The blizzard on the Route was no longer just snow—it was a whirlwind of shrapnel and golden sparks. Mr. Mane lunged through the drifts, teeth gritted as he balanced the unconscious Victoria on his shoulder. The Predator MK2 was relentless, its mechanical antics more erratic and violent with every passing second. Mane pivoted, his golden revolver barking as he sent rounds into the machine's chassis, drawing a furious, metallic roar from its throat.
The Predator raised its arm-cannon, spitting fire. Mane dived from obstacle to obstacle, using frozen crates and derelict machinery for cover. But the machine was tired of the chase. It spread its massive arms, launching two missiles that streaked through the air with a hungry whine.
BOOM.
The explosion was a wall of heat that tossed both Mane and Victoria into the air like ragdolls. Mane hit the frozen ground hard, his breath hitching as his sensors flared crimson—his Calamity Core was overheating, the golden energy becoming a volatile sun within his chest. He ignored the warning, reloading his revolver with a practiced flick and firing until the Predator recoiled.
Suddenly, a heavy shadow moved beside him. Victoria's eyes snapped open, clarity returning with a surge of adrenaline. She didn't say a word; she simply lunged, her hammer connecting with the Predator's chest plate with a sound like a church bell ringing in hell. The machine stumbled back.
"Nice one!" Mane shouted, staggering to his feet.
"We finish this thing now," Victoria—the Slammer—growled, her eyes fixed on the beast. "Then we secure the Shard!"
Mane nodded, his golden armor shimmering under the strain. "Got it!"
The two became a perfect engine of destruction. Mane took the lead at long range, his golden tracers keeping the Predator pinned down, while Victoria moved in like a hurricane, her hammer shattering the machine's armor at close quarters. But the cost was high. Mane's breathing became a ragged, mechanical wheeze as he clutched his chest. His eyes, usually a calm gold, began to bleed into a dangerous, flickering red.
"Hey, Victoria," he rasped. "Get out. Real quick."
Slammer paused, her hammer mid-swing. "What? Why?"
"Just get out!" Mane roared, the golden energy beginning to leak from the seams of his armor.
Victoria saw the desperation in his eyes. She gulped, nodded once, and turned, sprinting into the white-out to find the Shard.
Left alone, Mr. Mane let out a defiant roar and charged. The Predator MK2, sensing victory, reached out and snatched the golden soldier from the air, its mechanical grip squeezing with enough force to crush a tank. Mane yelled in agony, the metal of his suit groaning and snapping. But through the pain, a bloody grin spread across his face.
"Are you dumb enough to think, fatso?!"
The golden light within him reached a blinding, impossible intensity. Then, the world vanished in a roar of pure energy. The explosion was absolute, vaporizing the Predator and the golden hero in a single, catastrophic flash.
Miles away, Victoria was thrown face-first into the snow by the shockwave. She let out a yelp of pain, her ears ringing with a deafening silence. She struggled to her feet, gasping for air, and there it was—the Shard, pulsing with a cold, blue light in the center of a blackened crater.
Her hand reached out, inches from the prize.
Suddenly, a terrifying, invisible force slammed her into the ground. It was as if the weight of the entire mountain had been placed on her back. Her eyes widened, her lungs gasping for air that wouldn't come.
"Sorry, dear," an eldritch voice whispered, sounding like a thousand dead leaves skittering over a grave. "But this Shard is off-limits."