Wolfen didn't charge. He leaned forward, a predator coiling. Then, a sudden, silent burst of speed that turned the air into a supersonic crack.
But Superior-11, the mountain with gauntlets, was already there. Not matching the speed, but predicting it. A colossal, hydraulic-powered fist pistonned out, aiming to crush Wolfen's spine. Wolfen didn't dodge. He crossed his arms, a cross-block of hardened flesh and intent.
CRUNCH-BOOM!
The impact sounded like a building collapsing. The ground under Wolfen's feet cratered, spraying dirt and rock. He skidded back five feet, trenches gouged in the earth by his heels. The gauntlet whined, straining against the immovable object.
Wolfen grinned, a flash of teeth in the dust cloud. "Heavy."
He dropped his guard, spun on the ball of his foot, and a whip-fast roundhouse kick caught 11 square in the side. It wasn't enough to hurt the mountain, but it transferred enough kinetic force to shove the two-ton hybrid five yards off-balance.
As 11 staggered, the air sizzled. Superior-12, the gunner, opened fire. Not a spray, but a calculated barrage of superheated plasma bolts—each one the size of a fist, screaming in to bracket Wolfen, to herd him.
Wolfen didn't run. He flowed. He became a phantom in the storm, a blur of motion that slipped between the bolts, his movements so minimal they were barely perceptible. One bolt grazed his shoulder, searing cloth and flesh that instantly began to knit, steam rising from the wound.
Then, a hum. A blade of coherent blue energy materialized between his eyes.
Superior-10, the swordsman, had closed the distance in the blink of Wolfen's evasion. Fast. Precise.
Wolfen didn't flinch. From his outstretched hand, darkness bled and formed into his signature weapon—a long, wicked Umbralite scythe, its edge drinking the light of the energy sword.
The dance began.
CLANG-SHRIEEEEK!
Their weapons met not with brute force, but with a terrifying, beautiful precision. Ten's style was efficiency—kill strikes, nerve clusters, arterial targets. Wolfen's was something older—wide, sweeping arcs that defended and threatened in the same motion, footwork that seemed to ignore physics. They became a whirlwind of black and blue light, moving so fast they were here, then there, then twenty feet away in a shower of sparks, their footfalls cratering the ground.
All while 12's plasma bolts continued to scream around them, forcing Wolfen to split his awareness in a dizzying, three-way split.
11 recovered, roaring, and charged Wolfen's back, gauntlets raised for a killing slam.
Wolfen, mid-parry with Ten, didn't look. He simply ceased to be where he was. He dropped low, letting Ten's powerful overhand strike, meant for his skull, continue its arc.
Ten's blazing energy sword met not Wolfen, but the charging chest of Superior-11.
ZZZORTCH-KLANG!
The energy blade sheared through armor, hydraulics, and synth-muscle with a sickening crackle. 11 bellowed in shock and agony, stumbling, his charge ruined, a deep, smoldering gash across his torso.
In the opening, Wolfen rose. He held out both hands. In his left, white plasma coalesced. In his right, crimson fire roared to life. He slammed them together.
The resulting fireball wasn't an explosion. It was a contained, miniature sun.
"BOOOOOOOM!"
The detonation was silent for a split second, then a wall of heat, light, and concussive force erupted outward. It vaporized the remaining lab debris, hurled 11 and 10 through the air like dolls, and swallowed 12's position in a blazing inferno.
From the medical bay screen, 328 watched, her remaining hand clenched. Superior-1 stood immobile.
The smoke began to clear, swirling in the thermal updraft.
Superior-12, half-melted, was trying to raise a smoking plasma cannon.
Wolfen emerged from the smoke like a wraith. He didn't run. He walked. In two strides, he was before 12. A casual, almost bored backhand snapped the gunner's head around with a sickening crunch. Before the body could fall, Wolfen's other hand, fingers hardened to points, punched through armorplate and ribs, closing around the hybrid's heart. He ripped it out, electrical sparks and viscous fluid spraying, and let the corpse drop.
He didn't pause.
He turned, his eyes locking onto the two remaining boars struggling to their feet. In his hands, twin orbs of fire bloomed. He hurled them into the thickest part of the smoke where 11 and 10 had landed.
Twin WHUMPS of impact, followed by a scream of pain—11's.
From the opposite side of the smoke, Superior-10 shot out, a streak of blue rage. His sword arm was a blur, aiming to bisect Wolfen at the waist.
Wolfen leaned back. The very tip of the energy blade nicked his left eyebrow, slicing it cleanly open. Blood welled, then the wound sealed itself shut in the time it took for the blood to bead.
As 10 shot past, over-extended, Wolfen's Umbralite scythe reformed in a downward arc.
SHINK. SHINK.
Two clean, dark lines.
Superior-10's arms, still holding the sword, detached at the shoulders and thudded to the charred earth. Blood fountained. The swordsman stared, his synth-voice emitting a garbled shriek of disbelief.
Wolfen didn't let him process. The scythe reversed its arc in a horizontal sweep.
The grey-masked head toppled from its shoulders, hitting the ground a second before the body.
Wolfen let the scythe dissolve. He walked towards the groaning form of Superior-11, who was trying to stand, his torso a mess of burns and the deep sword wound.
11 saw him coming, raised a broken gauntlet.
Wolfen stepped behind him, moved with a fluid, almost gentle motion. He placed his hands on either side of 11's helmeted head and the small of his back.
A twist. A horrific, wet SNAP-CRUNCH.
Wolfen didn't just break his spine. He extracted a segment of it with a terrible, ripping sound, holding the glistening, cybernetic-linked bone in his hand for a second before tossing it aside.
11 collapsed, paralyzed, gurgling.
Wolfen looked down at him, his golden eyes cold. He raised a hand, palm open. Crimson fire, not the white plasma of battle but the deep, personal fire of his bloodline, engulfed the fallen giant. The screams were short, choked, and then there was only the roar of flame and the smell of cooking metal and organic matter.
When the fire died, there was only a puddle of slag and ash.
On the screen, the drone feed showed the clearing: three piles of ruin and one man, standing untouched in the center. Smoke rose from his clothes. His eyebrow was healed. He looked up, directly at the drone's lens, as if he could see through it to the watchers beyond.
Then, without a sound, he stepped into the long shadow of a shattered wall and was gone, consumed by the darkness.
In the medical bay, the screen went to static.
328 let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Superior-1 turned slowly to leave.
"The boars are dead," he stated, his voice devoid of triumph. "Now the real wolf is loose. And he is coming for the shepherd."