The Clash of Metals

  Kane advanced with blind ferocity, his saws screaming at maximum rotation. He delivered continuous strikes, forcing Silas to retreat. The leader of the Reapers felt the brutal vibration of the blades against his bidents; he knew that one slip would mean losing a limb. With every parry, Silas took small steps back, being pushed out of the garage under an incessant rain of sparks.

  At the height of the pressure, Kol acted. He threw a heavy chain that coiled around Silas's legs, locking his retreat.

  Kane saw the opening and delivered a devastating cross-cut aimed at the chest. Silas, in a survival reflex, crossed his bidents in a reinforced iron "X." The impact was monumental. The sound of tortured metal echoed throughout the street as an incandescent cloud of sparks engulfed them both.

  When the smoke from the sparks cleared, the result was mutual: the four blades of Silas's bidents had snapped under the torque of the saws. At the same time, the motor in Kane's gauntlets sputtered and died, overheated and jammed by iron shrapnel.

  The two stared each other down, now stripped of their primary advantages, as the silence of the night grew heavy once again.

  Technique vs. Adaptation

  Mickey charged with a manic grin, adrenaline masking the danger. He swung a heavy blow with the iron bar, but Fabrizio’s precision was surgical. With a fluid motion, the Reaper crossed his scythes, deflected the impact, and, in a swift spin, delivered a low cut. Fabrizio’s blade tore through Mickey’s thigh, staining his jeans red instantly.

  "You smile too much for someone about to bleed out," Fabrizio’s voice came out cold from behind his skeleton mask.

  Mickey had no time to retreat. The tables had turned. Fabrizio went on a violent offensive, his scythes moving in lethal arcs that forced Mickey to use the iron bar just to keep from being shredded. Backing away through the car husks, Mickey kept his eyes moving, searching the environment for any advantage.

  That’s when he saw it: in the back, bolted to a column, was a metal lever connected to a tensioned chain. The chain supported a bundle of heavy iron bars, suspended exactly over the path Fabrizio was taking.

  The plan was suicidal, but it was classic Mickey. He needed a second. A single moment to lock Fabrizio’s weapons, gain some distance, and pull that lever to bury the Reaper under tons of metal.

  Mickey was being massacred. Fabrizio advanced with surgical aggression, the scythes slicing the air in rapid sequences that forced the Enforcer to fall back. The Reaper was intentionally pushing him toward a support column at the back of the garage, looking to pin him against the cold metal.

  Mickey felt the impact of the column against his back. He was trapped. But right next to his hand, bolted to the beam, was the metal lever holding the bundle of heavy iron bars to the ceiling.

  Fabrizio saw Mickey standing there, cornered against the column, and didn't hesitate. He believed the "rat" had given up. The Reaper prepared a final blow, charging with an explosive dash, both scythes crossed to decapitate Mickey in one go.

  "End of the line, rat!" Fabrizio roared, lunging with his full body weight.

  At the very last millisecond, Mickey didn't try to dodge to the side. He dropped to the floor, crouching abruptly at the base of the column. Fabrizio, coming in at full attack speed, couldn't brake and occupied the exact space where Mickey had been seconds before, slammed against the column.

  Mickey, still ducked down with his face almost touching the Reaper’s boots, reached up and pulled the lever with a roar of effort.

  CLANG-SCREECH!

  The safety latches snapped. The massive bundle of iron bars plummeted from the ceiling like an industrial guillotine. Fabrizio only had time to widen his eyes and try to raise his scythes in a desperate reflex before being swallowed by the crushing weight of the steel. The roar of the impact shook the garage floor, kicking up a dense cloud of dust and soot that covered everything, leaving only the heavy silence of metal on concrete.

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  The Awakening of the Skeleton

  Mickey stood before the heap of iron, his chest heaving. He stared at the metal crushing the spot where the Reaper had fallen and spat on the debris, letting out a dry, mocking laugh.

  "What’s the matter, Turner? Reality getting a little too heavy to carry?" Mickey taunted, wiping blood from his face.

  Satisfied, he turned his back and limped out of the garage. Outside, the scene was brutal: Kane and Kol were in a visceral standoff against Silas. Everyone was practically bare-handed now; Kane's saws were scrap metal and Silas's bidents had snapped. Silas, however, clenched his fists in glass-studded leather gloves, each movement making the shards glint under the moon like hungry fangs.

  Mickey shifted his weight forward, preparing to charge in and help, but a metallic sound from behind made him freeze.

  SCRIIIINCH.

  It was the sound of metal dragging against metal. Mickey spun around slowly, his eyes wide. Out from the cloud of dust and the pile of beams, Fabrizio Turner emerged. He was staggering, his shoulder bleeding, but he was on his feet.

  The Reaper sheathed one of his scythes with a sharp flick. With his free hand, he brushed the iron dust off his chest in a gesture of pure disdain, ignoring the obvious pain.

  "Done with your little plans yet?" Fabrizio’s voice came through the modifier, still cold, but vibrating with a suppressed fury.

  A chill ran down Mickey’s spine, but that manic grin returned to his face. He didn't back down. His eyes dropped to the ground and found the heavy chain Kol had used against Silas minutes earlier. He snatched it up, wrapping the cold steel around his fists.

  "Plan A failed..." Mickey cracked his neck, swinging the end of the chain. "But I’ve always had a talent for improvising Plan B."

  Mirrors

  On the second floor of the motel, the silence was broken only by the rhythmic thud of Elijah’s boots on the wooden floorboards. He walked with an insulting calm, his smooth voice echoing through the cracked-open doors.

  "Where are you? Hiding under a bed like the child Solomon rescued? Come out, Henry. Let’s finish this choreography."

  Henry didn't answer with words. He lunged from one of the rooms in a flank attack, using a solid wood coat rack as an improvised spear. The tip slammed into Elijah’s chest with force, pinning him against the opposite wall. The Reaper didn't let out a single groan; he simply delivered a sharp kick to Henry’s calf, forcing him to drop the rack as he broke free with a fluid spin.

  CLACK-SHINK!

  The metallic snap echoed simultaneously. Henry deployed the bidents in both hands; Elijah activated the one in his left. They collided in a blur of tactical movements. Henry surged forward with a series of thrusts, managing to tear the tactical fabric over Elijah’s vest, but the Argentine was a ghost. He slipped past Henry’s right side, his bident slicing through the blue jacket and opening a bloody gash on the Heretic’s forearm.

  Henry snarled, spinning with a downward slash that caught Elijah’s metal mask dead-on, leaving two deep gouges diagonally across the "skeleton smile." The impact forced a stalemate: Elijah grabbed Henry’s left blade with his gloved right hand, while Elijah’s left bident locked in mid-air against Henry’s right weapon.

  They stood face-to-face, Henry’s heavy breathing against Elijah’s silence. The Reaper then delivered a brutal headbutt. The metal of Elijah’s mask slammed into the wood of Henry’s, splitting a vertical crack down the center of the branch cross. Before Henry could regain his balance, a powerful kick to the chest sent him reeling into the room at the end of the hallway.

  Henry had barely hit the floor when he saw Elijah draw his Five-Seven. He knew the high-penetration caliber would punch through his vest like paper. Henry crossed his bidents in front of his face and torso, hunching over at the exact moment of the shot.

  BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

  The rounds ricocheted off the metal gauntlets, but the impact and shockwave hurled Henry through the glass window. The frame shattered into a thousand shards, and the Heretic plummeted, hitting the roof of an old car with a hollow thud.

  Down below, Henry wiped the blood trickling from under his broken mask. He looked up and saw Elijah in the window, holstering the pistol with an irritating calm. To his side, he saw Kane taking a beating from Silas, while Kol tried to find an opening. Henry remembered Kol, night after night, drilling every move just to have a shot against the man who had humiliated him.

  "KOL!" Henry shouted, his voice rasping. Kol didn't take his eyes off Silas for a second, but he heard him. "You wanted Elijah? He’s all yours!"

  Kol finally shifted his gaze. He saw the "Skeleton" watching them from the window. Elijah tilted his head, acknowledging the new adversary. Kol remembered the pain, the fall, and the shadow Elijah had cast over him days ago.

  In a gesture of absolute defiance, Elijah extended both hands toward Kol and gave him the "come here" sign—the same display of superiority the Reaper had used against Henry.

  "Go help Kane," Kol told Henry, his voice sounding like stones grinding together. "He won't hold out against Silas alone."

  Henry nodded, his resolve renewed. The two Heretics ran in opposite directions, crossing paths as they swapped destinies: Kol heading up for his reckoning, and Henry diving into Silas’s fury to save Kane.

  Speed vs. Strength

  Aiden charged with blind fury, his thorned guitar swinging down like an executioner’s axe. The impact shattered a wooden dresser right behind Leo, sending splinters flying in every direction. The young Heretic, however, was already clinging to the side wall, his steel claws dug deep into the drywall.

  Aiden gave no quarter, delivering another heavy blow, but Leo leaped away, dodging with an agility that bordered on the impossible.

  "You’re supposed to be fast like me, Aiden," Leo’s voice echoed, provocative. "But that piece of junk in your hands makes you slow. It’s just a heavy museum piece."

  The comment hit Aiden’s ego. "The Musician" flared up, his eyes gleaming with hatred behind his mask. He lunged again, feinting a massive horizontal strike. Leo, anticipating the move, prepared to duck and counter-attack from below, but Aiden was a veteran. Mid-swing, the Reaper shifted his angle, taking a short hop and redirecting the guitar downward.

  CRACK!

  The body of the guitar slammed squarely into Leo’s back. The boy grunted in pain, being hurled against the floor.

  "How’s that for a note, you little maggot?" Aiden hissed, catching his breath as he watched Leo struggle to get up.

  Aiden raised the guitar for a final vertical blow, aiming to crush the boy's skull. Leo, in a survival reflex, rolled to the side at the very last millisecond. Aiden’s heavy weapon embedded itself deep into the old wooden floor, snagging for a brief moment.

  That was the opening Leo needed. Instead of fleeing, he lunged at Aiden, locking his legs around the Reaper’s waist like a wild animal. With a shout of effort, Leo drove the four claws of each hand into Aiden’s shoulders, right near the base of the neck. The steel tore through the tactical fabric and bit into the flesh, ripping out blood and strips of muscle.

  Aiden didn't let out a single scream, but his body faltered. He stumbled back, desperately trying to throw the boy off him. Leo let go on his own, delivering a powerful kick to Aiden’s chest to gain some distance.

  The two stood there, panting, just a few feet apart. Aiden felt the warm blood trickling down his shoulders, staining his black jacket, while Leo felt every vertebra protest from the previous blow. They stared each other down: the wounded artist and the rookie who refused to die.

  End of Chapter