Chapter 62: Outmatched

"In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity." — Albert Einstein.

– – –

The system also highlighted the integration points.

These were the spots where the cold metal fused with Vargas’s organic nervous system. The connections were delicate and complex, a web of neural interfaces that translated digital signals into biological movement.

They were the most fragile part of the entire cybernetic framework.

The data was clear.

Fighting the hydraulic limbs head-on for too long would be useless. The mechanical arm could generate enough force to crush stone, while the hydraulic leg could deliver a kick with the force of a small car. If Micah kept exchanging blows with Vargas, he would not survive.

But overloading the power grid would shut everything down.

The limbs, the cannon, the targeting system, all of it ran through that single central reactor. If Micah could deliver a concentrated electromagnetic pulse directly to the integration points, the entire system would short-circuit.

He needed the right talent. And he needed to get close enough to use it.

The referee stepped to the center of the ring. He was a scarred veteran wearing the black uniform of the Coliseum’s official judging corps.

"Fighters ready?"

Vargas raised his cybernetic arm. The plasma cannon hummed as it began charging, the barrel glowing with a bright, building heat.

Micah nodded once.

The referee dropped his hand.

"FIGHT!"

Vargas opened fire immediately.

BOOOM!!!

The plasma cannon discharged with a sound like a thunderclap. A blinding beam of superheated energy tore across the ring and hit the concrete floor where Micah had been standing.

The impact was catastrophic.

The reinforced concrete didn’t just crack, it melted. It left a crater of glowing, liquid slag in the floor, bubbling and smoking as the heat dissipated.

Vargas didn’t stop. He fired again, and again, and again. Each shot was a concentrated beam of three-thousand-degree plasma that turned the arena floor into a smoking wasteland of melted stone and superheated air.

The beams came in rapid succession, each one aimed at a different spot, creating a grid of destruction that covered the entire ring.

The crowd gasped. The sheer destructive power on display was beyond anything most of them had seen in a tournament setting.

This wasn’t combat. It was demolition. Vargas was turning the arena into a killing field, and the rookie in the cloak was somewhere inside the smoke and fire.

The commentators were shouting over each other.

"Vargas is unloading everything! The entire ring is melting!"

"Where is the recruit?! Is he still standing?!"

"I can’t see anything through the smoke!"

The smoke cleared for a fraction of a second, and the crowd saw something that made the entire stadium go silent.

Micah was moving. The Shadow Step Boots Mark II had eliminated all friction beneath his feet, and he was weaving through the plasma barrage with a speed that defied human comprehension.

He moved between the beams so quickly that purple afterimages followed his movements, hanging in the air for a moment before fading.

Each plasma shot passed through an afterimage.

The real Micah was already somewhere else, his body snapped sideways by the thrusters in a lateral burst that covered three meters in a fraction of a second.

He moved left, then right, then left again, his trajectory completely unpredictable.

Vargas’s mechanical eye was tracking him, but the targeting system couldn’t keep up. Every time the reticle locked onto a target and fired, the target was already an afterimage.

The real Micah was two meters to the left, closing the distance with each dodge.

The crowd erupted. The sound was deafening. A hundred thousand people on their feet, screaming, because the rookie in the street clothes was doing something that over forty previous opponents had never done.

He was making Vargas miss.

Vargas roared in frustration. He abandoned the ranged assault and charged forward, his hydraulic legs pumping with enough force to crack the arena floor with each stride.

His cybernetic arm was cocked back, the hydraulic pistons screaming as they loaded for a devastating melee strike.

Micah didn’t flinch. He gripped the Widow’s Wail with both hands and waited for the charge. The blade hummed. The crowd held its breath.

– – –

Vargas came in fast and reckless.

Through Beast Analysis, Micah saw the strike before it started. The system tracked the hydraulic pressure building in Vargas’s left arm, the torque loading in his shoulder joint, and the angle of his approaching footwork.

The backhand came in wide, sweeping across the entire left side of the ring.

It was designed to hit everything in its path, not just Micah. It was an area attack, not a precision strike.

The data was clear. Micah could dodge it. The Shadow Step Boots had more than enough speed to carry him out of the swing’s path. He could slip to the right, let the arm sail past, and counter while Vargas was overextended.

But dodging wouldn’t get him what he needed.

He needed the system to trigger. He needed to take a hit at least.

Not something that would kill or cripple him, but enough of an impact that the Daily Gacha System would register it as a physical injury and grant him a pull.

The plasma barrage had been too fast and too scattered to connect, and Vargas’s melee strikes were the only reliable source of damage he could access.

The backhand was coming. Micah had two choices. Dodge it cleanly and continue the fight without a system pull, or step into the edge of the strike and take the hit on his terms.

He stepped into the strike.

Not fully. He moved his weight forward and to the left, moving into the outer edge of the backhand’s trajectory instead of away from it.

The timing had to be perfect. Too far in and the full force of the hydraulic arm would crush him. Too far out and the strike would miss entirely and the system wouldn’t trigger.

The cybernetic fist connected with his left shoulder.

The impact was staggering.

Even at the edge of the swing, the hydraulic force was enough to rattle every bone in his upper body.

The Phantom Carapace absorbed most of the kinetic energy and spread it across his upperbody, but the sheer density of the blow pushed through the suit’s diffusion layer.

His bones shook. A deep ache spread from his shoulder down his arm, while the metal fist scraped across the Phantom Carapace, leaving a scuff mark on the fabric.