Chapter 20
GYON
Iwake up choking on smoke and metal dust.
Every nerve in my body screams. My left arm’s half-dead; I can’t feel the fingers. My ribs grind when I breathe. The air smells like scorched copper, ozone, and blood—mine. My tongue tastes like iron filings.
I blink, hard, forcing my vision to focus. Above me, lights strobe in a frantic heartbeat. Below me, movement.
I’m on a catwalk suspended high above the main arena, the metal slick beneath me. Through the grating I see her.
Liora.
She’s small from up here, standing at the center of a cube-shaped chamber, all glass and firelight. Her hair’s wild, her face smeared with soot. Every breath she takes burns through me like a pulse. She’s not supposed to be here.
And she’s not alone.
Dirk Husker stands opposite her, hands out like a stage magician. The Maze itself breathes around them—walls flexing, light bending, the hum of power shifting pitch with every step he takes. The bastard made himself a god in here.
I grab the railing and pull myself up, ignoring the pop of something tearing in my shoulder. My body howls. My mind cuts through it. She’s down there, and she’s not going to die alone.
Not like this.
Not while I still breathe.
The catwalk trembles. Panels shift, groaning. I move anyway, one step at a time. Sparks fall from the ceiling and burn across my skin. My vision tunnels in and out, but I keep my eyes on her. On the pale gold of her hair under the red light. On her mouth as she mouths something I can’t hear.
Then Husker grabs her arm.
I don’t think. I jump.
Air slams into me. Gravity tears through my gut. The catwalk gives way behind me with a shriek. For one heartbeat, there’s silence. Then the floor rushes up.
I hit the arena hard enough to feel the world lurch. Metal buckles. Pain detonates behind my eyes. I roll, rise on one knee. Liora’s scream pierces the static haze in my head.
“Gyon!”
That one word is enough to get me on my feet.
Husker turns. His grin is obscene. He looks smaller up close—more meat than myth—but his eyes are bright with mania. The Maze hums through him. Power bleeds from the implants in his neck. He’s plugged directly into the system.
“Well,” he says, voice rich and fake as holofilm. “You made it! My favorite monster finally joins the party.”
“Let her go.” My voice is gravel and blood.
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” He laughs. “Oh, I want you to try. That’s the point, see? You’re both the heroes and the final act.”
He moves faster than he should. The Maze feeds him speed, balance, arrogance. A drone—one of his guards—drops from the ceiling, plasma blades spinning. I dive sideways, catch its arm mid-swing, wrench it until gears scream, then ram it into Husker’s chest.
He stumbles. Grins wider. “Good!”
Another drone drops. Then another.
The floor erupts in sparks and shrapnel.
Dravven appears through the haze—bleeding from his shoulder, one eye half-swollen, gun clutched like a religion. He doesn’t say a word. Just nods once.
Unspoken truce.
He shoots the first drone through the eye. I tear the second one’s chest open with my claws. The air smells like burnt lubricant and hot circuitry.
Husker claps his hands. The Maze responds. The walls shift, grinding inward. Light fractures into blood-red shards. “Oh, you two—beautiful symmetry. Predator and prey, bound together. Don’t you get it? You’re not fighting me. You’re performing for me.”
“Then here’s your encore,” I snarl, and charge.
He ducks under my first swing—he’s faster than human should be. My claws rake sparks off the metal floor. He punches a control panel on his wrist. The ground splits into glowing fissures, molten heat surging through.
Dravven rolls, barely missing the plasma crack that arcs up from below. He fires again—three shots, two hit Husker’s shoulder. One clips his jaw.
Husker staggers but doesn’t fall. “You can’t kill the director of his own story,” he hisses. “You’re just characters.”
“Then rewrite it,” Liora snaps.
She’s at the console—my brilliant, furious mate—her compad glowing with code. The Maze flickers in and out, lines of fire snaking through the air.
Husker turns toward her, shouting, “No, no, no—don’t you dare—”
I hit him mid-sentence. We crash into the floor. He swings a blade out from his forearm—custom tech, edge glowing blue—and it bites deep into my side. Pain floods my spine. I grab his wrist, crush it until the blade cracks.
“Not your show anymore,” I growl, and drive my claws through his chest.
The impact shakes the floor. He gasps, eyes wide, blood bubbling up between his teeth.
Liora’s voice cuts through the static: “Gyon—get clear!”
The Maze shrieks. Every wall flares white. Dravven dives behind a fallen console. I pull my hand free, shoving Husker backward into a shattered drone chassis. Sparks explode as metal impales flesh.
Dirk Husker grins even as he dies. Bloody teeth, eyes wild. He leans his head back and laughs.
“Oh, you think you’ve won,” he gurgles. “You forgot the Spoilsport System.”
Then his hand slams down on the embedded drone control.
The Maze screams.
The lights go nova. The floor fractures. The smell of burning plastic and vaporized metal fills my lungs. The air pressure changes—rushing outward.
The Spoilsport System. I’d heard of it. A failsafe. If Husker lost, the Maze would implode, taking everything with it.
“MOVE!” I roar.
Dravven grabs Liora, dragging her toward the outer platform. Panels collapse behind them. I sprint after, dodging a falling girder, flames licking my legs.
Liora turns. “Gyon, come on!”
The world detonates.
A wave of force hits. The platform she’s standing on splits like glass. I see her fall, arms reaching, hair fanning out like light.
“Liora!”
I dive, fingers brushing hers—miss by an inch. She disappears into the white fire below.
Then everything burns.
The shockwave lifts me. Steel tears free, heat sears skin. I feel myself breaking apart—bones splinter, vision whites out. My last breath is ash.
Somewhere in the roar, I think I hear her heartbeat.
Then silence.
Just the hollow sound of the Maze dying with me.