CHAPTER 204: STALEMATE

The ruins of Stonebridge and Marrowport lay broken under smoke. Ash drifted through the valley like snow that burned instead of cooled.

Inigo crouched behind the tilted husk of the JLTV, blood streaking his temple. The M4 was hot in his grip, last magazine riding light. Lyra balanced on the shattered arch of a collapsed granary, her bowstring drawn, one arrow glowing faint under her touch.

Across the ruins, the Lord of Destruction loomed. His armor split with glowing cracks, molten seams hissing with every breath. His warhammer burned bright enough to cast long shadows across the broken docks.

He was waiting for them to break.

Inigo fired first. Short bursts, three rounds at a time, hammering into the same weak seam at the Lord’s hip. Sparks burst, fragments of molten plate hissing into the stone.

Lyra loosed alongside him. Her arrow struck true, glowing deeper as her skill thrummed through it, the shaft driving between the plates at the shoulder. The impact staggered him half a step.

The giant’s molten eyes turned toward them. He lifted the warhammer and swung.

The air itself split. A visible ring of compressed force screamed outward, hurling dust and stone. Inigo dove behind the JLTV’s wreck, the shockwave rattling its battered frame. Lyra vaulted sideways, her boots finding fractured wall as she rolled to her feet, already nocking another arrow.

The Lord’s voice rolled over them, steady as a tolling bell.

"Delay. That is all you are."

"Yeah?" Inigo muttered, teeth gritted as he swapped mags. "Let’s see how long delay lasts."

He sprinted, boots hammering across the cobbles, rifle barking. Brass clattered at his heels. The Lord turned, warhammer sweeping in an arc.

Inigo ducked under it, the weapon’s head missing him by less than a handspan. The swing sheared through the remnants of a stone wall, scattering rubble like shrapnel.

Lyra’s arrow sang. It buried deep in the back of the Lord’s knee joint. The brute lurched, one leg dipping. Inigo seized the opening.

He swung the RPG tube up from the rubble where it had fallen, sighted fast, and fired. The rocket screamed, slamming into the Lord’s torso. The explosion ripped armor plates loose, flames spilling from the cracks.

Smoke churned. Inigo lowered the launcher and spat grit. "That did something."

From the fire, the Lord stepped forward, molten blood hissing against stone. He had not slowed.

"Not enough," Lyra said grimly, loosing another arrow that glanced from his helm.

The Lord roared—not with rage, but with force. He swung the warhammer two-handed, smashing it into the earth.

The ground split open. Cracks ran in glowing lines, magma bleeding upward. Stonebridge’s ruins groaned as chunks collapsed into the river, steam gouting high.

Inigo stumbled, caught his footing, and cursed. "He’s trying to sink the whole valley."

"Then we don’t give him time." Lyra’s eyes blazed. She vaulted from her perch, dashing with supernatural speed. She slid low, loosed point-blank, and her arrow pierced deep into the seam at his waist.

The Lord’s gauntlet snapped outward. He caught her mid-motion, massive fingers closing around her.

"Insect," he said.

Lyra kicked, twisting, but his grip was crushing.

Inigo sprinted, slamming the Browning’s stripped receiver into place on the rubble. He yanked the feed belt taut and squeezed the spade grips.

The .50 caliber roared, slugs tearing into the Lord’s forearm. Armor cracked, glowing lines bursting open. Lyra wrenched free, tumbling hard onto the stone, coughing blood but alive.

The Lord turned, golden eyes narrowing at the smoking machine gun.

Inigo met that gaze and squeezed again. "Come on, you bastard!"

Rounds hammered him back a step. Not defeat—but pressure. Enough.

The Lord swung the hammer one-handed. The shockwave slammed into the Browning, wrenching it from the rubble and sending it spinning into the ruins. Inigo was hurled back, the breath crushed from his lungs.

Lyra fired into the opening, her last arrow streaking like lightning. It struck the crack in his chest, sinking to the fletching. The Lord staggered, molten blood spraying across the stones.

But still he advanced.

"Fall," he intoned, raising the hammer high.

Lyra pulled a spare arrow from the rubble, a shaft splintered but usable. "Not yet."

She loosed. The arrow struck his gauntlet, deflecting the swing just enough that the hammer smashed into stone instead of them. The shockwave hurled rubble into the sky.

Inigo rolled to his feet, M4 in hand. "Lyra, we’re out of time!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Then we make time."

Relentless

The fight devolved into survival.

Inigo fired until the rifle clicked dry, then slammed home his last magazine. He dashed between cover, bursts sparking against armor, never enough to stop, always enough to harry.

Lyra vaulted broken walls, arrows striking joints, helm, and seams. Each bought heartbeats. Each kept the Lord turning.

But his pace never faltered. Every hammer swing collapsed another section of ruin. Every shockwave widened the cracks. The valley itself seemed to groan under his weight.

Inigo ducked behind a fallen tower, ribs aching, lungs burning. He slammed another rocket into the RPG tube with trembling hands.

Lyra appeared beside him, blood on her lip, eyes hard. "We’re not winning."

"We’re not losing either," he said, hefting the launcher.

She almost smiled. "Then let’s keep the pressure."

They surged together.

Inigo’s rocket slammed into the Lord’s chest, ripping another plate away. Lyra’s arrows followed, one burying in his thigh, the other in his side. Molten blood hissed, dripping across the stones.

The Lord paused. Just for a breath. His molten eyes narrowed.

"Knives," he said again, but his voice carried strain this time. "Small. Sharp. Delay."

He raised the hammer, flame coiling around it. The heat seared the air, blistered stone, turned the ruins into a furnace.

Lyra drew another arrow, breath steady. Inigo braced the M4, the barrel glowing hot.

The three of them stood locked, ash swirling, ruin groaning. No retreat, no surrender, no end in sight.

The battle raged on, neither side yielding.

The ruins shook with every step the Lord took, each impact cracking the stone further as if the earth itself wanted to get out of his way. Ash swirled thick, coating Lyra’s lips and teeth, tasting like iron and smoke.

Inigo shouldered the M4 again, barrel nearly warped from the heat of sustained fire. He shifted his stance, weight low, trying to keep every shot precise. Three-round bursts spat fire, ricocheting off molten seams. He was burning through his last rounds, but each trigger squeeze kept the giant’s gaze split between him and Lyra.

Lyra vaulted up a fractured wall, balancing like a dancer on uneven stone. Her bowstring thrummed, the arrow glowing faint blue as her skill amplified the shot. She exhaled, then loosed. The shaft sliced the air and embedded itself in the seam along the brute’s collar. The impact rang sharp, forcing his head to twist slightly.

The Lord’s molten gaze narrowed. "Insects should not sting."

He slammed his warhammer into the rubble at his feet. The blast rippled outward, stone chunks flying like sling bullets. Inigo ducked low, rolling behind a cracked column as shards punched into the wall with enough force to crater. Lyra slid behind her perch, dust and heat curling around her as fragments whistled past.

"Too close," she hissed, stringing another shot.

"Means he’s noticing," Inigo barked back, slamming the M4’s bolt forward.

The Lord advanced, fire dripping from his hammer, sizzling on the shattered cobbles. He swung one-handed, the sheer wind of it blowing ash aside in a violent arc. Lyra dove clear, an arrow already leaving her fingers as she twisted midair. It struck his thigh joint, sparks spraying.

The impact forced his knee to dip. Inigo seized the moment. He shouldered the half-broken RPG tube again, balancing its dented frame against his arm. One squeeze and the rocket screamed across the ruins, hammering the Lord in the chest. The explosion tore away another molten plate, fragments raining down in glowing chunks.

The giant paused, smoke curling around him. For a heartbeat, he seemed still.

Then he stepped forward, molten blood seeping from his cracks, sizzling down his armor.

Lyra landed hard, breath ragged. "That should’ve slowed him more."

Inigo gritted his teeth.

The Lord raised his hammer high, heat swelling until the air warped. "Fall," he intoned again, voice unshaken.

Inigo braced the rifle, Lyra nocked another shaft. They stood shoulder to shoulder in the broken square, facing the furnace glow of his gaze.

The hammer descended—

—but they both moved, faster than thought. Lyra vaulted left, arrow whistling past his gauntlet, forcing his aim wide. The hammer struck earth beside them, the shockwave splitting stone and tossing rubble sky-high. Inigo dove right, rifle spitting fire as he hit the ground, rounds sparking against the giant’s exposed hip joint.

The Lord turned, cloak of flame sweeping ash into a spiral. His armor was fractured now, cracks bleeding molten light. But his steps never faltered. Each stride chewed the ruins closer, hammer dragging furrows in the stone.

Lyra spat dust, nocking another shaft with bloody fingers. "We can’t keep trading like this."

Inigo chambered his last rounds, breath harsh. "Then we make him bleed faster."

The ruins thundered around them as the Lord raised his hammer yet again.

And still, the fight raged.