Frame Unit began to tilt its head upward, but before it could react, a thunderous impact shattered the air. A missile-like force slammed into the ground with earth-shaking power, obliterating the Radioactive Flamethrower in a single, cataclysmic strike. But it wasn’t a missile—it was Myrrh, descending like a meteor, her mechanical leg extended in a devastating kick.

The impact was monumental. The arena floor cracked beneath the force, forming a jagged crater at the point of collision. The opponent’s Frame Unit staggered, its mechanical arms mangled beyond recognition, sparks and shards of metal flying outward.

“Gah!” Jenny’s Frame Unit cried out, its systems faltering under the sheer ferocity of the blow.

Myrrh didn’t hesitate. With fluid precision, she twisted her newly regenerated body, the X-shaped jetpack flaring with a burst of energy. Her leg swung in a deadly arc, lightning crackling along its surface as she aimed a roundhouse kick at her opponent’s head.

“Hiyaaaah!” Myrrh’s warcry echoed through the arena as her kick connected.

The strike was devastating, a combination of speed and power honed to perfection. The opponent Frame Unit’s head was severed cleanly, sent spiraling through the air before landing with a metallic clatter. The lifeless body followed suit, collapsing to its knees before crumpling onto the arena floor.

For a moment, the arena was silent, the crowd holding its breath. Then the realization hit—there was no need for a referee. The victor was clear.

The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers, the sound deafening as they celebrated the spectacular conclusion.

“The winner of this match is Examinee Number 11!” Dianca, the emcee, announced, her voice amplified over the roaring audience.

Meanwhile, in stark contrast, the opponent’s support unit fell to their knees, clutching at the floor in defeat. “N-no… it can’t be… We were so close!” they murmured, their voice cracking with despair.

Myrrh stood amidst the chaos, her wings crackling with residual energy, the undeniable symbol of triumph.

The platform beneath me began its slow descent, the hum of machinery barely audible over the fading cheers of the crowd. When it finally settled on the ground, Myrrh was already there, disabling her Frame Unit transformation. Her towering mechanical form shrank and shifted, parts folding and merging until she returned to her human self, standing amidst the aftermath of the battle.

She ran toward me at first, a triumphant smile lighting up her face. But as she drew closer, her expression wavered. A blush crept across her cheeks, and she quickly averted her gaze, her confidence faltering.

“I told you I didn’t need your help,” she said, puffing out her cheeks and crossing her arms. Her voice carried a note of defiance, but it was tinged with something softer—uncertainty. “Hmph.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “Pretty sure I just saved your prideful fat ass back there.”

Her blue eyes flicked up to meet mine, wide with indignation, only for her gaze to dart away again. Then she looked back. And away. And back once more. Finally, she let out a small sigh, her blush deepening, before bowing her head slightly.

“I-I take that back,” she stammered, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “I definitely needed your help. I… I was just throwing a tantrum for some unknown reason, and we almost lost because of me. It was my fault, so… sorry.” Her words came out haltingly, as though each one carried the weight of her pride crumbling. “Even though I was stubborn and a bit immature earlier, you still gave me wings to win the fight.”

“A bit immature? No, you were downright bratty and bitchy back there,” I said, my smirk widening.

Myrrh shot me a glare, her blue eyes sparkling with a mix of anger and embarrassment. “I’m apologizing, okay?” she snapped, her voice rising an octave. “I don’t even understand my own feelings, so I’m apologizing right now!” Her mouth twisted into an awkward squiggle, and her blush burned brighter, a full display of her frustration.

I sighed, placing my hands on my hips. Watching her wrestle with her pride and finally let it go was oddly satisfying. It wasn’t every day Myrrh admitted fault, and I was thoroughly enjoying the moment.

Without hesitation, I reached out and gently patted her head. Her hair, soft and greenish-blonde, felt like silk beneath my fingers as I brushed through it. She froze at first, her eyes widening in surprise, before her blush deepened even further.

“All’s well that ends well,” I said with a chuckle. “And don’t be so jealous. I’m not nearly as popular with the girls as you seem to think.”

Her voice dropped to a mutter. “I am not jealous, stupid.” But despite her words, she leaned slightly into my hand, silently enjoying the headpat, her pout softening into something far less guarded.