The night air was thick with gasoline and danger. Neon lights from the underground ring reflected off the wet asphalt, casting a shifting kaleidoscope of colors across the lineup of machines growling like caged beasts.
Blaze stood beside the Apex, his black-and-chrome beast, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he eyed the opposition.
Tonight wasn't just another race. This was the race. The one that could crown him king—or bury him for good.
Across the lot, Dante's crimson Veyron sat like a demon in the shadows, its polished hood catching stray glimmers of light. Dante leaned casually against the car, smirking at Blaze. "You sure you're ready for this? Last I checked, you're running on borrowed time… and borrowed luck."
Blaze's jaw tightened. "I don't need luck. I only need the road."
From the sidelines, Raven watched, her leather jacket zipped tight against the cold. Her eyes locked on Blaze, silently urging him to win. She knew what was at stake—not just pride, but the truth about the sabotage that had been haunting him since the Grand Circuit crash.
Engines roared as the racers lined up.
The starting marshal raised his hand. The crowd leaned in, breaths held. Somewhere in the noise, Blaze could hear his own heartbeat—slow, steady, deadly focused.
Three… Two… One…
The signal dropped.
Tires screamed. Metal surged forward. The Apex exploded off the line, its twin turbos kicking in with a howl that rattled bones.
Dante stayed close. Too close. Blaze could feel the heat from the Veyron's exhaust in his rear-view. The city blurred around them—neon streaks, flashing signs, the distant wail of sirens.
They hit the first corner at 160 mph. Dante tried to take the inside, but Blaze blocked, forcing him to brake hard. The Veyron's tires spat smoke.
"Nice try," Blaze muttered, downshifting and launching into the next straight.
Halfway through the second lap, the streets narrowed—a tight industrial sector with barely enough space for two cars. Every bump, every shadow could mean disaster.
That's when Blaze saw it.
A steel barrier, shifted just enough to block the right lane. A setup. A trap.
Dante didn't slow down—he aimed straight for Blaze, trying to force him into it.
Blaze gritted his teeth. "Not tonight."
He flicked the Apex sideways, the rear tires biting into the slick pavement. Sparks lit the night as his side mirror scraped a wall. Somehow, impossibly, he slipped past the barrier, leaving Dante in the dust for a split second.
The crowd erupted. But Blaze knew the race was far from over.
Final lap. Every muscle in his body was wired, every sense burning. The Apex screamed beneath him, the tachometer flirting with the redline.
Dante came again, roaring up beside him, their cars so close the paint almost kissed. Blaze could see the fire in Dante's eyes—pure, uncut rage.
They hit the last straight. The finish line loomed ahead, bathed in blinding light.
Blaze pushed the throttle to the floor. The Apex surged forward, its engine unleashing every ounce of power it had left.
For a heartbeat, the world slowed. The wind roared. Raven's voice echoed in his head: Don't hold back. Not now.
The Apex crossed the line. First.
The crowd exploded, chanting his name. But Blaze didn't raise his hands in victory. His eyes were locked on Dante, who had already pulled over, face twisted in fury.
Something told Blaze this wasn't the end. This was just the beginning of the war.