The mysterious man smiled slowly, predatory, as his gaze shifted back to Nym.

  The moment it happened, Vale felt it. A cold shiver slid down his spine, not fear exactly, but recognition. The man had reached the same conclusion Vale had learned long ago.

  There was a rule, an unbreakable one: no matter who or what you were, if your body held less atum than your opponent’s, dealing meaningful damage was nearly impossible.

  That was why weapons existed.

  Weapons could hold atum. They could be saturated with it, refined and focused. A fighter’s power, poured into a weapon, didn’t merely add, it multiplied. And Vale’s weapons were different. There were none like them.

  The onyx blades possessed overwhelming atum density. They accepted foreign atum effortlessly, amplified it without rejection, and maintained internal pressure that eclipsed almost anything Vale had ever encountered. Against sheer durability, they were absolute.

  But without them,

  Vale’s eyes widened.

  The man moved.

  In a blink, he seized Nym’s onyx blade and ripped it free from her grasp. Before Vale could even shout, the man twisted and hurled her like a projectile.

  “Nym!”

  Vale dropped his own blade without hesitation and caught her midair. The impact sent both of them skidding backward across the floor, Vale digging his heels in to arrest their momentum. He barely managed to stay upright.

  When he looked up, the man stood there calmly, unarmed.

  Vale swallowed.

  Eskar had already recovered enough to understand what had happened. His eyes hardened as he forced himself forward despite the blazing strain tearing through his body. Korin moved as well, feral energy rolling off him as both charged the man together.

  They never reached him.

  The man grinned. “Three percent.”

  He vanished.

  In less than a heartbeat, he struck, two precise blows, perfectly placed. Fingers dug into nerves, joints twisted at impossible angles. Eskar collapsed instantly. Korin followed. The man tossed their unconscious bodies aside like discarded tools, their forms skidding to a stop near Vale and Nym.

  Vale stared.

  All of them were down. Only he was left.

  “I could wipe you all out now,” the man said casually.

  Behind Vale, hundreds of students trembled. Some cried. Others stood frozen, staring at the monster before them, knowing there was nothing they could do.

  “But,” the man continued, amusement curling his lips, “that’s no fun.”

  His gaze locked onto Vale.

  “Face me,” he said softly, dangerously. “Without your fancy weapon.”

  His smile widened. “If you win, I’ll leave.”

  Vale felt his heart pounding violently in his chest. He knew the truth, this wasn’t mercy, it was merely a sadist extending the game.

  But right now, it was the best outcome possible.

  Could Vale win?

  No.

  Was Vale even close to the man’s level?

  Absolutely not.

  But time mattered now. Time was everything now.

  Vale stepped forward. “I accept.”

  The man’s smile sharpened into something feral. “Good.”

  He dropped low, muscles coiling like a predator’s, and launched himself at Vale.

  Vale reacted instantly, sidestepping as the man blurred past him. The man twisted midair, landed, and struck in the same motion.

  Vale barely turned in time. The punch scraped along his side, tearing through armor and flesh alike. Pain exploded through him as blood sprayed, but even as he stumbled, his armor regenerated and his flesh knitted back together almost instantly, not as fast as the man’s, but close.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The man laughed, delighted, and followed with a wide, sweeping kick.

  Vale dropped low and slid beneath it, lashing out with his legs and aiming for the man’s footing. It did nothing. The man looked down at him, unimpressed, and brought his foot down.

  Vale kicked off the ground just in time, launching himself away as the impact shattered the floor where his head had been. He landed some meters away, rolled, and came up just as the man rushed him again.

  Punches rained down.

  Vale dodged, barely. Each near miss scraped skin, tore armor, and drew blood. Pain stacked rapidly, disorienting him, and one misstep cost him his balance.

  The man didn’t hesitate however.

  Another punch came instantly.

  Vale caught the arm, yanked the man forward with everything he had, and slammed his fist into the man’s face. The impact was solid, satisfying, and utterly meaningless.

  A crushing force detonated in Vale’s abdomen as the man’s foot buried itself into his gut. Vale was launched backward, blood spraying from his mouth as he crashed hard into the floor.

  The man laughed, loud, unrestrained, and cruel.

  Vale groaned as he pushed himself up on trembling arms. Blood dripped from his lips as he coughed, his armor and mechanical arm already working furiously to repair the damage.

  For a moment, doubt crept in.

  Then he saw them.

  Nym, Eskar and Korin.

  Unconscious and helpless in this critical moment.

  And beyond them, the students stood.

  If he fell now, there would be no delay, no rescue, no miracle. Everyone would die.

  Vale clenched his teeth. “No,” he muttered.

  He forced himself upright, coughing blood as his body repaired itself piece by piece. Pain screamed through every nerve, but he raised his hand anyway, ready, defiant, still standing, and prepared to continue the fight no matter the cost.

  Vale straightened fully, blood still warm at the corner of his mouth.

  His eyes burned.

  And though he didn’t realize it yet, something had changed.

  The icy-blue glow ignited without warning, sharp and luminous as it cut through the dust-filled chamber. His teeth lengthened subtly into predatory fangs, his jaw tightening as his breath grew heavier. His hair roughened and bristled as if charged with static, every strand standing defiantly against the air itself.

  This was no longer desperation.

  This was intent.

  Vale clenched his jaw and surged forward, not to stall, not to survive, but to win. After all, how could he possibly hold out if he didn’t even treat this like a real fight?

  He closed the distance in an instant and unleashed a relentless barrage of punches. At first, the man dodged them easily, weaving aside with an amused, wicked grin carved into his face.

  But Vale didn’t slow. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t retreat.

  Then one punch landed.

  The man scoffed, already expecting it to be weak.

  He was wrong.

  The impact detonated against his side, launching him dozens of meters backward as his body smashed into the barrier with enough force to fracture the air around it. Vale didn’t pause. He followed immediately.

  Before the man could even recover from the rebound, Vale was on him again, fists slamming into metal with terrifying force. Each blow struck harder than the last as Mirage’s strength flooded through Vale’s body, amplifying every movement beyond what should have been possible. Metal crumpled. Servos screamed. The man’s mechanical frame buckled under the assault.

  Snarling, the man reacted on instinct. Ice erupted outward, crawling up Vale’s legs and freezing the ground beneath him in an instant. Vale twisted violently, shattering the ice, and leapt back just as the man charged again, irritation now burning openly across his face. His movements grew sharper, more reckless, he wanted this finished quickly.

  Vale noticed.

  And chuckled.

  As the man lunged, Vale stepped inside the strike and drove his elbow into the man’s metallic jaw, snapping his head sideways. He followed with a brutal punch from the same arm, sending the man reeling. The man retaliated immediately, launching a flurry of blows, but Vale slipped between them, weaving and pivoting as if dancing. Every movement was precise, efficient and predatory.

  The man’s focus began to fracture.

  Vale felt it.

  The sensation was familiar, not the man, not the setting, but the circumstance itself. He was facing an opponent he should never have been able to defeat.

  And strangely, that familiarity was comforting.

  But comfort wouldn’t end this.

  Vale planted his foot against the man’s chest and smashed his forehead into the man’s face. The headbutt staggered him back, and Vale followed with a devastating punch to the stomach that sent him tumbling across the floor. Vale stood over him, looking down.

  The man stared up in return, pure disgust etched into his expression. Hatred coiled tightly behind his eyes, he would kill Vale. That much was certain.

  Yet Vale felt compelled to speak. His voice was cold and casual, almost bored.

  “I was wrong,” Vale said.

  The man stilled as Vale continued, icy eyes locked onto him.

  “Someone as unskilled as you could never be Miss Yuki.”

  Silence followed.

  Then the man laughed softly.

  “Is that so?”

  Blue light swallowed him as he rose into the air, energy spiraling violently around his form. “Then I’ll just kill all of you.”

  Vale’s expression remained flat, until clarity slammed into him all at once, his heart skipping as instinct screamed a warning.

  Something was very wrong.

  The man’s face twisted, contorting into pure, unrestrained hatred.

  “I’ll kill each and every one of you!” he screamed. “That bitch Yuki, better than me?! How dare you! You’re weak! You’re nothing! And you think you get to judge me?!”

  Madness overtook him completely.

  “Five percent!”

  The air changed.

  Too fast to track, the barrier overhead cracked, ripples spreading across it like shattered glass. From the center of that fracture, something descended, a blur that tore through the barrier and slammed into the man, driving him into the ground with catastrophic force.

  The chamber shook as dust and debris erupted outward.

  Vale felt something stir at his side.

  Chrome.

  Metal reformed from Vale’s arm as the small construct launched itself forward without hesitation, streaking toward the fallen figure and fusing with it mid-motion.

  As the dust settled, Vale saw him fully, for the first time.

  A towering humanoid of pure, unaltered metal stood where the blur had landed. Thin metallic strands flowed from its head like hair, its broad frame dense and powerful. Its eyes blinked mechanically, lenses adjusting as they focused, and its mouth was not built to eat, only to speak.

  At its chest, eight distinct metal cores rotated calmly, shifting positions in silent harmony.

  The machine turned toward Vale.

  Vale’s eyes widened. “Chrome…” he whispered.

  Their savior had arrived.

  And for the first time in eighteen years,

  Omega.

  No.

  Chrome.

  had been released once more, standing ready to fight for his friend.