Scorched concrete and cracked asphalt. Fissures spiderwebbing, shattered glass. Countless pulverized corpses littered the roadside. The stench of burnt flesh mingled with the rot of spoiled fruit… The pleasure district, ravaged by Damocles, resembled a bombed-out wasteland, its streets piled with the minced remains of drug-addled bodies, destroyed beyond recognition. Aiming for Aeshma’s stronghold, Danan glanced at workers beginning reconstruction, sprinting through the death-soaked streets.

  “Danan, I’m picking up bio-signs at the palace,” Lils reported.

  “Damocles?” he asked.

  “No, it’s Aeshma.”

  Impossible. Danan muttered, slowing his pace.

  It’d take twenty minutes—ten at least—to return from the buildings to the pleasure district. Aeshma should be slower, heading back to her stronghold later than him. Brushing off embers grazing his cheek, Danan fixed his gaze on the palace glinting in the dark, telling Lils, “Check for other bio-signs. We might need to infiltrate through the sewers again.”

  “…”

  “Lils?”

  “She’s alone.”

  “What?”

  “Aeshma’s alone in the palace. The others are probably rebuilding the district or hunting new prostitutes and goods. It’s a chance… or likely a trap.”

  The catastrophic damage gave the Crucible ample reason to mobilize fully for recovery. Despite enduring Damocles’ assaults and other rogues’ destruction, this time was beyond expectations—an irregular, man-made disaster exposing organizational chaos.

  A lesser group, one beneath the undercity’s three dominant factions, would collapse here, losing the will to resist, offering their leader’s head for mercy. But the Crucible, true to its name, had already secured labor contracts with the Parade of the Dead, rebuilding half the destroyed zones with cheap workers.

  All that remained was restocking prostitutes for brothels, children for organ trade, spreading high-addiction drugs, and managing addicts and new recruits. Like an organism regenerating lost cells, the Crucible writhed to fulfill its head’s desires, expanding and strengthening.

  But—as Lils said, this was undeniably a chance. Even if a trap, killing Aeshma alone would end it. The empress ruling the pleasure district, commanding lunatics, was human. Recalling Aeshma writhing under the flashbang, Danan quelled the fear creeping up his spine, gripping his assault rifle tightly.

  “…Lils,” he said.

  “What?”

  “What should I do?”

  “…Two options: kill Aeshma and take Hakara, or take it peacefully without killing her. You won’t listen to a retreat, will you? Then move. If you want to save Eve.”

  “…Right.”

  Nodding firmly, Danan sprinted, piercing a combat mech’s power unit with his mechanical arm’s high-frequency blade, showering sparks as he kicked it down.

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  The mechs, likely used for hauling goods, were now fully armed for combat. To minimize human losses and focus remaining members on other tasks, they’d deployed these killing machines. Spotting autonomous flying units from the palace, Danan aimed his rifle and fired.

  Dry gunshots, scattering sparks, smoke-trailing machines crashing… The fearless flying units launched guided rockets from slender arms, then disengaged, retreating to the palace.

  Exploding ordnance, shattering asphalt, crimson flames clouding his vision. Downing several rockets and five of the fifteen flying units, Danan shouted, “Lils! Enemy mech data!”

  “They’re Dragonflies—bombing drones cycling between retreat and attack. And Danan, an unmanned killing mech’s approaching from behind. Watch out.”

  A red dot flashed on his goggles’ minimap, heavy steel clanging. Covered in special alloy, its dull monocle gleaming, the modified killing mech Shura raised two heat blades, slicing through Danan’s hiding wall like jelly upon detecting his bio-signs.

  “Danan, fully autonomous humanoid combat mech, Shura, deployed,” Nephthys reported.

  “I can see that!” he snapped.

  “Custom-modified. One-of-a-kind.”

  Now’s not the time for jokes! Ignoring Nephthys, Danan’s right leg was blown off by a Dragonfly’s blast, his chest slashed by Shura’s blade, exceeding his reaction speed. Screaming as heat seared his ribs, he watched his gushing blood boil.

  “Danan, head to the sewers. Attack from below,” Lils urged.

  “Danan, I recommend continuing combat,” Nephthys countered.

  “…!”

  Steel roared, joints creaked. As the next blade swung, Lumina’s bugs restored his leg. Charge through the flaming storm to the main gate or not? Assessing front and rear, Danan used the blast’s force to roll into an alley, groaning at his charred wounds as he ran.

  “Yes, straight ahead. The sewers should keep the killing mechs at bay,” Lils said.

  “Danan, retreat is not advised. Dragonflies can be dodged, but Shura will pursue its target until elimination. Narrow spaces put us at a disadvantage,” Nephthys warned.

  Following Lils meant Shura would keep chasing. Heeding Nephthys meant fighting in the worst conditions. Lifting a manhole cover, Danan fell into the sewers, pierced by a heat blade, writhing in agony as he spat blood.

  “This’ll do…”

  Panting heavily, hiding from Dragonfly blasts, Danan glared at Shura slashing the ground to pursue him.

  Without Eve, advanced program hacking or system cracking was impossible. He couldn’t pierce Shura’s armored terminal with his hack cable. His only option: destroy, kill. Obliterate the killing mech so it could never pursue again, eliminating the threat to his life.

  “Nephthys, prep the bio-fusion metal. Lils, guide me to the drainage system,” he ordered.

  “Understood. Bio-fusion metal release, activation prep initiated,” Nephthys replied.

  “…Drainage system,” Lils gasped, catching his plan. “Two hundred meters, turn right, then one hundred straight. The drainage system’s beyond the iron grate!”

  Splashing through sewage, steel advanced. As the sound hit his eardrums, Danan bolted down the passage, turning right, racing straight, spotting the iron grate blocking filth.

  “Come on, scrapheap,” he muttered.

  His heart pounded, blood boiling hot. Regenerated wounds throbbed, fear gripping him from the heat blades’ pain. But to survive, to defy death, he had to crush fear. Fight with everything.

  Drawing his anti-armor rifle, he fired one shot. A shrill metallic echo rang through the sewers, rats and roaches scattering into the dark. The swung heat blade glowed like molten iron, grazing Danan’s neck. But Nephthys’ bio-fusion metal activated, blocking the blade from decapitation. Instead, Danan’s drawn sword, Heres, severed Shura’s arm.

  Not yet! Seizing the heat blade, Danan burned through the grate, eyeing Shura’s remaining blade. The red-hot edge slashed off his flesh arm, melting meat and bone. Amid mind-breaking pain and encroaching madness, his black eyes locked not on the blade—

  “Fall! Never crawl back, you trash!” he roared.

  His gaze targeted the chest armor housing the power unit. His desperate strike pierced it, dealing a fatal blow, followed by another—his high-frequency blade inflicting irreversible damage.

  Shura collapsed, a lifeless hunk of metal swept into the drainage system’s darkness. Spitting blood, Danan reattached his severed arm to the stump and hurried toward the palace.