[Alan's POV]

  'Those moves!'

  Alan’s thoughts raced as he watched the third strike land. Demi crumpled. 'Those aren’t the moves of a mercenary. That’s Academy training.'

  “Now there are only two.”

  The words came from the throne, the man's voice carrying through the chamber like the toll of a bell.

  Atlas turned toward him.

  Even through the dim light and the tension thickening the air, Alan could see it. The exhaustion etched into the man’s movements, the faint tremor in his shoulders. The gravitational field had drained him, his body running on sheer willpower. But despite that, there was no hesitation in his step.

  He was still coming.

  Alan’s mind raced. 'He’s tired, but not weak. He’s burned through most of his Energy, but so have I.'

  He clenched his jaw, feeling the ache in his abdomen where Demi’s trident had pierced him. The wound still had a slow trickle of blood, warm and sticky against his skin. Every breath came with pain, a reminder that one wrong move would end this fight before it began.

  'I’ve got ten, maybe twenty minutes left at this pace,' he thought, his hand hovering near his wound. 'Or I could go all in. But if I fuck up, he’ll finish me before I even blink.'

  He remembered the reports. The man had wiped out an entire Republic fleet, even if aided by Mechs.

  Alan’s fingers twitched. 'No. I can’t fight like this. Not bleeding out.'

  He made his decision.

  A grimace twisted his face as he moved his hand toward his abdomen. The blue light of his Energy flared, building rapidly, swirling between his palms until it formed a concentrated sphere.

  Then he thrust it against his wound.

  The blast hissed.

  Pain erupted through his body, white-hot and blinding. His vision blurred as the smell of burnt flesh filled the air. His knees nearly buckled, his teeth grinding together hard.

  He forced himself to keep counting, his mind clinging to the numbers as an anchor. 'Seven… eight… nine… ten.'

  Alan’s internal count ended with a hiss through his teeth. He pulled his hand away from the cauterized wound and looked down. The burn was ugly, but the bleeding had stopped. 'It’ll do.'

  His abdomen pulsed with heat, each breath stabbing at the sensitive tissue beneath the burn. The pain would slow him, but he could fight through it. He had no choice.

  'He went easy on her,' Alan thought, glancing toward Demi’s unconscious form. 'But we’re enemies. If he was willing to kill a commander, then a general’s head must be worth even more.'

  He flexed his hands, feeling the faint hum of gravity stir around his palms, the air bending subtly under his control. 'Fine,' he told himself. 'If I have to die here, I’ll make sure it costs him something.'

  He squared his stance, drawing in a breath, every muscle coiling in readiness. 'Please let the reward be worth it. A life for a prize. Mine better not be wasted.'

  His gaze locked on Atlas.

  The man stood only a few meters away, still and silent. He looked exhausted, his shoulders low, his breathing heavy, but Alan didn’t mistake that for weakness. The Energy radiating from him was controlled, focused, like a blade sharpened to perfection.

  Alan narrowed his eyes, watching every twitch of movement, waiting for a tell; anything that would give away Atlas’s next move.

  But then Atlas vanished.

  For a heartbeat, Alan thought he had blinked. He hadn’t. The man was simply gone.

  Panic surged through him. He turned his head sharply, scanning the chamber, searching for any sign of motion. Nothing. Not ahead. Not above. The air was still, the dust undisturbed. It was as if Atlas had ceased to exist.

  Then Alan heard it, a faint shift in the air, the barest whisper of movement. 'Behind me!'

  He spun, eyes widening just in time to see the glint of a fist cutting through the air.

  The impact came like a thunderbolt.

  Alan barely managed to cross his arms before the blow connected. The force slammed into him, a shockwave ripping through his bones. His arms screamed with pain, his muscles locking as he was hurled backward.

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  “What the hell!” he gasped, his voice breaking as his boots scraped against the stone floor. The friction burned through the soles, his feet dragging lines across the dust before he finally forced himself to stop.

  His arms trembled, the bones in his forearms aching from the blow. He could feel the bruises already forming, the pain pulsing.

  'That’s not how an officer who’s never seen combat fights,' Alan thought grimly. 'Whoever he is, he’s no merchant. Someone said he still had a secret he wouldn’t reveal. Now it’s obvious. He has to be a fugitive. If he’s not the Green Ranger, then he’s at least on someone’s most-wanted list.'

  Atlas moved again.

  One moment, he was still; the next, he was a blur. The dark streak of his Energy flared across the chamber, closing the distance in a heartbeat.

  Alan raised both hands. Two spheres of ultra-dense Energy formed in his palms, spinning faster and faster. He thrust them forward, unleashing a barrage of blasts; bullets of compressed power that screamed through the air at supersonic speed.

  Each shot tore through the space between them, the air bending around their paths, the sound cracking like thunder. They were fast enough to rival the fire of Ranger Weapons.

  And yet, Atlas danced through them.

  He moved like a ghost, weaving between the blasts with impossible timing. Some he sidestepped, letting the Energy streak past his shoulder. Others he blocked with his forearms. One shot, he even deflected, his hand slicing through the sphere’s trajectory, scattering it into harmless sparks.

  Alan’s jaw tightened. 'Damn it!'

  He kept his head cool, but frustration gnawed at him. The situation was desperate. Standing face-to-face with a killing machine, watching every strike fall short. His Energy reserves were enormous, yet it felt meaningless against this opponent.

  'Not again,' he thought, the memory of their last encounter burning in his mind. 'Not this time. I won’t lose again.'

  Atlas said nothing.

  Gone was the quiet, measured tone he had used to reason with Demi. Gone was the faint restraint. Now there was only silence. He wasn’t interested in talking anymore. Alan wasn’t an ally or even a rival worth negotiating with. He was an obstacle.

  And that hurt more than the blows.

  The little pride Alan had left, even that was slipping away.

  His eyes darted toward the trident lying on the ground. The thought clawed at the back of his mind. 'The weapon… if I can reach it…'

  He had the Energy reserves to power it, more than enough. The trident could melt through anything, even Atlas’s defenses. However, using a completely new and uncontrollable weapon was one of the most desperate ideas possible.

  Still, the temptation was there.

  The next kick came fast. Alan barely managed to block it, his arms crossing just in time to deflect the blow. The impact was like being hit by a cannon. His guard shattered, his stance broke.

  'Desperate moments demand desperate measures,' he thought grimly, forcing himself upright. His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest burning. 'Forget twenty minutes… I’ll be lucky to last five. No, three.'

  He raised his hands, summoning every last ounce of strength.

  [Gravity Lock.]

  [Gravity Lock.]

  The words echoed through the chamber. The gravitational field around Atlas thickened, the air itself groaning under the strain. The invisible weight multiplied. The floor cracked and splintered.

  Atlas dropped to one knee.

  For the first time, Alan saw him falter. The old man’s movements slowed, his body trembling under the mounting pressure.

  'Finally,' Alan thought, a grim smile twisting his lips. 'Even the President couldn’t fight without his armor in this kind of gravity.'

  He had cornered Atlas, broken his momentum, and forced him down.

  But the victory was hollow.

  The strain of maintaining the field tore through Alan’s focus. His mind pulsed with pain, each heartbeat a hammer against his skull. The Energy drain was exponential, each second devouring more of his reserves.

  He couldn’t even fire another blast.

  Slowly, he began to back away, step by step, every movement deliberate. His boots left deep impressions in the cracked stone as he edged toward Demi’s fallen trident. ''Just a little further…'

  “Rrraugh!”

  The sound tore through the air, primal and guttural. Alan froze, his head snapping toward the noise.

  Atlas was moving.

  The man was dragging himself forward, his hands pressed into the floor, his muscles straining against the crushing gravity. He wasn’t giving up. He was pushing back.

  Alan’s pulse quickened. His own body was beginning to fail him. His legs trembled beneath the multiplied weight, sweat dripping into his eyes. Even standing felt impossible.

  Then, metal.

  A faint clang beneath his boot.

  He looked down. The trident lay at his feet, half-buried in dust and debris.

  For a split second, his focus slipped.

  And that was all it took.

  When he looked up again, Atlas was already standing.

  The man’s chest heaved, his shoulders squared. The air around him shimmered, the pressure buckling as his Energy fought against the gravitational field.

  Alan’s heart pounded. 'I don’t need this anymore.'

  He took a breath that felt like swallowing fire. 'Desperate moments, right?'

  He deactivated the lock. The crushing weight vanished, the world snapping back to normal gravity. Then he whispered the words that sealed his last move.

  [Gravity Hell.]