Dravven appears through the haze—bleeding from his shoulder, one eye half-swollen, gun clutched like a religion. He doesn’t say a word. Just nods once.
Unspoken truce.
He shoots the first drone through the eye. I tear the second one’s chest open with my claws. The air smells like burnt lubricant and hot circuitry.
Husker claps his hands. The Maze responds. The walls shift, grinding inward. Light fractures into blood-red shards. “Oh, you two—beautiful symmetry. Predator and prey, bound together. Don’t you get it? You’re not fighting me. You’re performing for me.”
“Then here’s your encore,” I snarl, and charge.
He ducks under my first swing—he’s faster than human should be. My claws rake sparks off the metal floor. He punches a control panel on his wrist. The ground splits into glowing fissures, molten heat surging through.
Dravven rolls, barely missing the plasma crack that arcs up from below. He fires again—three shots, two hit Husker’s shoulder. One clips his jaw.
Husker staggers but doesn’t fall. “You can’t kill the director of his own story,” he hisses. “You’re just characters.”
“Then rewrite it,” Liora snaps.
She’s at the console—my brilliant, furious mate—her compad glowing with code. The Maze flickers in and out, lines of fire snaking through the air.
Husker turns toward her, shouting, “No, no, no—don’t you dare?—”
I hit him mid-sentence. We crash into the floor. He swings a blade out from his forearm—custom tech, edge glowing blue—and it bites deep into my side. Pain floods my spine. I grab his wrist, crush it until the blade cracks.
“Not your show anymore,” I growl, and drive my claws through his chest.
The impact shakes the floor. He gasps, eyes wide, blood bubbling up between his teeth.
Liora’s voice cuts through the static: “Gyon—get clear!”
The Maze shrieks. Every wall flares white. Dravven dives behind a fallen console. I pull my hand free, shoving Husker backward into a shattered drone chassis. Sparks explode as metal impales flesh.
Dirk Husker grins even as he dies. Bloody teeth, eyes wild. He leans his head back and laughs.
“Oh, you think you’ve won,” he gurgles. “You forgot the Spoilsport System.”
Then his hand slams down on the embedded drone control.
The Maze screams.
The lights go nova. The floor fractures. The smell of burning plastic and vaporized metal fills my lungs. The air pressure changes—rushing outward.
The Spoilsport System. I’d heard of it. A failsafe. If Husker lost, the Maze would implode, taking everything with it.
“MOVE!” I roar.
Dravven grabs Liora, dragging her toward the outer platform. Panels collapse behind them. I sprint after, dodging a falling girder, flames licking my legs.
Liora turns. “Gyon, come on!”
The world detonates.
A wave of force hits. The platform she’s standing on splits like glass. I see her fall, arms reaching, hair fanning out like light.
“Liora!”
I dive, fingers brushing hers—miss by an inch. She disappears into the white fire below.
Then everything burns.
