Joren didn't think. Echo demanded action.
The visions burned in his mind—Drenn's Blastcore glow, every charge-up etched perfect: 3 seconds, orange pulse, spherical killzone. Elior's near-corpse sprawled in dirt. Reach crumbling. No more watching.
He sprinted from the watchtower, legs burning over ash-choked fields. Wildborn scout yelled after him—"Kid, wait!"—but Joren's Echo guided flawless: debris dodged, blast craters leaped. Flux thrummed low in his veins, untested, raw from awakening weeks ago.
Drenn's airship loomed, recall ropes dropping. Bomber vaulted aboard last, Flux at 18%—veins smoking, self-shield cracked, backlash tremors shaking arms. "Clear!" he barked, but Joren hit the rope first.
19-year-old vs war machine. Mismatch.
Joren latched 10m below gondola. "You!"
Drenn leaned over rail, eyes widening then narrowing. "Reach rat? Come to die?" Chest flickered faint orange—low-Flux charge, desperate 5m micro-blast prep. Weak sauce: 1-sec windup, 40% power max.
Joren climbed hand-over-hand, Echo replaying Drenn's tells: glow telegraph, shield gap post-detonation. "Your Brand's Blastcore. Explosive spheres. 3-sec charge. Self-shield 2-sec. Flux low—you're done."
Drenn barked laugh. "Smartass sees too much. Means nothing!" Detonation—weak pulse, shockwave snaps rope. Joren drops 15m—Echo reflex: twists midair, grabs jagged rock outcrop. Survives.
Ground fight now. Drenn leaps down, gondola ascending solo. "I'll core you myself." Arms shake—Flux 12%, overuse redline. Charges forward, glow sputtering.
Joren lands rolling. No weapon. No allies. Echo active—replays Drenn's crater form: predictable radius. "I saw your whole assault. Echo lets me witness moments true. Past strikes. Hidden orders. You're Sera's dog."
Drenn snarls, 1m blast feint—air pops harmless. Bait. Joren doesn't flinch—Echo precision: sidesteps exact arc. "Want truth? I wanna get stronger. You're low Flux, half-dead. Perfect test."
Drenn roars. "Gonna explode your guts!" Final charge—chest blazes erratic, 4m desperate sphere. Joren dives inside radius—Echo timing flawless, blast whooshes past, singes hair. Point-blank counter.
Joren tackles—raw Flux slam, no Brand finesse. Drenn's shield gone, backlash hits: veins rupture, coughing black blood. 0% Flux. Collapse imminent.
"Stronger starts now," Joren growls, fist cracking Drenn's jaw. Bomber slumps, out cold.
Airship gone. Reach survivors stare. Mira drags Elior over, eyes wide. "Who the hells are you?"
Joren stands over Drenn, breathing hard. Echo replays victory: low-Flux gamble won. "Just getting started."
War just found its wild card.