**Back at the sawmill**
"You cowardly piece of shit!" Philip snarled, lunging at Malvin with a desperate, clawing swipe. Blood poured from the wound in his stomach, making his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Malvin sidestepped with ease, his expression cold and calculating as he avoided the pitiful attack. Without missing a beat, he pulled his baton from his belt, activated the shock function with a sharp click, and struck Philip hard across the face. The crack of the baton meeting flesh was followed by a low, metallic hum as the shock coursed through Philip's body, dropping him to the floor like a sack of bricks.
"Cowardly?" Malvin repeated, his voice dripping with disdain as he loomed over the fallen man. "Says the bastard who kills from the shadows. Says the bastard who only fights when he knows he'll win." He raised the baton again, the faint electric crackle growing louder as he prepared to bring it down.
But before he could strike, a blur shot past his vision, and the baton collided with something solid. The force jolted up Malvin's arm as his weapon was blocked mid-swing by the forearm of Joshua Ambrose. The man's inhuman speed had allowed him to reach them in an instant, his amber eyes burning with focus.
"You think this means you've won?" Joshua asked, his voice calm but filled with menace. Before Malvin could respond, another sharp crack rang out as ST-24 fired, the shot whistling through the air. Joshua reacted instantly, sidestepping with precision, the bullet missing him by a hair. He smirked, glancing toward the origin of the shot. "I know where it's coming from now. Unlike him I can dodge it," he said, jerking his head toward Philip, who groaned on the ground, clutching his bleeding stomach. Nunin was already at his side, dragging him back and out of ST-24's view, the dwarf's gruff grumbling filling the air.
"Didn't think you were that fast," Malvin muttered under his breath, his mind racing to reassess the situation. "Guess it's a good thing he made plans without me... or else I'd be dead either way."
Joshua's sharp hearing picked up the words, and he turned his glare to Malvin. "What the hell are you mumbling about, you—"
His words were cut off by a deafening crash that shook the sawmill. Splinters of wood and chunks of metal flew as three Ironguard sentinels burst through the walls on all sides, their heavy frames smashing through like wrecking balls. The machines advanced in unison, their glowing optics locking onto Joshua, who instinctively shifted his stance, preparing to face them.
"Surprisingly stealthy, aren't they?" Malvin remarked dryly, his tone tinged with mockery. "You'd think you'd hear them coming from a kilometer away."
Joshua's eyes darted between the advancing sentinels, his body tense as he assessed the threat. He had never faced a single Ironguard sentinel before, let alone three. Their imposing forms seemed almost invincible, and for the first time, uncertainty flickered in his expression.
Meanwhile, Philip saw his chance. Groaning as he struggled to his feet, he leaned heavily on Nunin, who grunted under the weight. "Wha' now, boss?" Nunin asked, his small frame trembling under the pressure of both Philip's weight and the chaos surrounding them.
Philip's bloodshot eyes darted around, calculating their escape route. "We leave," he spat, his tone dripping with venom. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Nunin, hoisting the smaller man up as though he were little more than luggage.
Ignoring the pain radiating from his gut, Philip broke into a staggering run, aiming for the opposite wall—the one farthest from where ST-24 had taken its earlier shot. He knew the automaton would adjust its aim the moment it saw him, but Philip had a plan. A cruel, desperate plan.
As he neared the jagged hole in the wall, ST-24's optics locked onto him. The sentinel's mechanisms whirred as it raised its weapon, targeting Philip's legs. The crack of the shot echoed in the sawmill, and Philip, without a moment's hesitation, shifted Nunin in front of him like a demi-human shield.
The dwarf's eyes widened in horror, his mouth opening in shock as the bullet tore through him. Blood sprayed as the round pierced his small frame, sparing Philip the worst of the damage. The bullet grazed Philip's leg, tearing through the side of his pants and leaving a shallow wound, but it wasn't enough to slow him too much.
"Fucking useless to the end!" Philip snarled, his voice filled with fury and contempt. With a grunt, he tossed Nunin's dying body aside like garbage, the dwarf landing on the blood-soaked floor in a heap.
Nunin lay there, his vision darkening as he stared at Philip's retreating figure. The betrayal stung more than the bullet wound, his final thought echoing in his mind like a cruel whisper. *Why?*
And then, there was nothing.
Malvin, seeing Philip's bloodied form limping away through the jagged opening of the sawmill, barked out, "No, you don't!" His voice cut through the chaos as he broke into a sprint, his boots pounding against the wooden floor. But before he could close the distance, Joshua's voice thundered from above, sharp and commanding.
"Crescent Flames!"
Joshua vaulted high into the air, out of ST-24's line of sight, his body twisting mid-flight. With a powerful kick, he sent a blazing crescent-shaped arc of flame hurtling toward Malvin. The fire crackled through the air, its intense heat radiating outward as it streaked toward its target. Malvin's instincts took over—he threw himself backward just in time, narrowly avoiding the scorching attack. The abrupt motion sent him sprawling, his back slamming against the hard ground with a heavy thud. Winded, he glared up at Joshua, who landed with precision, his boots hitting the ground with a resounding impact.
Before Joshua could follow up, the three sentinels sprang into action. With a synchronized hiss of steam, their electric batons extended from their arms, the metal rods crackling with arcs of bright blue energy. The sentinels surged toward him, their mechanical joints hissing as they moved with alarming speed.
Joshua shifted his stance, his amber eyes narrowing. The first sentinel lunged, swinging its baton in a sharp downward arc aimed at his chest. Joshua raised his forearm, catching the electrified strike. Sparks flew as the baton connected, the electric current crackling against his hardened skin. Before he could push it away, the second sentinel struck from the side. Joshua twisted, his other arm snapping up just in time to block the second blow. A sharp jolt ran through him, but he didn't falter. The third sentinel aimed low, its baton sweeping toward his stomach in an attempt to knock him off balance. Joshua reacted in an instant, raising his knee to intercept the attack with his shin.
For a moment, all three sentinels bore down on him, their batons crackling and sparking as they pressed against his defenses. Steam hissed from their joints, the metallic sound of grinding gears and electrical hums filling the air. Joshua's muscles strained, the sheer force of their combined weight threatening to overwhelm him.
"They're tough," he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice low but steady. Then, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "But predictable!"
With a surge of power, he shoved them back, their mechanical forms stumbling under the force. Without missing a beat, Joshua leapt into the air again, twisting his body with the agility of a predator. His leg flared with flames as he prepared to unleash another attack, his voice ringing out. "Crescent—"
A sudden crack-crack of gunfire interrupted him. Two bullets streaked toward him. Joshua's reflexes kicked in, and with an inhuman maneuver, he twisted his body mid-air to avoid the shots. He landed in a crouch, his amber eyes snapping toward the source of the gunfire.
At the sawmill's entrance stood Archie and Daniel, their pistols still raised, thin tendrils of smoke curling from the barrels. Archie's voice boomed over the chaos. "Go, Malvin! Get Philip Crude—we'll deal with him!"
Malvin didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, sparing Joshua one last glance before darting through the shattered wall after Philip. By now, Philip had gained a significant lead despite his injuries, but Malvin wasn't worried. His sharp eyes caught the telltale signs of Philip's passage—a series of bloody footprints and splatters leading into the darkness. *You won't get to run,* Malvin thought, his jaw tightening as he quickened his pace.
---
Philip staggered through the dimly lit street, his breathing labored and uneven. Sweat poured down his pale face, and his trembling hand pressed firmly against the wound in his abdomen, though it did little to stem the steady flow of blood. His legs felt like lead, the graze on his right thigh burning with each agonizing step. He was beyond exhaustion, his body screaming for rest, but sheer desperation kept him moving.
"I'll get them," he hissed under his breath, his voice raw and venomous. "I'll fucking gut all of them!" The words were almost a mantra, an anchor to his crumbling will. His mind raced with delusional plans for revenge, each more grotesque than the last, as if hatred alone could fuel his broken body.
But suddenly, he stopped.
It wasn't the pain or the blood loss that froze him in place—it was the figure standing in his path.
In the middle of the empty street, illuminated by the faint flicker of a nearby streetlamp, stood a boy. His blue hair shimmered faintly in the dim light, and his head was bowed, casting his face in shadow. Philip squinted, his vision swimming, but he recognized the figure instantly.
"What the hell are you doing here, brat!?" he growled, his voice rough and strained. His feet dragged forward, his movements uneven but still defiant. "You managed to live and think you could kill me or something?" He barked a bitter laugh, each word dripping with disdain as he limped closer.
But the boy didn't move. He didn't even flinch. He stood perfectly still, his silence almost deafening.
Philip's sneer deepened as he continued to close the distance, his bloodshot eyes narrowing in rage. "Even in this state, I can—"
The words died in his throat.
Philip froze mid-step, his body locking up as an inexplicable chill swept over him. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.
The boy slowly raised his head. The shadows fell away, revealing his face. Philip's breath caught in his throat as he saw the boy's eyes—eyes filled with an intense emotion he had never seen before.
Pure, unbridled Hatred.