THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR SOME READERS.
The high-pitched whine of the charging energy cannon reached a deafening climax.
Damon instantly created a shield of light in front of Klaven's chest. The blue blast slammed into it, stopping the energy from hitting Klaven entirely—though blood instantly burst from Klaven's ears upon collision.
Nyra didn't wait and instantly dropped down from Damon's shoulder, her boots hitting the dirt with her hands covering her ears.
Damon adjusted his grip on Alya's cold and dead form, his voice dropping to a harsh, focused whisper as his eyes processed Klaven's state in the robot's grip. "What's happening here? Isn't he working for them?"
Cythera's jaw tightened. Her eyes were locked on her cousin — bloodied, limp, barely breathing in the robot's grip.
The robot ignored Damon's shield and tossed Klaven aside like scrap metal. He hit the dirt with a dull thud.
The machine's torso twisted unnaturally, joints clicking as it turned toward Damon, Nyra, and Cythera. Its four mechanical arms shifted with eerie precision before it tapped a rapid sequence across the plates of its forearm.
A low vibration rattled the brush.
Instantly, Damon—even with Alya's dead weight on his shoulder—Cythera, and Nyra all sensed a massive surge heading straight from the bushes.
Figures crashed through the tangle of vegetation. Dozens of them.
Nyra stepped back, her eyes slightly widened, "There's almost… a hundred of them. How did a hundred soldiers get in here?"
"That's not the point, Nyra," Damon said.
The three of them moved fast, turning until their backs were pressed against each other in a circle.
"I'll get the core from the one with four arms," Damon muttered, eyes tracking the crowd. "Doran said he wanted Alya and me, so I'll take her core and lead these guys away from you."
Cythera glared over her shoulder. "How do you intend to do that with Alya in your arms? Or have you also forgotten the side effects of every blast?"
"I've got a plan," Damon shot back. "You just focus on beating these guys around us. Try your best to hit them before they can fire."
Nyra braced her legs, sparks already flickering on her knuckles. "Have you two formed an actual plan yet? Because these guys aren't waiting!"
The robot with four arms didn't give them another second. It pointed its sword straight at the trio in the circle, ordering its men to attack. A single, heavy blast fired from the tip of its blade.
"Scatter!" Damon yelled.
Damon, Nyra, and Cythera instantly jumped in separate directions.
The blast hit the ground right where they had been standing, exploding into a shower of dirt. The acoustic shockwave tore through the clearing. Blood instantly flowed from their ears, and they gritted their teeth against the sharp pain.
Damon landed in a crouch, wiping his face with his free hand. 'It doesn't hurt as much as before...' he thought, looking up. '...but can Nyra hold out?'
He turned to look at his sister.
Nyra was already in the thick of it, hitting the ground running—literally—her boots carving trenches into the dirt. She ducked under a metal fist, grabbed the heavy leg of a robot, and used her raw strength to swing the entire machine into three others, shattering their visors.
Every punch she landed sounded like a cannon, though the fire around her fists began to flicker out in an attempt to go raw.
On the other side, Cythera's hands were thrust downward. Her aura dropped the temperature instantly as frost crawled across the ground in a spiderweb pattern. The ground ruptured.
Several massive ice spikes shot upward from the dirt, thrusting straight into the robotic bodies and pinning them mid-air. She was in the midst of creating a long, swirling splice of water when Damon thought:
'They seem to be doing fine,'
Then his eyes shifted down. 'Klaven…'
He looked beside him and saw Klaven's lifeless, almost pitiful body sprawled in the dirt. Damon stood frozen for a short while, caught in a subtle shock at how broken he looked.
'I see. He was just trying to help us escape after all. I thought he'd been working for Doran this entire time. I let our past encounter cloud my judgment. That's a mistake on my part, but I guess anyone would do that. What I don't get is his sudden change of heart.'
A mechanical hum snapped him out of it.
Within the same breath, the robot with four arms instantly thrust its sword straight toward Damon's face. Damon didn't panic. He effortlessly dodged the strike, tilting his head just enough to let the blade pass, and with the back of his free fist, he struck the robot hard.
The blow sent the machine flying backward, but Damon didn't let it go. He reached out, caught it by its feet mid-air, and slammed it downward into the dirt.
BOOM!
The impact cratered the ground beneath his feet, cracking the soil wide open. The sheer force of the tremor shook the clearing hard enough to make Klaven let out a weak groan, his eyes flickering open.
Damon didn't waste time. He reached down into the crater, snatched Princess Alya's core from the robot's hand, and proceeded to kick it high into the sky. Before the machine could fully rise, Damon unhinged his jaw and shot a massive blaze of fire from his mouth.
The torrent of heat burned the robot's mechanism while simultaneously pushing it upward into the air until its body blackened.
Damon held the majestically glowing core cleanly. He looked at the smoking sky, then back down at the dirt as the robot's body fell with a loud thud.
'Hmm. That finished way too easily,' Damon thought, a frown tugging at his brow as he looked at the weakened boy. 'Klaven's still at the Aegis stage. Even with me being a stage above him, he shouldn't have lost this badly… why did he get hurt so badly?'
Damon instantly dropped Princess Alya beside Klaven, holding her core gently in one hand. He placed his free palm flat against Klaven's chest. A warm, steady glow of light seeped from his hand into the boy's body, slowly sealing the deep gash on his forehead.
Klaven's eyes opened slightly, his breath cracking. "Damon… Prince Damon, you're—"
"I suggest you don't talk," Damon cut him off with his expression tightening and brows lowering. "How'd you lose this much blood from fighting that? Nod if it's because of the after-noise it makes."
Klaven looked up with his half-healed face, a bit confused. He nodded his head in a 'yes,' then immediately shook it 'no.'
Damon's face almost flexed in irritation. Though he sighed, his palm still glowed. "There's no way he beat you up that badly. Is your brain still intact? I don't have time for theatrics, so which is it? I've healed you enough, so you can speak now."
Klaven's voice was still weak, but it sounded cleaner now. "When I departed the crypt, I was chased and ambushed by several of Doran's men. I fought my way out, even with my ears hurting from the noise. Then…"
Klaven shifted his weight, resting unsteadily on his elbow. His eyes drifted past Damon, taking in the charred wreckage of the four-armed machine and watching Nyra and Cythera brutally destroy the remaining soldiers.
Nyra wasn't even using fire anymore. She was pure, savage muscle, physically ripping the metal suits apart with her bare hands.
Cythera, on the other hand, was worse. She held a precise blade of ice in one hand, pinning a robotic body down, while her other hand gripped an ice spear that had three of Doran's men completely through it.
There were also two bodies beside her, sparking electricity from water.
She noticed Klaven looking. Her eyes locked onto his for a brief second before she snapped her head away. A faint tension tightened her shoulders— satisfaction that he was okay, but utter disappointment.
Another robot lunged at her, and she instantly condensed a heavy sphere of water from her mouth to smash it back.
Damon didn't look back at the fight. His eyes stayed fixed on Klaven, steady and unreadable, "So? What happened next?"
"Huh? Yes," Klaven muttered, dragging his eyes back to Damon. "Then the one with four arms came. When I fought him at first, I destroyed him easily. Then, I turned my back to check if Alya's core had been harmed in any way... and the thing had fixed itself and suddenly threw me."
"How's Alya's core still intact?" Damon asked, his eyes narrowing.
"When it flung me, I threw the core into the air and guessed where I'd land. Luckily, it fell right back into my palm as I landed," Klaven explained, his chest heaving.
"But as we kept fighting, it was as if it was exactly as strong as me, even slightly better, yet I felt as if it was holding back. I couldn't protect the core and fight at the same time. And the blasts hurt my eardrums a lot more—"
Klaven hacked, coughing a splatter of dark blood onto the dirt.
Damon's expression softened for a moment. "It's okay," Damon said, lifting his hand as the light faded. "You've told me all I need to know."
"No," Klaven coughed again, wiping his mouth. "After it held me by the neck... right before you got here. It said something about me not being a target."
Damon's eyes narrowed. "I guess it would say that. Stop talking now. You've lost too much blood. Just stay down and try not to listen to anything around us. Except your own heartbeat, so you can tell me if you're dying."
Klaven let out a weak chuckle. "I can't tell if you're joking or not."
"It's a mystery you're not meant to solve," Damon said calmly.
He paused, looking down at Klaven's face. For a second, his mind flashed back to the boy's battered, prideful body at the Trineum festival, comparing it to the crooked, unpolished look he had right now.
Damon exhaled a heavy sigh. A conflicted look flickered across his eyes. "I thought you were working with Doran, judging from your past actions. I'm sorry about that."
Klaven's eyes widened, his entire face freezing. 'What? He's sorry? Did the Prince just… apologize to me? I don't believe it.'
"Prince Damon, what exactly are you thinking right now?" Klaven asked aloud.
Behind them, the violent crashes of Nyra and Cythera's battle continued like a wall of noise, ensuring none of the hundred soldiers could break through to reach the three of them in the center.
'Why's this guy suddenly calling me Prince? He wasn't doing that at the festival.'
Damon finished the thought and looked down at the pulsing golden sphere in his palm.
"I'm wondering if I should return Alya's core now. Her core was sealed, so I don't know if removing it from her body broke the seal. I don't think it did, but I'm not entirely sure. Additionally, to take someone's core, you've gotta have some form of positive emotional connection with them. I don't think she did with all ten kings, 'cause she probably never met them, so I'm being careful. Also, even if the seal didn't fully break..."
He glanced back at the explosions, his jaw tight. "When she wakes up, she'll be in total shock from almost dying. Isn't that enough of an emotional fallout to break the seal anyway? Won't she just die from the force of ten kings' worth of power hitting her body all at once? You started school before me, got any ideas?"
Klaven looked down at Princess Alya's greyish-dark still form. Her eyes weren't closed. They were like two dead mirrors. Staring into her once-royal irises, Klaven could see the clear reflection of his own healed face looking back at him.
His grip on the dirt tightened, the weight of what he had done settling heavily on his chest.
"I shouldn't have taken her core," Klaven whispered, his voice cracking. "I was just trying to—"
Suddenly, the colour drained from his face. His expression turned completely grim as a shadow spawned on Damon's back.
"LOOK OUT!" Klaven gasped, pointing wildly right behind Damon's head.
Damon instantly kicked Klaven's body farther away from him and snatched Alya into his grip, rolling in the exact opposite direction.
BOOM!
The ground where they'd been lying erupted a heartbeat later — a crater swallowing the space whole, electricity crackling violently through the shattered earth.
Smoke billowed upward, thick and choking, swirling with sparks of blue static. The air vibrated with a low, metallic hum. As the smoke thinned, a silhouette got up from a knee. It was tall, wrong, and steadily advancing.
Damon's eyes narrowed. Cythera's lips parted slightly. They didn't show fear—instead, their expressions shifted into a tense, negative surprise.
Nyra froze mid‑step, fire flickering weakly around her fists. Klaven's breath hitched, terror, crawling up his spine.
The robot Damon had destroyed earlier had risen to its feet with a slow, deliberate dominance — as if the ground itself was beneath it, not supporting it. Like a monster remembering it was never meant to fall.
Its legs regrew with each step, metal knitting itself together like living tissue. Its four arms elongated, reshaping into something far more lethal.
The lower pair thickened, plating sliding into place until two long, curved swords unfolded from their wrists. The upper pair expanded, barrels rotating as two heavy cannons locked into position.
The robot violently shook its body as every newly formed metal plate snapped back into place with a mechanical hum. Its wired voice echoed through the trees:
"Initial output phase insufficient for target termination. Combat protocols adjusted. Match achieved. Probability primary target has been identified: seventy percent."
Damon's expression didn't change, but his thoughts sharpened:
'I'm beginning not to feel so surprised anymore… but what in the world is that? For someone from Earth who's seen so much, you'd think I'd be used to this by now. I thought I killed it? Well, I knew it ended too easily. What other tricks has it got up its hard drives?'
The robot's eyes scanned the battlefield. Every time its gaze landed on a face, its lenses flashed red.
Then it locked dead onto Damon. The optical light instantly turned a solid, glowing green.
A heavy hiss of pressurized white steam shot out of its joints, sealing its bulky chassis down into a tightened, assassin-like form.
"Subject registered in visual feed.Objective…"
Without waiting, Damon opened and closed his palm. Light flared up his hands as two jagged blades of light burst from his palm, humming with lethal heat.
"Attack."
The robot lunged first.
Its lower arms slashed forward in a twin‑sword strike while its upper cannons charged simultaneously. Damon didn't wait. He shifted Alya's body into one arm and flipped over the machine in a clean somersault, landing behind it without losing balance.
The robot's heavy metal feet slammed into the floor, its blades cutting through empty air, yet it stopped a mere inch from where Damon's boots had just been. Even the cannons from its upper limbs never discharged their energy.
Its head snapped toward Klaven. Klaven froze. Then its gaze flicked to Alya's core… and ignored it.
It turned back to Damon, and its entire frame vibrated with something disturbingly close to satisfaction.
'It doesn't want the core?' Damon thought.
The machine attacked again.
Damon instantly hurled Alya's body upward. Nyra, who had been watching Damon, was suddenly swarmed by revived robots and forced to defend herself. Cythera leapt from a tree, caught Alya mid‑air, slung her over her shoulder, and crushed two robots with a single sweep of water.
Two blasts were fired at Damon.
Damon leaned back, letting the searing heat pass his cheeks by an inch, then swirled a burst of wind that sent both shots screaming back at the shooter.
One. Two.
The machine dodged both reflected attacks with eerie, inhuman agility. The redirected blasts detonated near Klaven, who braced himself and crawled toward Alya's core.
The robot dashed again.
Its lower arms crossed in an X‑strike as it leaped to strike from above. Damon raised one light blade vertically, catching both swords at once. With his second blade, he slashed for its torso— but the machine jammed a forward kick.
Damon redirected, slicing its leg clean off before jumping back twice, blades still in hand.
The robot stood on one leg— then regrew the missing limb in seconds, metallic fibres weaving like living muscle.
A mechanical hum vibrated through its frame:
"Target metrics analyzed. Combat algorithms updated.Enemy vectors mapped.Opponent proficiency matched."
Damon blinked once, 'What…? Did it just… update my physical abilities?'
He smirked, 'A robot that heals, adapts, and copies martial skill as long as it survives one exchange? What are you— Cybonic Doomsday? But I feel like it's studying me. If that's how it adapts, all I have to do is beat it without showing all I can do. It's so easy to stop, it's kinda irritating.'
Now he dashed forward.
'This sounds arrogant, but it's truly irritating. He kinda reminds me of PFB's. Full of pretence but nothing to show for it.'
His blade carved a precise line across the machine's side. The robot fired a blast at where he'd been— but Damon leaped, spun mid‑air, and drilled both light blades straight into its head.
"Hey, Robocop," he said coldly but loudly. "I know you're studying me. Am I your target?"
The robot didn't answer. Its upper arms snapped upward at perfect right angles and fired point‑blank.
Damon released his blades and vaulted off its shoulders. Now unarmed, he dashed in again.
The robot swung for his neck. Damon sidestepped and punched its side so hard the machine skidded across the clearing, metal screeching.
"I was hoping I'd get a good fight from this thing." Damon stood his ground, looking down at his hand. "But it feels so… fake. It feels like a prototype. It intends to study me, but why is it studying and fighting so aimlessly at the same time? That means it's useless. Unless…"
Nyra exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes as she crushed another robot's visor. Even she looked bored with this thing now.
"Am I being watched?" Damon whispered. "Putting the pieces together, I was the primary target. It was easily able to beat Klaven with its designed mechanism, but he can't even make my heart beat faster. The only viable use for such a thing is some form of live feed. Or a distraction, though that's less likely. The question is, who's watching?"
His eyes narrowed, "Is Doran still alive? I'm so confused now. What is his goal? One is to take Alya's core, but this robot just ignored it. Another is to get me, but it's utterly failed at that. Another is war, but what kind of idiot plants seeds for war from a school? Or were all three thing their aims and they just failed to meet them? No, I don't think something like this would end that easily."
Cythera noticed Damon standing still, lost in thought. She flung a robot aside with a whip of water, irritation tightening her jaw.
'We don't have time for this. Why isn't he killing it? We still have twenty hours to restore the Princess's core, but what's he thinking just standing there?'
Damon walked forward slowly, wiping blood from his ears as the robot struggled to rise.
"I don't get what's going on, Copy Cat," he said. "Assessing your abilities, the only thing you're good at is sending a live feed to someone. You copied my movements, sure— but you can't fight. It's useless because you're not as fast, physically stronger, and you can't think as fast as I can, either. It'd work on Klaven, he's kinda stupid, but not on me."
He raised two fingers like a blade, "Whoever's watching… needs a better prototype."
The robot proceeded to condense a blast—
SHREEK.
One clean slice with Damon's fingers pressed like a blade. The robot's head thudded into the dirt.
Nyra, Cythera, and Klaven stared as Damon turned away and walked back toward Alya's body.
'Is Doran even the one in charge... or is someone else watching through its lens?'
Suddenly, a massive, jagged shadow stretched across the ground in front of him.
Damon stopped.
The very robot he had just decapitated was already up in the sky behind him, plunging downward with a desperate, finishing attack.
The decapitated robot was above him— fully regenerated— descending with both swords aimed at his skull and both cannons primed.
It was one inch from cutting his hair, yet—Damon vanished.
He reappeared behind it, above its falling frame, cold as a whisper against its wires.
"I wouldn't get up if I were you."
BOOM!
Damon struck the robot, thrusting his bare hand completely through the metal mechanism. He landed smoothly on the dirt and, in the very same breath, snatched the machine's wrecked body and threw it high into the sky.
Before it could even begin to knit its fibers back together, several brilliant slices of light tore through the air, shredding the chassis into minuscule pieces that rained down as harmless scrap.
The clearing finally went dead quiet, but a heavy question remained locked in Damon's mind.
'The robot wasn't meant to win. It was meant to gather data.'
He looked up at the falling debris, 'Doran… what was your goal here?'