The executive's wrenching screams on the ground did nothing to change Rex's posture; he stopped paying attention to the woman clutching what remained of her leg. His accusing, defiant gaze had turned to Captain Trinnus. For a moment, seeing his subordinate sprawled on the floor made the captain's cyborg pride waver.
That tiny doubt was the only thing keeping him from launching himself at a mere human. He remembered, loud and clear, the words of his superior in the Ladder:—The superior race does not roll in the mud with monkeys.
That dictum had marked him from the day he accepted his post; after replacing his arms and legs and most of his head and abdomen, he had kept his forehead high, proud to belong to the elite. But today something else struck him: even as seventy percent machine, he could not bring himself to stoop. For the first time since he'd chosen this path, he wished he still had a bit of his biological heart to vent his rage on the youth with pure violence.
His thoughts were interrupted by his second lieutenant, who ran to his side and declared firmly:—Captain, let me handle this fight. I'll also take care of rescuing Ángela.
Trinnus drew a deep breath; he felt the vents of his artificial lungs quicken, cooling his mechanical heart. With a single gesture, he authorized the attack.—I leave it in your hands, Tina.—Thank you, Captain, —the young woman answered, solemn and sure.
She wasted no time. In a single leap she planted herself before Rex. As she advanced, she shrugged off her heavy silver trench and revealed a wide neckline barely covered by a sleeveless black top. Calmly, she tied the jacket at her hips and removed her cap, letting loose a wild blonde mane that barely concealed her blue eyes —eyes that instantly flared a supernatural gold.
—Now I'll play with you, boy.—I came for the grand prize, not the attendants, —Rex replied without even taking a fighting stance, one arm resting on his hip as he waited for her first move.
But the young woman wasn't reckless. She had seen the power of the self-proclaimed Rex Tyranus and wouldn't sell herself cheaply. Rex, with a smirk, glanced toward the mutilated limb lying a few paces away like scrap. Then he returned his gaze to the woman, muscles coiled and ready.
A kick began the encounter. With a casual flick of his foot Rex sent the half-melted leg sliding toward the blonde. She didn't hesitate: at high speed she activated her magnetic gloves, which attracted the thin sky-blue Elentite threads hidden in her jacket. With a sharp gesture, the threads sliced the metal limb clean in two, revealing the sheen of those razor fibers.—That's your trump card… I see.
For the first time, Tyranus went on the defensive. He knew those threads were dangerous and that he had to keep his distance. They weren't as lethal as crimson rounds, but they were still a serious threat.
The executive wouldn't grant him the space. With a motion of her right hand she launched five rows of threads toward him. The farther they flew, the less luminous they became, and the harder they were to spot. Instinctively, Rex leapt back with all his strength, but one thread still caught his left leg. If his clothes hadn't been designed to resist crimson fire, the attack would have ripped the limb clean off.—Lucky, —the woman said coldly.
And she wasn't wrong. Rex stared down at his now-ripped trousers.—I think I underestimated the edge of your threads.—It happens, —she answered, unconcerned.
Rex hadn't been careless—only misjudging the girl's power. I need to accept that women can be strong too… what a backward thought, he chided himself as he pushed back to his feet.
Then he noticed something else: the blonde, with her left hand, was puppeteering her fallen comrade. To Tyranus's surprise, the woman on the ground no longer wept; she had gone unconscious, perhaps from pain or a built-in safety protocol to protect soldiers' minds.
—That's it… —Rex murmured. He understood that golden pupils were one of the army's first augmentations. They didn't just increase processing power; they fed real-time command data and could even dampen a soldier's consciousness if needed to keep them stable.
The blonde lifted her injured partner with her threads, careful not to cut or burn her—absolute control.
Meanwhile Rex barely stayed upright. Fatigue had accumulated; only adrenaline and rage kept him moving. I can't waste any more time, he told himself.
He inhaled deeply. Then, in a steady voice, he issued the first of his safety commands:—"Azure Whisper."