The red striker lunged.
Franz moved first.
His arm, still locked around Serena's waist, became a pivot. In one impossibly fluid movement that was more dance than dodge, he swung her entire body out of the attacker's path. The boy's hand sliced through empty air, momentum dragging him stumbling forward. Before he could recover, Franz shifted his grip, one arm scooping beneath her knees, the other bracing her back.
With a strength that felt less human and more mechanical, he lifted her.
Serena let out a sharp, involuntary gasp. One moment her feet touched concrete, the next she was held aloft in a princess carry, pressed against a chest as solid as stone.
"What are you—!"
Her protest was swallowed by a sudden, gut-wrenching acceleration. Franz exploded into motion, his stride not just fast but unnatural. The opponent who had just missed them was left in the dust, frozen in disbelief. The arena floor blurred beneath them.
The world became motion.
