The ring closed for the final time. It would incinerate them both. Nova grabbed him—held the MRVN unit to her chest—and activated her emergency evac flare. It was against the rules. It disqualified her.
He wasn’t built for this. Not the Apex Games. Not the blood-soaked glory of a Champion’s podium. He was salvaged. A repair unit. His left arm had been a welding torch in a past life; his optical sensor was a recycled optic from a decommissioned dropship.
Her breath caught. Her railgun lowered. “Ecy…ler?” apex ecyler
She fired. He raised his welding torch. The beam met her shot—not deflecting, but bending it, redirecting the plasma into the ground. The shockwave blew his legs off.
But he had a memory file. One single, corrupted fragment: a child’s laugh, a promise whispered in a hangar bay before the IMC burned the sky. “Find me in the ring, Ecy.” The ring closed for the final time
He raised his arm. The welding torch flickered, blue and unstable. “This.”
“Found you,” he beeped. Soft. Broken. It was against the rules
He crawled.