CHAPTER 63: A CLASH OF IDEALS

The tip of the energy blade hummed, a low, hungry sound just inches from Michael’s throat.

It smelled like ozone and smug satisfaction.

Sterling’s handsome face was a mask of pure, condescending victory.

"Any last words, stray?"

Michael just stared at him.

Great.

The final boss monologues.

Is there an option to skip this cutscene?

His mind raced, a frantic scramble for a witty retort, a clever escape plan, anything.

All he could come up with was a profound, soul-deep desire to wipe that perfect, punchable smirk off Sterling’s face.

"Just one," Michael said, his voice surprisingly steady.

"Does your armor come in any other colors, or is ’bland corporate sellout’ the only option in the cash shop?"

Sterling’s smile tightened, a flicker of genuine annoyance in his glowing eyes.

A direct hit.

"Such fire," he chuckled, the sound grating. "Such misplaced bravado."

He raised the blade, preparing for the final, game-ending strike.

"It’s a shame it has to be put down."

"JAX!" Michael roared, the name a raw, desperate command.

From the middle of the chaotic battlefield, a wild, joyful scream answered him.

"EAT FLASHY, SHINY BOY!"

Jax, with a grin that was pure, unadulterated chaos, tossed his biggest, loudest, and most obnoxious-looking grenade.

It sailed through the air in a beautiful, glittering arc.

The explosion was a work of art.

BOOM!

A massive cloud of thick, black smoke and a shower of brilliant, dazzling sparks erupted across the field.

The Vanguard phalanx, their shields a solid, impenetrable wall, didn’t even flinch.

The blast washed over them with a soft, indifferent shimmer.

"Inefficient," Sterling noted with a bored sigh, his attention still locked on Michael.

He was so focused on his prey that he didn’t see the real attack.

From the edge of the smoke cloud, Jinx opened fire.

Her rifle spat a relentless stream of armor-piercing rounds.

PING! PING! PING!

They were angry hornets against a battleship, pinging harmlessly off the Vanguard’s main shields.

But they weren’t the attack.

They were the distraction.

"Michael, the flanks!"

Chloe’s voice was a sharp, urgent command in his ear, a cool line of logic in the hot chaos.

"Their formation is perfect, but it’s rigid! Use your mobility! Disrupt them!"

He didn’t need to be told twice.

This wasn’t a fight he could win with strength.

It was a puzzle he had to solve with speed.

[SHADOW STEP!]

ZIP!

The world dissolved into a nauseating smear of purple and black.

He appeared on the left flank of the Vanguard line, his Reaper’s Fang, which he’d snatched from the mud, now glowing with a dark, hungry light.

A Vanguard Hunter, his face a mask of surprise, spun to meet him, his own energy blade humming to life.

CLANG!

The scream of void-on-energy was a high-pitched, ringing shriek.

The Hunter was stronger.

He was faster.

His movements were a textbook of perfect, efficient swordsmanship, each slash a calculated, geometric arc.

Michael was a brawler.

He fought dirty.

He fought to survive.

"His guard is too tight," Chloe’s voice instructed, a calm, analytical current under the roar of the battle. "He’s anticipating a direct assault. Do not give him one."

Michael heard her. He trusted her.

He feinted a lunge, drawing the Hunter’s blade up in a high block.

Then, he used a micro-Shadow Step.

It wasn’t a teleport. It was a glitch.

ZIP!

He reappeared a single foot to the Hunter’s left, inside his guard, breaking the perfect, predictable rhythm of the fight.

The Hunter’s eyes widened in shock. It was a move that wasn’t in any training manual.

Michael didn’t go for the kill.

He slammed the pommel of his dagger into the Hunter’s helmet, a solid, satisfying crunch.

The man staggered back, his focus shattered, the perfect Vanguard line broken.

It was the only opening they needed.

Jinx and Jax poured through the gap, a chaotic, two-person wrecking crew.

"Party time!" Jax yelled, tossing his custom-made Glitch Grenades.

They detonated not with a bang, but with a high-pitched, electronic screech.

The Vanguard Hunters’ advanced, cybernetically-enhanced gear sparked and short-circuited. Their HUDs flickered. Their comms filled with static.

Jinx was a phantom in the chaos, her movements a brutal, efficient dance. She didn’t use her rifle. She used her fists, her boots, and the cold, hard reality of the Undercroft.

A Vanguard mage, his hands crackling with lightning, found himself on the receiving end of a vicious kick to the back of the knee, followed by a silenced pistol shot that took out his shield generator.

The perfect Vanguard formation, the pride of OmniCorp’s corporate sponsorship, shattered into a series of chaotic, desperate skirmishes.

They were actually doing it.

They were a bunch of broken, mismatched toys, and they were taking apart the most expensive action figures in the city.

Then Sterling moved.

He wasn’t a soldier.

He was a force of nature.

A blur of silver and light, he cut through the chaos like a shark through water, his energy blade a thing of terrible, efficient beauty.

He took Jax out first.

A single, precise slash that didn’t hit Jax, but overloaded the power pack on his belt.

Jax let out a surprised yelp as he was sent flying backward in a shower of blue sparks, landing in a heap, groaning.

He disarmed Jinx with a move so fast she didn’t even see it coming, her rifle clattering to the ground as he slammed the flat of his blade into her wrist.

And then, he was on Michael.

The air crackled around him, a low hum of raw, controlled power.

He was faster.

He was stronger.

He was better.

Michael blocked, he parried, he dodged, but it was like trying to stop a hurricane with a paper fan.

Sterling’s movements were flawless. Perfect.

And deeply, fundamentally, boring.

"His attack pattern is a standard DGC--level seven drill," Chloe’s voice was a cold, disdainful whisper in his ear. "He’s predictable. Use it."

Sterling lunged, a textbook thrust aimed directly at Michael’s heart.

Michael didn’t dodge.

He used another micro-Shadow Step.

ZIP!

He appeared directly behind Sterling, his own dagger aimed at the unarmored joint at the back of his neck.

He had him.

But Sterling was good.

He spun, his energy blade coming around in a defensive arc that was pure, instinctual reaction.

Michael was forced to pull back.

Sterling just smiled, his handsome face a mask of smug, condescending victory.

He took a slow step forward, the tip of his energy blade humming, inches from Michael’s throat.

"Such spirit," he purred, his voice a low, mocking whisper. "Such a shame it has to be put down."

He paused, savoring the moment.

The sky above them, a swirling vortex of angry red, seemed to pulse with a new intensity.

The ground trembled.

A new player had entered the game.

Sterling’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of confusion, then dawning horror.

He looked past Michael, his eyes wide.

From the heart of the battlefield, a new figure descended, landing with a soft, almost silent thud that cracked the very earth beneath his feet.

He was tall, his custom, graphite-gray DGC armor making him look less like a soldier and more like a high-end sports car given human form.

He wasn’t here for the gargoyles.

He wasn’t here for the Gate.

He was here for them.

"The prototypes are finally out of their cage," Commander Kael said, a cruel, beautiful smile on his face.

"How fun."