"No."
"No?"
"You're wrong." I straighten, pushing down the fear, the horror, the sickening uncertainty. "I don't care what Konstantin built into me. I don't care what trigger he buried. I will find a way to rip it out. And until then, I will fight every single second against whatever he tries to make me do."
"You can't fight programming."
"Watch me." I meet her eyes. "I've been fighting my whole life. Fighting to survive. Fighting to matter. Fighting against people who told me I was nothing, that I'd never be anything. And I'm still here." I feel something shift inside me. Something that might be the weapon waking up, or might just be rage. "Konstantin thinks he built a bomb he can detonate whenever he wants. But bombs can be defused. Triggers can be removed. And I would rather die,trulydie, than let him use me to hurt Maximus."
"Pretty words. Let's see if you mean them."
I attack before she can respond.
Not with technique, but with fury. All the rage I've been carrying since I woke up in that warehouse, alone and changed and abandoned. All the grief for the life that was stolen from me, the sister I can't see, the future that was ripped away. All the hatred for the woman who did the stealing and then walked away laughing.
I fight dirty. No rules. No referees. Just violence, pure and purposeful.
I grew up scrapping in back alleys before I ever learned proper form. I know how to fight someone who outmatches me. You don't try to win, you try to survive long enough for them to make a mistake.
We tear at each other. She opens a gash across my stomach; I rake my nails down her face. She breaks two more of my ribs; I dislocate her shoulder. Blood splatters across the concrete, mine and hers, mingling.
Through it all, I stay aware of the other fight. The rhythm of it. Maximus is still standing, I can tell by the sounds, by the way the combat ebbs and flows. He's hurt but holding. Matching Konstantin blow for blow.
Hold on, I think.I'm coming.
Valentina catches me with a strike to the temple. The world tilts. I stagger, and she presses the advantage, driving me back toward a concrete pillar.
"You can't win," she snarls. "I made you. I know every weakness you have."
"You didn't make me." I duck under her swing, spin behind her. "You just awakened me."
My elbow locks around her throat. She thrashes, but I hold on, tightening my grip until I feel her spine grinding against my forearm.
"Let me tell you what you actually gave me," I hiss in her ear. "Eight months alone. Eight months of figuring out how to survive without a maker, without guidance, without anyone. Eight months of fighting every single night just to see the next sunset."
She claws at my arm. Blood wells up, but I don't let go.
"You thought you were breaking me. But you were training me. Every night I survived made me stronger. Every battle I won proved I could do this on my own." I tighten my grip. "You made a mistake, Valentina. You should have killed me when you had the chance."
"Konstantin will..."
"Konstantin isn't here. And even if he was, I don't care." I feel her struggles weakening. "You took everything from me. My life. My sister. My future. And now I'm taking something from you."
"What?"
"Your existence."
She makes one last desperate move, her hand diving into her jacket, pulling out something that gleams silver in the dim light. A blade. Short, sharp, designed for killing.
The blade catches me in the side, sliding between my ribs, burning as it goes. The pain is unlike anything I've felt, not just physical agony, but something deeper. Something fundamentally wrong, like my blood itself is screaming.
But I don't let go.
"That won't save you," I growl through gritted teeth.
"Silver to your original modification site." Valentina's voice is a rasp, barely audible. "Konstantin said that was your weakness. The place where he first changed you. Now the changes will come undone. You'll die, just slower than me."
"Then I better make this quick."
