Darian shouldn't have come.
The realization wasn't a coherent thought; it was a physical weight crushing his chest. "Why did I even come here?" Every breath scraped against his throat, shallow and insufficient. He lay crumpled in the dirt, the metallic tang of his own blood thick on his tongue. "I misjudged my capabilities. I misjudged everything."
He tried to push himself up. His arm gave out instantly, muscles trembling before collapsing under his weight. A jagged spike of agony tore through his broken ribs, forcing a wet gasp from his lips. He hit the ground hard.
"I can't fight," his mind screamed, panic clawing frantically at the edges of his vision. "I can't even move."
He was entirely, terrifyingly helpless.
Beside him, Lyra gripped his blood-soaked sleeve. Her hands shook as she tried to pull him upward. "Darian… get up. Please." Her voice was a fragile, cracked thing. "You can't just—please."
Hot tears dropped onto his skin. He felt her tugging, weak and desperate, but his body felt like dead weight.
"I don't want to be here," he thought, his heartbeat pounding too fast, too loud, drowning out the yard around them. "I don't want to die."
Footsteps crunched over rusted metal, slow and unbothered. The mob boss stepped into the dim light of the yard, rings glinting on his fingers. He didn't gloat; he just looked deeply disappointed.
"I was expecting a little more resistance," the boss murmured, eyeing Darian like roadkill. "Hero boy looks… disappointing."
His men snickered, the low, ugly sound bouncing off the corrugated steel walls.
The boss shifted his gaze to Lyra. The apathy in his eyes vanished, replaced by a calculating gleam. "And you. You're more valuable than I imagined."
Lyra stood, her knees shaking but her jaw set tight. "Let us go," she said quietly.
The boss chuckled, a dismissive sound. "Let you go? There's a bounty on you, girl. Dead or alive."
Lyra froze for a fraction of a second before her expression hardened. "So go ahead. Take it and choke on it, you bald fuck."
The laughter stopped. The yard went dead silent.
The boss didn't blink. His expression thinned into something cold and dead. "Maybe we should just kill her. Might finally get her to shut up."
Two guards lunged. One seized her hair, the other pinned her arms, wrenching her backward. She thrashed, a wild animal kicking at their shins. "Let go of me! You worthless pieces of shit—"
"Wait!"
The word tore out of Darian—thin, pathetic, desperate.
The boss paused, raising a hand. The guards froze.
Darian swallowed hard, tasting iron. "Sh-she's valuable…" He forced himself to keep talking, his words stumbling over each other in sheer panic. "She will be. You—you can use her..."
A few of the men exchanged glances.
"She's leverage," Darian rushed on, his voice cracking as survival spilled out of him without dignity. "You wouldn't want the whole Spero family… and Pond… coming after you, right? Y-you keep her alive, you control the situation. You get more out of it."
The boss watched him carefully, faint amusement flickering in his eyes. "You're scared."
"Y-yeah… yeah I am," Darian blurted, nodding far too fast.
The admission drew louder, mocking laughter from the men. Darian didn't care. He pressed his face closer to the dirt, forcing the words out through the tightness in his chest.
"Sh-she's worth more alive… you said it yourself. You wouldn't waste that." He gasped for a shallow breath. "A-and me too… I'm not a threat. I won't cause trouble… I'll do whatever you want… just… just don't kill me. I don't wanna die. I really don't."
Lyra stared at him, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Darian avoided her gaze, staring blindly at the blood-slicked dirt. "I'm buying time… just… a little more."
The boss stepped close enough that Darian could smell stale sweat and gun oil. Boots crunched heavily on the rusted metal. "You're trying to stall."
Darian froze instantly, fear flooding his face. "N-no—I—I just—" He stammered, words tangling helplessly. "I'm just saying… you… you look… careful and cautious… y-you know…"
The boss crouched slightly, studying him like an insect. "You really are pathetic."
Darian's hands trembled violently against the ground. "Please… hurry…"
Then—CRASH.
The scrapyard wall exploded inward.
A massive, bull-like silhouette—Boro—shattered the corrugated steel, sending jagged shrapnel and dust erupting across the yard.
Before anyone could react, a flash of silver arced through the breach.
The guard holding Lyra froze, confusion flickering across his face for the briefest second before his arm detached at the elbow. Blood sprayed across the rusted ground. Elara stepped past the collapsing man, her blade already lowering to a resting guard, her face a mask of terrifying precision.
Lyra scrambled backward, gasping for air.
Through the settling dust, the cavalry arrived. No shouting. Just the synchronized, heavy crunch of boots. Ravion stepped through first, the chrome of his prosthetic arms catching the dim light. Beside him, the instructor adjusted his dark glasses, the mechanical servos in his shoulders whining softly—coiled machinery ready to strike.
Dozens of Pond cadets and Ares guards flooded the perimeter. Rifles raised. Safeties clicked off in a chilling, unified wave. They didn't scramble; they secured the yard with flawless, practiced lethality.
"That's far enough," the instructor said, his voice carrying effortlessly over the ringing silence.
Boro planted his massive frame between the mob boss and the kids. Elara didn't blink, her sword angled for the next strike.
The mob boss looked at the wall of weapons. A slow, thin smile crept back onto his face.
"So," he breathed. "This is how it's going to be."