Chapter 63: System Overload

"Technology is a useful servant but a dangerous master." — Christian Lous Lange.

– – –

The force of the blow spun Micah sideways.

He staggered two steps to the right, his boots scraping against the cracked concrete. His left arm went numb for a second before the feeling returned with a burning, pins-and-needles sensation that made his fingers twitch.

But he was still standing.

[Ding!]

[Physical injury detected. Source: Cybernetic melee strike, Vargas.]

[Injury severity: Moderate. Deep bruising on left shoulder. Kinetic trauma to upper body.]

[Mid-tier Gacha pull granted.]

The notification instantly pulled his attention away from the pain.

His shoulder still burned with throbbing ache, but the system notification was impossible to ignore.

He pulled the wheel.

The golden roulette materialized in his mind and spun fast. The colors blurred together, gold and blue and green and white, each one flashing past in rapid cycles.

The wheel clicked through the tiers with a speed that matched his racing heartbeat.

It locked.

A brilliant, glowing orb sat in the center of the wheel. It pulsed with a bright, electric blue light that crackled with tiny arcs of energy.

The orb was volatile, and the power inside it felt like holding a live wire.

The orb shattered.

[Talent Acquired: EMP Burst (Active, Mid-Tier)]

[EMP Burst: Releases a concentrated electromagnetic pulse from any point on the user’s body. Disables electronic systems, cybernetic enhancements, and Flux-powered technology within a two-meter radius. Effect lasts 30 seconds. Single use per activation.]

The knowledge flooded into his brain. He understood the talent instantly, the same way he had understood every other talent the system had given him.

One pulse. Two-meter radius. Thirty seconds of total electronic shutdown.

Vargas’s entire left side was electronic.

The fight changed in that fraction of a second. He had what he needed. Now he just had to use it.

Vargas had overextended. The backhand swing had carried his body forward, his cybernetic arm swinging wide past the point of recovery.

His hydraulic shoulder was straining to pull the arm back, the servos whining loudly as they fought against the momentum of the swing.

His organic right side was exposed. His chest was open. And the central power core that Beast Analysis had identified was sitting right there, behind a wall of titanium plating that was designed to stop physical attacks only.

Micah moved.

The Shadow Step Boots fired one final, explosive burst. His body rocketed forward, closing the distance between them in a fraction of a second.

He didn’t go around Vargas’s guard, he went through it, sliding beneath the still-recovering cybernetic arm and planting himself directly in front of the cyborg’s chest.

Vargas’s organic eye went wide. The mechanical eye was still trying to track Micah’s movement, the red targeting reticle spinning wildly as it failed to keep up.

But his organic eye caught everything. Micah appeared beneath his guard, left palm already rising toward his chest. Blue light gathered in the palm, crackling with concentrated electromagnetic energy.

"No!" Vargas roared. He tried to pull his cybernetic arm back, tried to bring it across his body to block the strike.

The hydraulic system surged to full power, driving the pistons forward with brutal force, but he was too slow.

CRACK !!

Micah slammed his open left palm directly against the center of Vargas’s chest plate.

The spot that Beast Analysis had identified as the location of the central power core.

The EMP Burst discharged!

A concentrated electromagnetic pulse erupted from Micah’s palm and poured directly into Vargas’s chest.

The energy wasn’t visible to the naked eye, but its effects were immediate and catastrophic. Every electronic system in Vargas’s body simultaneously short-circuited.

The plasma cannon on his forearm sparked and died. The mechanical eye went dark, the red lens flickering twice before going completely black.

The hydraulic servos in his arm locked up mid-swing, the pistons freezing in place as the power feeding them was suddenly cut off.

His left leg stiffened, the mechanical joints locking into a rigid position that made it impossible for him to move or pivot.

Sparks erupted from every seam and joint in the cybernetic body.

The crowd screamed as the sparks rained down on the arena floor, burning small holes in the concrete.

Vargas screamed.

It was a sound of pure agony, not from physical pain but from the sensation of having half his body suddenly go dead.

The neural interfaces that connected his brain to the cybernetics had been overloaded, and the signals were going nowhere.

He fell to his knees. The impact shook the arena floor, and the sound of metal hitting concrete echoed through the stadium.

His organic hand was shaking, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. His organic eye was wide with panic, darting between Micah and his own frozen cybernetic arm.

The arena was silent for one second. Two. Three.

Then the crowd exploded. The sound was unlike anything the Coliseum had heard in years. A hundred thousand people on their feet, screaming, because a rookie in street clothes had just taken down a Clara Group champion with a single touch.

Micah stepped back. His left palm was still tingling from the EMP discharge, the residual electromagnetic energy slowly fading from his skin.

His right hand held the Widow’s Wail at his side, the blade humming softly, completely unnecessary.

He hadn’t needed it.

The referee stood still for a long moment before raising his flag.

"Winner! Ring 7! Micah Selman!"

The stadium shook. The noise was so loud that the floodlights rattled in their mounts and the arena walls vibrated.

The commentators were shouting over each other, their voices cracking with excitement.

"HE DID IT! THE ROOKIE DID IT! VARGAS IS DOWN!"

"A SINGLE STRIKE! ONE STRIKE AND THE CYBORG IS FINISHED!"

"WHAT DID HE DO?! WHAT WAS THAT ENERGY?!"

"THE CLARA GROUP’S CHAMPION HAS BEEN DEFEATED BY AN UNKNOWN RECRUIT IN STREET CLOTHES!"

Up in the Clara Group’s VIP observation box, the reaction was very different. The executives who had been leaning forward in their expensive seats, waiting for Vargas to shatter the rookie’s bones, were sitting completely still. Their faces were pale.

Their drinks were untouched. The satisfaction that had been on their faces moments ago had been replaced by something cold and sharp.

Micah walked toward the exit tunnel. He didn’t look back at Vargas, who was still kneeling on the arena floor, while the medics rushed in with emergency repair equipment.

He sheathed the Widow’s Wail as he walked, and the blade slid into its scabbard with a quiet click that was lost in the roar of the crowd.

Tasha was waiting for him at the tunnel entrance.

Her eyes were bright, and her expression carried a mixture of relief and something that looked a lot like pride.

She fell into step beside him without saying a word, and they walked together through the corridor toward the waiting chamber.

The other competitors in the waiting chamber were watching.

Every single one of them had seen the fight on the overhead screens, and the looks they were giving Micah now were very different from the ones he’d received when he walked in.