The moment the lift platform slowly lifted my pile of scrap metal to the surface, I could feel the gaze of the entire universe, like countless icy probes, piercing into my cockpit. The ridicule, the contempt, and the pure malice of those wanting to see me die had almost solidified into something tangible.
My "Wrench"—or rather, a mechanical skeleton barely able to stand—was exposed just like that before billions of spectators.
It had almost no armor; its hideous internal piping and makeshift steel reinforcements were laid bare, like a beast that had been skinned alive. The ancient engine, salvaged from a farm tractor, wheezed under the strain, belching out black smoke that spelled death.
Its only weapon was the massive, crude industrial wrench I'd welded onto its right arm, stained with congealed oil. My father's wrench.
The arena was instantly drowned in a tidal wave of uproarious laughter.
I could imagine the exaggerated expressions of the commentators on the public channel. Ron "The Iron Tongue" surely had a voice dripping with undisguised mockery: "My God! What is that? A walking engine?"
And his partner, Sera, would say in that cloyingly sweet, pitying tone: "How tragic. It seems the damage from the semifinals was too much for her; she couldn't even scrounge up a single intact piece of armor."
Amidst the deafening ridicule, a pristine white figure rose slowly from the other end of the arena, like a deity descending from the heavens.
The "Archangel."
It was pure white, its lines so fluid they seemed sculpted from light itself. Every plate of armor shimmered with a soft luster; it didn't look like a weapon of war, but rather a work of art displayed in the Imperial Museum.
It hovered there silently, creating the most jarring and cruel contrast imaginable against my pile of hideous scrap.
On one side, a monster that had crawled out from a slum junkyard.
On the other, the pinnacle of Imperial technology and glory.
The laughter in the stands gradually subsided, replaced by a collective intake of breath—a mix of awe and fanaticism. I could hear their gasps of wonder echoing through the arena's loudspeakers.
"Look! It's the Archangel! The Empire's most perfect creation!"
"The outcome of this match is a foregone conclusion. The only question now is how many seconds His Highness the Crown Prince will take to end this farce."
I ignored the noise. Only two things remained in my world.
Me, and the perfect Archangel.My heart hammered wildly in my chest—not from fear, but from a morbid thrill at the thought of tearing apart an idol with my own hands.
Through my "Engineer's Eye," and aided by the flawless blueprints Jinx had acquired at an exorbitant cost, this so-called "God" was nothing more than a collection of expensive parts labeled with countless parameters.
Whenever its nano-shields flickered to life, there was always a split-second lag, like a skipped heartbeat. That was my opening.
Its "Hephaestus" alloy frame was freakishly strong, but at the knee joint lay a vulnerable connection point—a compromise made for a wider range of motion. It was like a rusty nail in a god's armor.
And most crucially... there was the nano-composite cockpit canopy, supposedly impenetrable.
Using the massive amounts of data Jinx provided and after three days and nights of sleepless, frantic calculations, I had found a "singularity" that theoretically shouldn't even exist.
A specific resonance frequency.
If struck at the right angle, with the right material, at that specific frequency... this glass, capable of withstanding orbital bombardment, would shatter like ordinary glass, disintegrating at the molecular level.
And the wrench my father left me—that incredibly heavy hunk of iron forged from some god-knows-what metal—happened to be the perfect material to trigger that resonance.
This was my only chance—my last chance.
"Match—start!"
The moment the bell rang, the Archangel moved!
Instead of blasting me to scrap with long-range fire as I'd expected, it transformed into a bolt of white lightning, instantly tearing through the distance between us!
Too fast!
Leon Valerius, the noble Crown Prince, had clearly learned from my previous opponents. He intended to use his absolute mobility advantage to utterly crush my pile of scrap in close-quarters combat!
*Boom!*
Before I could even react, a massive kick slammed into my midsection!
The Wrench was sent flying like a rag doll, slamming hard against the arena's energy barrier in a shower of blinding electrical sparks!
The metal frame groaned in agony; every nerve in my body screamed. I could smell the ozone and scorched wiring from a short circuit in the cockpit, and my internal organs felt like they were being flung out of my throat.
"Warning! Structural integrity dropped to 78%!"
"Warning! Balance module failure! Left leg servo motor offline!"
The system alarms sounded like a requiem. I struggled to stand, but the white shadow was already upon me again!
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*The Archangel's assault was a relentless storm—fists, elbows, knees, kicks... every strike was precise and lethal, delivered with the textbook elegance and cruelty of the Imperial Military Academy. My heap of scrap, stripped of most of its armor, was nothing more than a punching bag before it, sent flying, slammed into walls, and smashed into the ground time and time again.
Half of my visual sensors were shattered, leaving the screens filled with static. Through the flickering remains of the feed, I saw the nobles in the stands, draped in their finery, wearing satisfied smiles as if they were watching a spectacular circus act.
*Boom!* Another heavy blow. My right arm joint erupted in sparks, nearly torn clean off.
"Right arm hydraulics failure! Pressure dropping to 32%!"
"Get back to the gutter where you belong, rat!" Leon's voice crackled through the short-range comms, panting with a hint of amusement. He was clearly savoring this game of cat and mouse.
Fragile conduits were severed, spraying acrid coolant and searing sparks. The few remaining fragments of the outer shell flew off in every direction, leaving the machine looking like a gutted beetle. I could hear the screams of the Crown Prince's fangirls in the stands, driven to a frenzy by their idol's overwhelming power.
Finally, I was pinned to the ground by a crushing foot. My chest armor was pulverized, exposing the engine within as it wailed in a futile, dying groan.
The Archangel loomed over me, looking down from its height. Its perfect head, shaped like that of a god, tilted slightly.
Crown Prince Leon's voice came through the public channel, cold and arrogant, like a blade quenched in ice stabbing into my ears:
"Vermin should stay in the filth they were born in."
My teeth ground together, the metallic tang of blood spreading through my mouth.
"Now, pay the price for your folly in challenging the Crown."
He raised his right fist. Pure white energy began to coalesce around his knuckles, gathering for the final blow.
Everyone thought it was over.
The nobles in the VIP boxes were surely raising their glasses.
The bookies in the underground rings must have been breathing sighs of relief.
The commentators were already poised to announce the victor.
But they didn't know.
This was the exact moment I had been waiting for.
Waiting for him to get close. Waiting for him to believe victory was absolute. Waiting for this moment where, to flaunt his total dominance, he would abandon his long-range weapons and drop his guard!
Come on, you high-and-mighty bastard.
Just a little closer.
Let me smell your expensive air circulation system.
Now.A split second before Leon's fist came down, I abandoned all defense and slammed my finger onto the red, modified emergency button.
"Engine overload—200%! Self-destruct overclock!"
"ROAR—!!!"
The nearly scrapped tractor engine beneath me let out a final, frenzied roar that shook the heavens!
Terrifying energy surged through every circuit, and the "Wrench" ignited, transforming into a suicidal projectile trailing black smoke and flames.
"Is she insane?!"
"Is she gonna blow?!"
I heard the cries of disbelief erupting from the stands.
I didn't back down or dodge. Instead, I met Leon's lethal fist head-on, throwing every last ounce of my strength into the collision!
My target wasn't his fist, or his body. It was that face right in front of me—a face etched with arrogance and perfection.
Or more accurately, the cockpit glass protecting it.
The Archangel's flawless fire-control system detected the danger instantly. I could imagine Leon's pupils constricting in the cockpit as he instinctively tried to pull back.
But it was too late!
In his pursuit of absolute dominance in close-quarters combat, he had gotten far too close.
I piloted the burning Wrench like a rabid dog lunging at the sun. Using the massive, hideous industrial wrench welded to my right arm, I struck at a wicked, lethal angle calculated a thousand times over...
And slammed it into the Archangel's flawless cockpit glass!
Time seemed to freeze.
The roar of the universe vanished.
There was no earth-shattering explosion.
No screeching sound of metal on metal.
There was only...
*Crack.*
A sound so sharp it plunged the entire universe into a dead silence... the sound of shattering.
That nanocomposite glass—reputed to withstand battleship cannons and representing the pinnacle of Imperial technology—cracked under my wrench like an eggshell under a sledgehammer.
Spiderweb cracks radiated from the point of impact, instantly racing across the entire cockpit canopy.
And then...
*Crash!*
It shattered completely.
The glass disintegrated. Countless shards erupted before my eyes like a cheap crystal storm. I saw Leon's handsome face reveal the same expression as mine for the very first time—pure, naked terror.
The tip of the wrench stopped less than a centimeter from the tip of his nose.
The cold metal, reeking of junkyard oil, was a hair's breadth away from the skin that symbolized his noble lineage.The moment the glass shattered, a string of garbled code flashed across my mech's systems, a brief data collision with the Archangel's exposed internal circuitry. I felt a fragment of data that wasn't mine slither into the depths of my personal terminal like a slimy snake.
But I had no time for that.
I won.
With a wrench.
In a way that humiliated a god.
The Wrench's engine gave one final, dying wail before cutting out completely.
My burning heap of scrap and the broken "god" beneath my feet fell into a shared, deathly silence.
The entire arena was dead silent.
The commentator's mouth hung open, not a single word escaping his lips.
In the stands, every single person rose to their feet. Their expressions shifted from mockery to shock, and finally, to pure, incomprehensible terror.
I, a scavenger from the slums.
Using a wrench meant for repairing tractors.
Before the eyes of the entire galaxy.
Had shattered the Crown Prince's cockpit.
Shattered the technological myth they held so dear.
In the silence, I heard my own ragged breathing, thick with the scent of blood and motor oil. I reached out and cut his final emergency distress signal.
Then, I keyed the public broadcast, letting my voice ring out across the galaxy.
"Hey, Your Highness," I chuckled, my wide grin reflected in the shattered screen. "Your engine is mine now."
I paused, ensuring every viewer in the universe could hear my next words.
"As for your life? That'll cost extra."