[Oliver's PoV]

  Oliver had no idea when Katherine York had made her way to the second floor or if she’d been shadowing him from the start. But now, with Orion Vellor tearing the place apart in a storm of explosions, he was almost grateful to have her there.

  'At least someone else on this station might help me stop this shit show.'

  “Soldiers are being deployed to Sector 20,” came Four’s voice through the comms.

  “I’m going in,” Four added.

  Oliver doubted anyone else was still listening. Midas was unconscious, or close to it.

  'Just need to make sure no one gets harmed,' Oliver thought grimly.

  He moved toward the shattered window. Below, the once-lush grass was scorched black, littered with debris and overturned chairs.

  His gaze caught on Marco Ravell.

  The noble’s white ceremonial coat was shredded, his golden hair streaked with ash. His right arm hung at an unnatural angle, blood dripping freely from a deep gash. The damage was bad—bones broken, maybe even internal fractures. Still, Marco was standing and fighting.

  'Except for this guy,' Oliver corrected himself.

  The sound of glass shattering could be heard again.

  Oliver’s eyes snapped up in time to see it happen.

  Orion Vellor stood in the middle of the field, his body wreathed in a halo of raw, flickering energy. His eyes burned with fury, his hands trembling as arcs of light danced across his fingers.

  He snapped his fingers.

  A flash of blue-white light erupted from his hand, streaking across the air like a lightning bolt.

  The bolt struck the ground near Marco, detonating with a concussive boom that sent a shockwave rippling outward.

  The sound of it drowned everything: the alarms, the screams, even the noise of the station’s systems.

  Each snap of Orion’s fingers unleashed another blast, each one faster, louder, more destructive. The air shimmered with the residual heat of the energy bursts.

  Yet something changed; the next crack lasted longer, stretching out before it faded.

  'This one has more Energy than the last time. It’s going to hit the crowd.'

  The panic spread like wildfire. Nobles and soldiers scattered as Orion’s power spiraled out of control.

  Oliver clenched his fists. His pulse quickened. 'Just this once… don't get in my way.'

  He reached for the Red Crystal.

  The response was immediate.

  Fragments of scarlet light began to coalesce around him. The Energy crawled across his skin in a torrent of heat and pressure, solidifying into the familiar plates of his Red Armor.

  The moment the armor sealed, Oliver moved.

  He kicked off the ground, the force of his launch cracking the metal beneath his feet. The air screamed around him as he plummeted from the second floor toward the chaos below, his descent so fast it left a visible shockwave in his wake.

  He hit the grass hard enough to crater it.

  The impact sent a thunderous boom echoing through the arena.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  Turning his back to the oncoming explosion, Oliver spread his arms wide, bracing himself between the blast and the civilians still frozen in fear.

  Then the world went white.

  The explosion hit like a storm. Heat, debris, and raw Energy collided in a single, devastating wave. His armor screamed in protest as the pressure slammed into him, the crimson plates fracturing under the strain. Shards of his armor splintered off, dissolving into light as they were torn from his frame.

  He could feel it. His back seared where the armor had cracked, the heat biting into his exposed skin. The air was molten, the force enough to drive him half a step forward.

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  Yet, he held his ground, every muscle locked, every ounce of strength focused on shielding those before him.

  When the roar finally died, the silence that followed was deafening.

  Oliver staggered, smoke rising from his armor. The once-brilliant red plating was scorched black in places.

  He exhaled, his breath ragged, his vision swimming. Slowly, he closed his eyes and reached inward, forcing his energy into the armor.

  Red light began to pulse again, faint at first, then stronger. The liquid glow seeped into the cracks, reforming the broken plates, reknitting the armor’s structure with each heartbeat.

  'They’re innocent,' he thought, his mind sharp despite the pain. 'This is my plan, my mistake. I didn’t anticipate Emilia’s father losing control. So help me. This once. Stop being a bastard.'

  The HUD across his visor flickered.

  A message appeared, glowing faintly in the corner of his vision.

  [Only this time.]

  Then another beneath it, flashing in warning red.

  [Alert! Synchronization Increased.]

  His HUD flickered, numbers and warnings cascading across his visor faster than his mind could process.

  | Synchronization Status

  ?? 105% [Godlike]

  ?? 30% [Medium]

  ?? 21% [Low]

  ?? 0% [Denied]

  The alerts didn’t stop. The values kept climbing, each one pulsing across his vision.

  ?? 40% [Medium]

  ?? 50% [Medium]

  ?? 60% [Good]

  ?? 70% [High]

  [Do what you must.]

  Oliver almost laughed. He wanted to thank the Sovereign, but the memory of the last beating he took was still fresh..

  The increased synchronization surged through him like liquid fire. His Red Armor brightened, the once-dull plating igniting with crimson light. The cracks along his back sealed instantly as the armor regenerated.

  Oliver moved.

  The ground shattered beneath his feet as he launched forward, his momentum turning the air into a sonic ripple. The world blurred into streaks of color and heat.

  Ahead, Orion Vellor was still raging, his hands glowing with unstable Energy. Around him, the luminous copies of Marco Ravell darted across the battlefield.

  Oliver didn’t hesitate.

  He met the first clone head-on. His fist connected, and the impact detonated like compressed thunder. The luminous figure shattered instantly, dissolving into a burst of scattered photons.

  Another came from the side. Oliver pivoted as he struck again, another copy destroyed.

  Each swing of his arm was a burst of controlled destruction, each movement synchronized with the rhythm of the Red Crystal. He was faster, stronger. His body no longer fighting the armor, but moving with it.

  By the time he reached Orion, the duplicates were gone, their remnants fading into the air.

  “Orion,” Oliver called out. “You need to stop.”

  Orion turned toward him, his eyes wild. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling with exhaustion and fury.

  “I need one more hit,” he snarled through clenched teeth. “Just one more attack. Let me finish that bastard off.”

  Oliver took a step closer, lowering his stance.

  “If you keep going,” Oliver said, his tone calm, “you’ll take everyone else with you.”

  For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of Orion’s energy.

  “You already hit him good,” Oliver explained. “His arm’s wrecked. That last attack was risky, could’ve hit the other Houses.”

  Orion didn’t answer right away. He clicked his tongue in frustration, his expression twisted with lingering anger. “And just when he was finally vulnerable,” he muttered, his voice low and bitter.

  Oliver looked past him, toward the field where Marco Ravell lay sprawled across the synthetic grass. The golden-haired noble was no longer fighting. Vines and roots, summoned from the ground, had risen to entangle him completely. They wrapped around his arms and legs, holding him fast against the earth.

  “It’s better this way,” Oliver said quietly, his voice carrying a note of relief and guilt. “It’s already going to be hell explaining this to the Dardanus.”

  Orion exhaled sharply, the fight draining out of him. He dropped to the ground with a grunt, his back hitting the scorched grass.

  Slowly, the noise began to die down. The screams and shouts of terrified guests gave way to murmurs and confusion as people started to return to their seats. The music had long stopped. The grandeur of the ceremony was gone, replaced by the uneasy silence of nobles trying to pretend they hadn’t just witnessed a battlefield erupt in the middle of a wedding.

  From every direction, soldiers poured into the stadium. Dardanus soldiers carried containment units and restraints.

  “Thank you,” came a familiar voice.

  Oliver turned to see who was talking.

  Nico Dardanus was approaching, still dressed in his wedding attire, his white suit now filled with ash and dust. Despite the chaos, he walked with confidence.

  “Again,” Nico said, stopping a few paces away. “That’s twice now you’ve saved me.”

  Oliver cleared his throat. “It wasn’t anything,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I was in the right place at the right time.”

  Nico’s gaze lingered on him, sharp and assessing. “Interesting,” he said slowly. “It’s rare for something like that to happen twice.”

  Oliver forced a thin smile. “Guess it’s either luck… or bad timing on my part.”

  Nico’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Let’s hope it’s not a habit.”

  Behind them, soldiers were securing the scene. Marco and Orion were both being restrained. The vines released them as the guards moved in, binding their arms with cuffs and guiding them toward the waiting transports.

  The ceremony was over, but the fallout had only begun. Oliver could already imagine the reports, the interrogations, the political storm that would follow.

  “I hope I won’t need your help a third time,” Nico said, his tone polite but edged with meaning.

  Oliver nodded once, watching as Nico turned away.

  Then, his comm crackled to life in his ear.

  “Got it. I’m out.” It was Four’s voice.

  Oliver straightened, his eyes narrowing. But before he could respond, he was swallowed by the sudden blare of alarms.

  The sound was deafening. Red warning lights flashed across the stadium walls.

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