Gin created another axe, this one felt lighter.
No—he was lighter, his muscles humming with borrowed clarity. Every shift of Marren's weight telegraphed intention; every micro-twitch of the reef weapon's polyps warned of its path.
Gin pivoted around the next slash, letting it pass so close he felt the mist kiss his cheek. He brought his axe up in a tight, ugly swing, aiming not for Marren but for the sword itself.
The blood-iron edge met coral.
The reef weapon shrieked.
Not out loud—a vibration that shuddered through Gin's bones and up his arm. The polyps along the blade shrank, bleeding a thin trickle of pale fluid. Marren's grip tightened.
"Interesting," Marren said again, but his voice had lost its amused undertone. "Tier-one fabricator strain with emergent cognitive enhancement. Khelt does collect the strangest debris."
Gin stepped in, faster now, using his newfound clarity to attack instead of merely surviving. He hacked at Marren's guard, blows coming from odd angles, the axe's hooked back catching at the reef blade, forcing it off-line, biting into Marren's uniform.
A deep cut opened along Marren's forearm.
Blood.
The reef weapon pulsed, eager.
Marren fed it, letting the droplets splash along its edge. It drank deeply, coral veins flaring bright. A wave of pressurized water rolled off the blade.
Gin's breath fogged.
"Don't get cocky, Farcast," Marren said. "You're not the only one who can go faster."
He slammed forward.
The next exchange blurred even through Gin's heightened perception. The reef sword came in hard and fast, leaving lines of mist where it passed. Every time it met Gin's axe, it sliced clean through; Gin kept losing pieces of his weapon. He would soon need to create another one, but he wasn't sure if he had any blood left for it.
The oxygen high also wouldn't last.
His bones pulsed warning.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "Working on it."
He feinted low, then brought the axe, or what was left of it, around in a brutal, horizontal chop aimed at Marren's ribs. Marren twisted, taking the blow along his hip instead of his chest. The axe bit deep, scraping bone.
Marren hissed before stepping back.
For a heartbeat, Gin saw something like respect flash in the administrator's eyes.
Then Marren bared his teeth.
"Holst," he snapped. "Up."
Venn, still pale and sweating, growled: "You got it boss."
He launched himself at Gin's flank.
Two-on-one was a very different equation.
Gin twisted, trying to keep both men in front of him, but the room was small and Marren knew it.
The administrator drove him sideways, reef blade snapping in and out like a predator's jaw. Venn circled, his injured shoulder hanging stiff, but his other arm more than eager to make contact.
Lightning jittered across Venn's fingers, tiny arcs snapping between knuckles. He cut in low, hand aiming for Gin's calf. Gin hopped back, but Marren's sword kissed his thigh instead, opening another line of fire. Blood spattered the floor.
Stop losing blood, Gin's bones snarled.
"Excellent note," Gin muttered.
He tried to use his axe's reach, jabbing and sweeping, forcing Venn to keep distance while he kept Marren's blade engaged. For a few breaths, it worked. He even managed to clip Venn's knee once, sending the jellyfin officer crashing down with a shouted curse.
But oxygen burned fast.
His lungs started to ache. The edges of his sharpened vision fuzzed.
Marren saw it.
He swept low again. Gin jumped. The reef blade slashed open his boot instead of taking his foot.
Venn used the moment.
He lunged from the side, fingers catching Gin's forearm above the wrist.
Contact.
Electricity tore through him.
Every muscle seized, his grip on the axe locking. His teeth clamped so hard his jaw screamed. The world went incandescent white.
His body howled as jellyfin current slammed against meat.
His vision flickered—on, off, on—like someone playing with a light switch.
He refused to fall.
Through the static, he felt Venn's grip tighten, felt the man pushing more power into him, trying to overload nerves, trying to turn him into a twitching, helpless warning.
"I told you," Venn hissed in his ear, breath hot. "You should have stayed in your hole, skiffer."
Gin forced his muscles to move.
A fraction.
Enough.
He wrenched his arm sideways, dragging Venn a half-step off balance. His free hand, slick with sweat and blood, scrabbled along the officer's uniform.
He grabbed the man's collar, used it as a handhold, and drove his head backward as far as he could.
Skull met nose with a crack.
Venn shouted, grip faltering. The lightning stuttered.
It was enough.
Gin tore free, stumbling. His legs didn't quite respond correctly; one knee buckled and slammed into the floor. He caught himself on the axe haft like a crutch, breath coming in ragged gasps.
His right eye flooded with blood again. He blinked furiously, smearing red across his cheek with the back of his hand. The world doubled, then tripled.
Marren stepped forward, reef sword leveled.
"Last chance," he said. "Surrender, Farcast. Sign a contract and work off your bad habits in a more controlled environment. It would be such a waste of a floodborn to just kill you here."
Gin laughed.
It sounded awful. Broken glass and salt and maybe a little hysteria.
"I'd rather die," he rasped.
He pushed himself to his feet on sheer spite.
Every part of him hurt. His side burned. His thigh sang with each heartbeat. His face throbbed. The cut across his eyebrow leaked steadily, warmth tracking down his temple.
But he was still up.
That counted for something.
His bones thrummed low approval.
"Stubborn waste of potential," Marren muttered. He lifted the sword, ready to bring it down—
Something slammed into Marren.
The administrator's eyes went wide as a boot wreathed in heat caught him square in the ribs. He flew sideways, crashing into the ruined half of the desk.
The impact rattled the whole room.
Steam rolled in after him.
"Sorry I'm late," Jakk Mirefell said from the doorway. "Had to finish my drink."