The sirens blared overhead.
The countdown had begun.
10… 9… 8…
Inside the cockpit of the Ravager Mk III, Kael's fingers danced across the controls, locking into muscle memory as the ancient beast of metal roared to life beneath him. Around him, the monitors flickered with runes of diagnostics—heart rate, kinetic pressure, servo rhythm—all reading stable. But Kael's heartbeat was anything but.
He glanced once at the other screen—the feed from Tyren's Brawler Mech, now glowing with a soft amber light. The mecha was freshly upgraded, leaner, more agile, and pulsing like a beast eager to be unleashed. He smirked.
> "Look at you. New coat, same angry dog inside."
Across the comms, Tyren's voice crackled. "Focus. We've got more than a trophy on the line."
7… 6… 5…
Tyren sat still in the pilot seat, staring forward—but inside, a war of emotions surged. His thoughts kept drifting toward Ziya. Her shy glances. Her nervous questions. The way she had chosen to stay behind. Even now, her voice echoed in his ears.
> "You better win, or I'll never talk to you again."
A bluff. Maybe. But it worked.
He couldn't lose now.
Not to Kael.
Not to the demons of his past.
4… 3…
Back in Kael's mind, another voice whispered. Ryssa.
Her face, her touch, her flirtations—confusing, infuriating, intoxicating. She stirred something in him he hadn't felt in years. But this wasn't the time. He wasn't here for love, not anymore. He was here to fight, to remind every single commander, coward, and traitor that Kael of Unit 404 had never needed them to rise.
And yet, Ryssa's voice lingered:
> "Win this. I've got something special for you."
He exhaled slowly, gripping the hilt of the Ravager's internal blade.
2… 1…
---
BOOM. The gates split open.
Sunlight poured through as both mechs stomped into the vast arena—a battlefield the size of a city block, filled with steel towers, rolling platforms, spike traps, and shifting terrain.
Crowds roared from above, filling the space with deafening cheers.
On the central viewing deck, commanders from multiple battleships leaned in, data feeds and vitals being broadcasted to their holoscreens. Even Ziya, Misha, Rynn, and the rest of the Siren Squad watched with eyes wide and fists clenched.
Ziya's heart pounded. "Come on, Tyren…"
Rynn muttered, "Kael better not die in some stupid glory dive…"
Even Ryssa, despite her composed posture in the command chamber, had one finger gently tracing a line on her private screen—tracking Kael's vitals. Her lips curved into a smile.
---
Down below, the announcer's voice boomed.
> "Match commencing: Squad 404 — Kael and Tyren — vs. Leviathan Unit from Battleship Harkon!"
Across the arena, two monstrous mechs rose from their platforms—painted in crimson and jet black. One wielded a massive spiked mace, the other a railgun attached to its shoulder. Their pilots had reputation—ruthless, precise, and undefeated in tag team matches.
> "Well," Kael muttered, "They don't look friendly."
> "Good," Tyren growled. "I hate smiling enemies."
---
The fight erupted like lightning striking steel.
The enemy's railgun fired the first shot. BOOM. A seismic shockwave ripped through the left side of the field—Kael flipped the Ravager sideways, dodging mid-air and retaliating with a slingshot grappler, yanking a steel platform off balance and launching it straight toward the shooter.
Meanwhile, Tyren roared forward like a freight train, slamming shoulder-first into the mace-wielder, their mechs crashing with such force that sparks exploded into a wildfire. Steel scraped steel, blows were exchanged—Brawler's fists became a blur of motion, punching, blocking, twisting.
> "I thought you were saving my ass?" Tyren snarled mid-fight.
> "Changed my mind," Kael shouted, launching himself into the air and bringing down the Ravager's blade on the gunner's shoulder.
CLANG! Sparks. Screams. A siren blared.
---
Above, the audience roared. Even the commanders leaned forward.
Kael and Tyren fought like demons unleashed. Ravager danced across the terrain like it had a soul of its own, and Brawler smashed through structures with primal rage. The battlefield became a storm of chaos and precision.
But the enemies didn't stay down.
The railgun locked in again, this time aimed at Tyren's back.
> "Tyren! Duck!"
Too late.
BOOM.
The blast hit. Tyren flew backward, crashing through two steel towers.
"Damn it—TYREN!" Kael shouted.
Smoke poured from Brawler's torso, alarms blaring inside. Tyren gritted his teeth. "Not yet. Not—yet—"
He launched himself forward again, headbutting the mace-wielder just as it prepared for the finishing blow. The mech crumbled.
> "That's for earlier," Tyren grunted.
Kael grinned.
> "Guess I'll have to save your ass after all."
---
The final blow came with a coordinated strike.
Kael grappled the railgun mech, pinning its limbs as Tyren ripped the cannon off and drove it into its own chest.
One explosion. Two enemy mechs down. Victory confirmed.
The crowd erupted.
---
Later, as they exited their mechs, bruised and sweating, Kael clapped Tyren on the back. "See? Told you we'd win."
Tyren scoffed. "Remind me to kick you if you ever sign us up again."
--
-
Up in the observation deck, Ryssa leaned back, satisfied.
> "Flawless," she whispered. "Now let's see if you're ready for what I have planned next…"