The winds of Sector 8 howled through the gaping hole in the carriage wall, carrying the stench of sulfur, burnt oil, and a sweltering heat that choked the lungs. The maglev train hurtled at a terrifying speed across a suspension bridge spanning an industrial abyss.
At the threshold of the breach stood the semi-mechanical Centurion, blocking the only exit. The left side of its face was a rusted metal plate with a rotating red optical lens scanning Elian and Caelus. Its right arm had been entirely replaced by a gargantuan hydraulic piston connected to a steel anchor weighing hundreds of kilograms.
"Intruders. System Defect. Elimination," the Centurion's mechanical voice crackled like a broken radio.
Its red lens flared. A dense yellow Axiom Grid—the color of low-tier Kinetic elements—swirled around its hydraulic arm. The monster wasted no time. It swung the massive anchor horizontally, cleaving the air with a terrifying hum.
"Get down!" Elian shouted, his throat raspy with blood.
Elian threw himself flat against the iron floor just as the steel anchor swept through the upper half of the carriage, shredding the metal roof as if it were mere foil. Sparks rained down upon them.
Caelus? He didn't duck. He simply tilted his body exactly three degrees to the left while taking another bite of his apple. The anchor passed a hair's breadth from his nose.
"A very crude swing," Caelus commented with his mouth full. "Too much wasted momentum on the Y-axis. He never learned the efficiency of centripetal force."
"Stop critiquing and help me, you maniac!" Elian crawled backward, scrambling for footing. He tried to focus his Null Perspective on the enemy's Axiom arm. He wanted to find the decimal, to shatter the kinetic formula.
But the moment Elian tried to squint, an excruciating pain stabbed his brain again. His vision doubled. Fresh blood leaked from his nose. Overheat. His brain refused to perform any more division-by-zero computations.
"Don't force it, Workshop Boy," Caelus plucked his phantom harp. Ting. "Your brain is on cooldown. Just use what's left in your hands."
The Centurion retracted the anchor with a pulley mechanism in its arm. It prepared for a vertical strike, aiming to crush Elian into a meat paste.
Elian stared at the broken wrench he had been clutching. Caelus was right. If he couldn't hack the world's system, he had to hack this monster's physical machinery. His eyes rapidly scanned the environment. The train was moving at 200 km/h. The enemy's anchor chain. The hole in the floor revealing the magnetic rails below.
A classical physics equation formed in his head—not through magic, but through pure logic: Inertia and Momentum.
"Hey, Scrap-heap!" Elian yelled, forcing himself to stand on his trembling legs. He stood directly in front of the gaping hole in the floor, staring straight into the Centurion's red lens. "You called me a system defect? Try calculating this!"
The Centurion roared in mechanical fury. The yellow Axiom on its arm glowed blindingly. The monster raised its massive anchor high above its head, exerting all its kinetic force for one lethal blow toward Elian.
"Probability of the floor vibrating due to rail turbulence: 89%," Caelus murmured casually, his index finger tapping the body of his harp.
Just as the Centurion swung the anchor down with full force, the carriage suddenly jolted violently from magnetic turbulence triggered by the vibration of Caelus's harp.
The jolt wasn't large—only a few centimeters—but it was enough to make the monster's swing angle miss its mark.
Elian didn't dodge sideways. With a bravery bordering on suicidal, he stepped forward, letting the hundred-kilogram steel anchor slam into the iron floor exactly one inch behind his heel.
KRAAAANG!!!
The anchor pierced the floor brutally, wedging deep into the gaps of the magnetic rails rushing beneath the train.
"Now!" Elian screamed.
Before the pulley mechanism in the monster's arm could retract the anchor, Elian lunged. He jammed the tip of his broken, bent wrench directly into the main drive gears of the chain-winch on the Centurion's shoulder.
CRACK! The gears jammed instantly. The anchor chain locked tight—unable to be pulled in or let out.
The Centurion froze for a fraction of a second, its red lens flickering in confusion as it processed what had just occurred.
It was a fatal mathematical error.
The steel anchor was firmly lodged in the static magnetic rails, while the train continued to hurtle forward at 200 km/h. The locked chain suddenly went taut with an absurd amount of tension. The Law of Inertia took over mercilessly. An object at rest stays at rest; an object in motion stays in motion.
"Newton's First Law, you bastard," Elian hissed inches from the monster's face.
ZRAAAASSHHHH!!!
The sound of tearing metal and bursting hydraulic lines was deafening. Since the chain couldn't extend, the train's massive momentum instantly yanked the Centurion's right shoulder.
The gargantuan mechanical arm was ripped clean off the monster's body in a spray of sparks and black coolant. The force was so violent that the Centurion's entire body was dragged along, thrown out through the hole in the carriage, and plummeted into the industrial abyss of Sector 8 without even a chance to scream.
Elian collapsed backward, his breath coming in sharp gasps. His hands shook uncontrollably. He had just killed an Axiom Centurion using nothing but a broken wrench and the train's velocity.
"A beautiful resolution to the equation," Caelus clapped softly, walking toward the edge of the breach. "Using the rail's velocity to overcome muscle. Impressive. I'm starting to like you, Elian Laurent."
"We... we need to sit down..." Elian coughed, blood still dripping from his nose.
"Oh, I don't think sitting is an option right now," Caelus pointed outside.
Elian forced himself to crawl and look out. Ahead, the tracks ended at a gargantuan station guarded by hundreds of flying Axiom Drones and dozens of Inquisitors in white uniforms. Their train was slowing down, entering directly into a trap.
"The train's sensors detected the explosion in our bay. The station is blockaded," Caelus explained cheerfully, as if they were on a picnic. "Probability of escaping through the front door: Absolute Zero."
"Then what's your plan, Crazy Poet?" Elian growled, frustration taking over.
"Simple," Caelus stepped back from the hole, taking a running start. "We get off here."
Elian's eyes widened. They were still hundreds of meters in the air, crossing the industrial waste zones of Sector 8. "Are you insane?! That's suici—"
Before Elian could finish, Caelus lunged forward, grabbed Elian by the collar of his cloak, and leapt out of the speeding carriage.
Elian's stomach felt left behind. The wind roared deafeningly as they free-fell through the smog-filled air of Sector 8. Below them, a sea of massive steam pipes, corrugated factory roofs, and mounds of black coal waste waited like an open monster's maw.
"Probability of landing in a soft pile of coal waste: 99%!" Caelus yelled through the gale.
BRUUUUUGHHH!!!
The world went dark instantly. Elian hit something coarse, dusty, and hot. He tumbled repeatedly down a man-made hill before finally stopping at the bottom of a drainage tunnel.
His entire body felt pulverized. His mouth and nose were full of coal dust that tasted like bitter carbon. He coughed violently, spitting out clumps of black soot.
"Successful landing!" A light footstep sounded nearby.
Elian lifted his throbbing head. Caelus stood there without a scratch, dusting off his silver cloak with an air of satisfaction. His harp and apple were somehow still safe with him.
Elian struggled to stand, clinging to the wall of a massive pipe. He looked up. There was no fake blue sky here. Only a thick, oppressive layer of soot, illuminated by the glow of thousands of factory chimneys. The clanging of hammers, the roar of engines, and the shouts of factory foremen echoed from every direction, forming an endless symphony of suffering.
They had arrived. This was the heart of Sector 8: The Gearworks.
"Don't admire the squalor for too long, Elian," Caelus said, his tone suddenly dropping its usual playfulness.
Caelus walked ahead, pointing to a narrow alleyway between two metal smelting plants. At the mouth of the alley, the air was slightly distorted, refracting the surrounding steam-lamp light as if an invisible mirror were placed there.
"The Rust Ravens surely know we escaped the train," Caelus murmured. His eyes sharpened, staring at the residual refraction. "And judging by this messy Optical Axiom trail, the girl is wounded. We need to find that ghost before those scavenger dogs sell her to the Inquisitors."
Elian wiped the blood and coal dust from his face. The pain had gone numb, replaced by a cold fury and sharp focus. He tightened his belt, discarded his now-useless wrench, and stepped into the smog of Sector 8.
One step closer to the sky. One step closer to Miya.