Vikram rolled out of the way just as the concrete block smashed into the floor, shattering the steel plates. The impact threw a cloud of dust and sparks into the freezing air.
Vikram stood up, his breathing ragged. He could feel the cold seeping into his joints, slowing his reactions.
Devendra didn't give him time to recover. He floated closer, his silver veins pulsing with energy. He threw a series of dark-photon projectiles—solid spikes of shadow that cut through the air like bullets.
Vikram used his boxing defense, slipping and ducking the spikes.
*Slip, slip, roll.*
A shadow spike grazed his cheek, leaving a thin line of frost that instantly turned his skin numb. Another spike pierced his shoulder, the cold energy freezing his muscles.
Vikram gasped, dropping to one knee. His left arm was completely paralyzed, hanging uselessly at his side.
"You are weak, Vikram," Devendra said, landing on the platform in front of him. "Your father was a fool who died for a city of thieves. Why do you choose to follow him?"
"Because he knew... that some things are worth dying for," Vikram gasped, his right hand gripping his brass knuckles.