No Escape

"Stop him!"

Garrett barked the order, and all three Death Warriors charged forward at once. Their bodies had been semi-mechanically modified, their neural nerves directly linked to a unified control terminal, leaving them unable to defy any command Garrett issued.

The Death Warriors brandished their weapons and surrounded Michael with exaggerated movements. Muzzles spat long tongues of flame, Plasma Cutters swung like blades, leaving trails of light streaking through the air.

Garrett had always been quite proud of his Death Warriors' combat prowess, but today, for the first time ever, he instinctively felt that relying on these three semi-mechanical soldiers to defeat the enemy before him was utterly impossible. All he hoped now was that the Death Warriors could hold out long enough for him to escape.

Michael's helmet's built-in display intelligently marked Garrett and Ward, who were turning to flee, with red circles. Sherry's voice chimed in: "Sir, they seem to be planning to leave the scene."

"No problem," Michael said, casually swatting aside a fierce punch from one Death Warrior. "They're not going anywhere."

Michael spun his body, his right foot snapping up as he drove a Huaixin Kick straight at the Death Warrior charging from behind. The man's momentum was too great to dodge, so he could only raise his arms in a dull block before his chest. The steel combat boot slammed into his limbs with tons of impact force, like a surging torrent that sent him flying backward, tumbling through the air before crashing to the ground.

The Death Warrior wielding the Plasma Cutter followed close behind, the high-energy trails weaving into a net of blades. The heat refracted the light, making it look as though space itself was warping.

Ironically, Michael was no stranger to the light blade in his hand. As it happened, the Plasma Cutter was one of the pieces of equipment he'd developed back when he was with Hydra—something he'd already grown bored of three years ago.

Michael sidestepped two slashes while silently chanting a spell. The suit's onboard computer rapidly retrieved magic circle data stored in its local database. He flipped his right palm, and surging magic quickly gathered into his hand, condensing into a circular magic circle within a fraction of a second. The patterns shifted, transforming into a Magic Blade crackling with sparks.

Michael flicked his wrist, swinging the blade in an upward arc of golden light from low to high.

Just one slash, but it was as if nothing could stop it. The magical blade pierced through the plasma net, and the Death Warrior happened to bring his own blade down at that moment. Michael's edge impossibly met the trajectory of the falling strike, as if the Death Warrior had deliberately fed his arm to the searing blade.

Magic surged, golden sparks mingling with splattered blood as the Death Warrior's arm was severed at the elbow. The half-limb arced high into the air under inertia, the device on its back still spewing a torrent of light.

Two down, one left.

Against any other enemy, they might have lost all will to fight by now. Three enhanced semi-mechanical soldiers had charged in together, only to have two effortlessly taken down in the blink of an eye—it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say their combat power wasn't even on the same level. But unfortunately, they were Death Warriors, transformed by Hydra into pitiful semi-mechanical beings who could only mechanically follow orders, without even the right to fear or retreat.

The last Death Warrior stubbornly carried out Garrett's impossible command. His left hand kept up a constant stream of gunfire for suppression, while his right hand wielded a custom Tactical Knife. The cold steel blade, backed by the Death Warrior's enhanced strength, packed a decent punch.

But it still didn't matter.

Michael raised his blade and cleanly severed the knife in one stroke. The blade snapped at its midpoint amid sparks like a saw cutting through, the break smooth and even. The Death Warrior simply tossed the hilt aside and threw a heavy punch at Michael's face, only to have it easily deflected by a palm. Michael spread his fingers, aiming his palm directly at the man's face. High-concentration energy hummed as it gathered at his palm, and a blue Pulse Cannon beam erupted at nearly point-blank range, blowing the last Death Warrior's head apart.

Problem solved.

Michael clapped his hands and turned his gaze toward the direction the two Hydra agents had fled.

***

Garrett and Ward sprinted all the way back to the car parked nearby. Garrett slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, and without a moment's hesitation, floored the accelerator. The car roared loudly before shooting off like a bullet.

They tore down the country road at breakneck speed, the wind battering the entire vehicle. The speedometer needle shot up wildly, and the driver clearly had no intention of slowing down.

Ward clutched a spare pistol tightly, glancing back at least five times in twenty seconds.

"Is he still following?" Garrett shouted.

"I don't see a damn thing!" Ward said.

But as if to answer him, a dull boom erupted without warning from the underside of the speeding car. A transparent shockwave swept across the ground, and the vehicle uncontrollably lifted into the air, spinning under high-speed inertia. It crashed down with a clang, tumbling several times before landing upside down.

Their car had veered off the road into a ditch. The doors were embedded in the mud, and the chassis had a hole blown through it, like a punctured eggshell.

John Garrett's vision blurred. For a moment, he thought he was done for, but he forced himself back to consciousness through sheer willpower. He bit his tongue, hoping the pain would help.

"Ward? Ward?" He tried shaking Ward in the passenger seat beside him, but the latter's eyes were closed, unresponsive. Blood covered Ward's face in a gruesome mess, and his breathing was so faint it was nearly gone—he looked beyond saving.

"Damn it!"

Garrett cursed under his breath. He could feel warm, sticky liquid on his forehead too, his head heavy and dizzy, as if he might black out at any moment.

He had no time to worry about Ward now. He just hoped the kid was tough enough to survive this—he himself was barely hanging on. Garrett managed to unbuckle his seatbelt, then struggled to kick the window out. Gritting his teeth, he crawled through the shattered opening and let out a long sigh as he collapsed into the muddy ground.

He leaned against the overturned car, sitting in the wet dirt. He looked up, and there he saw it again. The demon.

The demon hidden within the black steel shell had been there all along, watching his struggle coldly through the V-shaped visor glowing with harsh blue light, like a spectator observing a pathetic clown.

"You," Garrett hissed through clenched teeth.

"Me." Michael stepped forward slowly, raising his palm toward Garrett's head. The Pulse Cannon in his palm crackled with blue arcs of light.