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Chapter 3 - The Queen’s First Kill

The Scavenger Leader laughed. It was a wet, ugly sound that bubbled through his melted lips.

"Look at her," he mocked, twirling a rusty chain as he stepped closer. "Standing like a doll. Put the hand down, girl. You don't know how to use it. That's a Relic. It needs a Prime Source to—"

[DIRECTIVE: ELIMINATE THREAT.]

Elara didn't wait for him to finish. She didn't wait for permission.

She felt the Gauntlet hum against her skin, drawing energy not just from its reserves, but seemingly from her own bio-electricity. The blue gemstone on the back of her hand flashed blindingly bright, scorching the air around her wrist.

"Fire," Elara whispered.

It wasn't a spell. It was a command code.

BOOM.

A beam of concentrated kinetic force erupted from the palm of the white gauntlet. It wasn't a laser; it was a shockwave of pure, condensed gravity.

The recoil was brutal. It threw Elara backward onto the debris, snapping her shoulder back.

But the effect on the target was absolute.

It hit the Scavenger Leader square in the chest.

There was no scream. There was no struggle.

One second, the massive man was standing there, laughing. The next second, his upper torso simply... vanished. It imploded under the pressure, turning into a mist of red blood and bone shards that sprayed over his terrified comrades.

His legs, still standing, took a moment to realize they were dead before crumbling to the ground like wet clay.

Silence.

The wind howled through the scrap canyon. The remaining five scavengers stared at the pile of meat that used to be their boss. They looked at Elara, who was scrambling to get back up. They looked at the smoking white hand.

Elara stood, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her stomach churned. She had just killed a man. She had obliterated him.

"Holy..." Ciro wheezed behind her.

[ENERGY LEVEL: 0%.][SYSTEM HIBERNATION INITIATED.]

The blue light on the gauntlet flickered and died. The hum stopped. The weapon was dead weight again—just a heavy piece of ceramic locked to her arm.

The Scavengers saw the light go out. Their shock turned instantly to rage.

"She's out of juice!" one of them screamed, raising a spear made of sharpened rebar. "Kill the witch! Get the armor!"

"Elara, move!" Ciro roared.

He pushed her aside, forcing his broken body into motion.

The Jester moved like a blur of red and black pain. He ducked under the first spear thrust, slashing his dagger across the attacker's hamstrings. The man fell screaming.

Ciro spun, throwing a handful of sand into the eyes of the second attacker before driving his knee into the man's groin.

But he was slow. He was hurt.

A heavy wrench swung by a third scavenger slammed into Ciro's bad side—the side with the broken ribs.

CRACK.

The sound was sickening.

Ciro cried out, falling to his knees. He vomited blood onto the dirt.

"Got you, little clown," the scavenger grunted, raising the wrench high for a killing blow to the head.

"NO!" Elara screamed.

She didn't have the blast anymore. But she had the Gauntlet. And the Gauntlet was made of heavy, indestructible ceramic alloy.

She didn't think. She swung.

She smashed the heavy metal fist into the scavenger's face with all the fury of a betrayed princess.

CRUNCH.

The scavenger's nose collapsed. Teeth flew. He reeled back, blinded by pain and blood.

Elara didn't stop.

Adrenaline hijacked her brain. She grabbed a jagged piece of metal pipe from the ground with her Gauntleted hand—the servos locking her grip with a mechanical click—and swung it like a club.

She hit him again. And again. And again.

She hit him until he stopped moving. She hit him until the pipe bent.

She stood there, panting, covered in dust and blood that wasn't hers. Her white wedding dress was ruined, stained crimson. Her crown was gone.

The last two scavengers looked at the pulp that used to be their friend's face. They looked at the crazy girl beating a corpse with a pipe. They looked at the Jester who was trying to stand up with a knife in his teeth.

They dropped their weapons and ran.

"Cowards," Ciro spat, spitting a mouthful of blood. He tried to stand, but his legs gave out. He collapsed face-first into the dirt.

"Ciro!" Elara dropped the pipe and fell to her knees beside him.

He was pale. Ghostly pale. His breath came in shallow, wet rasps.

"Rib..." Ciro gasped, clutching his side. "Punctured... lung. Not good."

"Tell me what to do," Elara demanded, tears stinging her eyes. She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. "You are not dying here. I forbid it."

Ciro managed a weak, bloody grin. "You forbid it? You sound... like a Queen."

"Shut up and tell me!"

"Bio-foam," Ciro pointed to a pouch on his belt with a shaking hand. "Inject it... straight into the chest. It will seal the lung. Hurt like hell."

Elara grabbed the canister. It looked like a syringe gun, marked with a red medical cross.

She ripped open his motley, exposing the bruised, purple flesh of his chest. She could see the unnatural bulge of the broken bone beneath the skin.

Her hands shook. She had never touched a medical tool in her life. She had servants to bandage her papercuts.

"Do it, Elara," Ciro whispered, his eyes rolling back. "Or I drown... in my own blood."

Elara gritted her teeth. She jammed the needle into his chest and pulled the trigger.

HISS.

Ciro screamed. His back arched off the ground, his veins bulging as the foam expanded inside him to seal the wound. Then he slumped back, unconscious.

The silence returned to the canyon.

Elara checked his pulse. It was weak, but steady. The wheezing had stopped.

She sat back on her heels, looking at the carnage around her. Three dead bodies. A vast, endless wasteland. And an unconscious man who was too heavy to carry.

She looked at her hand. The Hand of A.R.E.S. was lifeless, a heavy white shell.

"Directive: Rebuild," she whispered the words the System had shown her.

She stood up. She grabbed Ciro's collar.

She wasn't strong enough to carry him. But the mechanical servos in the Gauntlet, even without power, locked into place, giving her grip the strength of a vice.

She began to drag him.

Inch by inch. Yard by yard.

"I got you," she whispered to the unconscious assassin. "You jumped for me. Now I walk for you."

She dragged him deeper into the shadow of the metal canyon, leaving a trail of two lines in the dust—one from her heels, and one from the body of the man who saved her.

The Princess died in that canyon.

The Ash Queen began her walk.

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