On the ground, leaned against the crater he'd carved into the building after being hurled through the air by Buudo's whip, Ray's body sat—slumped, broken.
The red lights that once illuminated his optics had gone out.
His head hung low, a wide gash splitting the crown of his skull. Wires and circuit boards were exposed to the night air, sparking and sputtering from the brutal strike that had torn him open. Coolant dripped down his face in slow, viscous streams, mixing with the dust and blood that clung to his frame.
The street held its breath.
No shouts. No footfalls.
Only the quiet groan of gears in the walls, the hiss of steam rising from cracked vents, and somewhere far off—the distant clatter of a trolley speeding across its rails.
And above it all—three figures stood at the heart of the ruin.
The brothers.
Titus, Leo, and Buudo.
Their weapons still slick with battle, their bodies gleaming under the fractured moonlight. They had just finished it—finished him.
Doran's body still hung, impaled on Leo's scythe, a ragdoll suspended in the dying blue glow of the streetlamps. His severed head lay on the cobbled road below, rolling once, then settling—staring blankly toward the heavens.
The silence cracked.
"What the hell is happening to his body?!" Leo's voice cut through the stillness, edged with confusion and alarm.
Ray's optics flickered faintly.
For a breath—a heartbeat—they lit up, one tiny red glow piercing the shadows.
Then just as quickly… darkness again.
He slumped deeper against the cratered wall, his body twitching once with a burst of static.
In the darkness of Ray's broken mind, something flickered.
An analog screen flashed to life behind his optics—old, battered, struggling to function.
[Core System: Failure]
[Body Condition: Critical]
[Memory System: Failure]
[Engine: Overheated]
[Oil Reservoir: Empty]
[Optics: Critical]
[System Shutdown Imminent]
The text glitched and distorted, lines of static cutting across the display.
Then—another flicker.
[System Shutdown Override: Y/N?]
The [Y] blinked. Once. Twice. Faint. Struggling to stay lit.
Then—the screen went black.
Silence again.
But somewhere deep inside the void of his failing body… a light sparked.
Tiny at first. Weak. Barely more than a pinpoint in the overwhelming dark.
It grew.
Slowly—agonizingly—the light expanded, feeding on stubbornness, on something that couldn't be measured in circuits or fuel.
Through the static haze of a single broken optic, the world bled back into focus.
The city street—the battlefield—came into view. Glitchy. Warped. Pieces missing like torn film.
He could make out three figures standing there, their silhouettes burned against the ruins by the scattered streetlights.
The brothers.
Buudo. Leo. Titus.
But no Doran.
No Doran anywhere.
Just the brothers—and the sharp, endless ache of failure gnawing at the edge of consciousness.
Ray's fingers twitched once against the broken cobblestones.
Ray's head creaked as he turned, joints grinding under the strain. His remaining optic struggled to refocus, scanning the ruined battlefield.
Then—
FOOM!
A red pillar of light erupted from the ground, piercing the sky, splitting the clouds apart as it reached for the stars.
Ray flinched back instinctively, shielding his broken face with one trembling hand.
When the light receded, a figure remained—standing tall in the center of the devastation.
Doran.
Alive.
Burning.
Unbreakable.
Ray let out a breath that scraped through static.
"Guess… I can't let him do it all alone," he rasped, his voice glitching at the edges.
He braced a hand against the wall, trying to steady himself. His body buckled with every movement, metal groaning under the weight of its own failures. Oil and coolant poured freely from the gash in his skull, dripping onto the cracked stone below.
Ray raised a trembling hand to his right optic—now clouded and leaking fluid. Without hesitation, he grabbed a piece of rubble from the shattered building behind him and—
SMASH!
He slammed it into his own face.
Crack!
Glass and steel spiderwebbed. Oil and coolant burst outward. His vision cleared through the jagged hole he'd made.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was enough.
"I gotta move before any of them see I'm still breathing," he muttered.
Ray stumbled away from the crater, dragging one foot after the other, slipping into the shadows of a narrow alley between two broken buildings.
Behind him—
BOOM!
CRACK!
The street trembled as Doran clashed against the brothers—an inferno of steel, flame, and force.
The fight roared on without him. For now.
A flicker of red lit up across his cracked HUD.
[System Failure]
[Power: 4%]
[Core: Overheated]
[Stability: 14%]
[Shutdown Imminent]
Ray's knees buckled. He caught himself against the wall with a grunt.
"I'm on fumes here," he muttered. "But I won't let you down. Not while you're still out there fighting…"
A new message blinked across his optic:
[Engine Core Overdrive: Y/N?]
Ray grinned weakly.
"Yes," he whispered.
The command accepted with a soft hum. His chest cavity rattled. Heat flooded through his body. His remaining optic flared brighter, a burning ember in the dark.
[Stability: 79%]
[Power: 11%]
[Core: Critical]
[System Failure]
"Better than nothing," Ray said with a smirk. "Eleven percent… maybe a few minutes if I don't push too hard."
He staggered forward, half-limping, half-running.
Then he stopped.
His hand curled into a trembling fist at his side.
"But that's not me," he muttered, the words thick with something rawer than steel. "He needs a hundred percent outta me."
Ray's battered frame straightened slightly, shoulders squaring against the burning city.
"I'll give him everything I've got."
Ray sprinted.
The broken alley blurred past him, his battered frame lurching faster with each step
.
[Power: 10%]
Sparks scattered from his heels as he pushed harder, closing the distance back toward the fight.
At the end of the alley, he saw it—
Buudo, mid-charge, barreling straight at Doran's exposed back.
Doran hadn't seen him.
[Power: 9%]
Ray's optic flickered.
A glint—steel caught in the rubble.
A sword.
His legs coiled, muscles hissing with strain.
Without slowing, he dipped low, grabbed the weapon's hilt, and—
BLAMM!
He launched himself upward, sword arcing high over his head, crashing down toward Buudo like a hammer forged from fury.
The impact hit like a cannon.
Buudo staggered, his body hurled backward across the stone street.
[Power: 7%]
Buudo coughed, black coolant spitting from his mouth. He pushed himself upright with a grunt, dust falling from his frame in clouds.
"Look who decided to finally get up," Buudo said, chuckling darkly. "Thought I killed you for sure back there."
The four of them stood now, facing off.
Ray and Doran.
Buudo and Leo.
The tension cracked the air like static.
Doran glanced down at Ray, noting the sword gripped in his battered hands. His sword.
"That sword's mine," Doran said, low and pointed.
Ray didn't even look back.
"And you're gonna let me borrow it," Ray replied, voice glitching faintly. "If I'm gonna help you survive this. I don't have long—but it looks like they're eager to finish this. Let's end it first."
Buudo wiped the black fluid from the dented plating on his chest, a slow, cruel smirk curling his lips.
"You're not even patched up, and you're still standing," he said. "Damn. But I guess it makes sense."
He cracked his whip once—CRACK!—the sound bouncing down the empty street.
"You were made by the Realm of Viora," Buudo continued, his voice thick with disdain. "I can tell by the scrap metal they used for your frame."
Buudo leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming.
"And Father? He perfected what they could only ruin."
Ray didn't flinch.
He could feel the sword's hum vibrate through his metal bones—a pulse of memories and burdens not his own. The scorched edges. The chipped steel.
Every weight Doran had carried in battle seemed to press down now on Ray's own arms, making the already heavy blade feel even heavier.
[Power: 6%]
But he didn't falter.
Ray lifted his voice, and the air seemed to tighten around him.
"I am a Flipad!" he shouted, his tone tearing through the rising static in his voice. "We work, we fight, and we love! We belong! And I will prove our worth, just as all the others before me have!"
For a moment—
A smile flickered across Buudo's face.
The kind of smile that waits, patiently, to deliver a killing blow.
"You committed a heinous crime in the Realm of Viora," Buudo said, almost conversationally. "Murder. Kidnapping. Rape. The worst of the worst."
He tilted his head, mock sympathy dripping from every word.
"Then they took you to a facility. 'Fixed' you. They fried your brain with electromagnetic lobotomies… stuffed your consciousness into a robot shell… and forced you to serve."
Buudo's laughter exploded outward—echoing wildly through the shattered streets, magnified by the hollow bones of the city itself.
"Then they fed you pretty little lies," he sneered. "False memories! Fake families! Fake friendships! All to make you think you were something worth saving."
SNAP!
He cracked the whip again, the noise a sharp gunshot through the silence.
"You and your whole race of trash cans are nothing but criminals! Prisoners! Serving life sentences in bodies too broken to even realize what you've done!"
Ray said nothing.
The sword in his hands trembled.
Not from fear.
Not from pain.
But from the weight of everything.
[Power: 5%]
[Stability: 61%]
Buudo's mocking laughter filled the space between them, scraping down the alley walls like iron on bone.
Leo didn't laugh.
He watched quietly, his scythe lowered ever so slightly.
His gaze sharpened—not at Ray—but at Buudo.
Even Doran, blade ready, waited.
Waiting for Ray's answer.
Ray simply stood there, steam hissing from the torn seams of his body, the sword held firm.
And when he finally moved, it wasn't hesitation.
It was resolve.
For a moment, Ray said nothing.
The wind hissed through the broken street. Steam rose from fractured vents. The world held its breath.
Then—
Ray straightened his battered frame and spoke.
"Maybe you're right," he said, voice low but steady. "Maybe one day I'll find out who I was… what he did."
His optics flickered, briefly burning brighter.
"But right now?"
He raised the sword behind him, blade gleaming under the fractured light.
"I couldn't care less."
The muscles in his arms tightened.
"Him and me—"
He surged forward, the pavement cracking underfoot.
"—are two different people!"
His words roared louder than the gears screaming in his broken frame.
Flames from Doran's wings ignited the sky behind them, casting long shadows across the city.
Buudo's grin vanished.
Ray pulled the sword back—high overhead—then heaved it downward with every last ounce of strength.
It wasn't just an attack.
It was a declaration.
BOOM!
The greatsword slammed down onto Buudo's shoulder.
The impact sent Buudo skidding backward, his boots grinding against the cobbled street, leaving cracked stone in his wake.
[Power: 4%]
Doran shot into the sky above, his sword a spear of flame. He crashed down toward Leo
CLANG!
Sword met scythe, and the scythe's blade cracked under the force.
Meanwhile, Ray planted the greatsword's tip into the ground like a foundation.
He waited.
Buudo charged.
At the last possible second, Ray dropped his weight, pivoting the sword in a wide, brutal arc over his own back.
BOOM!
The blade fell like a guillotine.
It slammed into Buudo with enough force to create a small crater in the street.
[Power: 3%]
Buudo grunted, one knee hitting the fractured stones.
He snarled, shoved the sword aside with raw force, and staggered to his feet—whip cracking once in frustration.
Ray didn't stop.
He used the momentum Buudo had given him, letting the weight of the blade carry into a wide, sweeping slash.
SHHK!
The sword bit deep into Buudo's chest, carving a gaping wound across the metal, exposing the tangled wires and sparking systems beneath.
Buudo's armor rippled, trying to liquefy and repair itself—but it was too slow.
Just like Titus.
[Power: 2%]
Ray's optics flickered wildly now.
Steam bled from every joint, every seam.
His frame rattled with each movement, barely stitched together by willpower alone.
Above them, Doran and Leo clashed again.
Doran swooped down low, flames trailing behind him like a comet. He landed hard, skidding across the street.
The two swung at each other—
CLANG! CLANG!
The scythe cracked again, the fracture splitting wider with each collision.
The ground beneath them splintered.
Steam erupted from the fractures.
The pressure was unbearable.
And then—
CRASH!
Leo's scythe shattered.
In one clean, merciless sweep, Doran's blade cleaved through Leo's body—splitting him in half.
But Doran didn't stop.
Slash after slash rained down.
Each cut severed more of Leo's body—slicing limbs, torso, head—until nothing remained but oil, smoke, and twisted metal strewn across the street.
Finally, Doran impaled what was left with his sword.
He exhaled sharply.
"Embers: Release."
The flames flared outward, consuming every scrap of Leo's remains.
Once there was nothing left but ash—
"Barrier: Capture."
A faint green barrier shimmered around the blade, then condensed, pulling the embers inward until even the traces of Leo's existence disappeared.
Leo was gone.
The street hissed beneath Doran's boots, oil and molten metal seeping into every crack.
He lowered his blade slowly, flames dimming as they sank back into the steel.
Then he turned.
Dragging the sword behind him, molten trails marking his path.
His molten-red eyes locked on Ray and Buudo.
Ray still stood.
Barely.
One leg buckled under him, trembling.
The other strained to hold what little strength he had left.
[Power: 1%]
[Warning: Shutdown in 30 seconds]
Buudo still stood too.
Black coolant poured freely from the gash across his chest. His body sagged, struggling to hold itself upright.
But he raised his whip one final time.
"You…" Buudo rasped, voice glitching, sharp and broken. "You're… nothing but… broken junk."
Ray's optics dimmed.
Fading fast.
He could barely lift the sword now.
But he stepped forward anyway.
One step.
Buudo swung—
But it was slow.
Sloppy.
Ray half-stepped inside the arc, driving the pommel of the greatsword into Buudo's exposed chest—right into the tangled mess of wires and broken circuitry.
THWMP.
A sharp hiss.
Buudo's body stiffened.
Black coolant geysered from the wound, spraying across the cracked stones.
His whip fell from his fingers.
He staggered, collapsing onto one knee.
Ray dropped the sword.
He couldn't hold it anymore.
[Power: 0%]
[System Shutdown: Complete]
His body spasmed once—
—and then collapsed forward.
The clang of metal hitting stone echoed through the empty street.
And Ray moved no more.
Silence reclaimed the ruined city.
Doran stood alone amidst the wreckage.
Across from him, Buudo knelt—systems failing, black coolant pooling around his shattered form. His body sagged under the weight of defeat, limbs stiffening where metal once flowed like blood.
Slowly, painfully, Buudo tilted his head up.
One last glare etched itself across his broken face, defiant even now.
"We may have failed Father…" he rasped, voice glitching, warping, barely audible over the hiss of leaking coolant.
"But he isn't done. You will feel his wrath… for disrupting his peace."
Buudo tried to rise.
He reached for his whip—
—only for his arm to lock mid-motion, trembling uselessly.
The liquid metal that composed his body hardened, sagging and dripping like cooling wax.
His frame froze in place.
Doran watched in silence.
Then he moved.
In one clean, deliberate motion, he lifted his sword—steam rising from the battered steel—and swung.
SHNK.
The blade cleaved through Buudo's neck.
His head hit the cobblestone with a dull, final thud, bouncing once before settling into a shallow crater.
The metallic clang echoed across the broken street, swallowed by the empty night.
The rest of Buudo's body—still frozen in a kneeling position—toppled backward in slow, shuddering pieces, black coolant spreading across the cracked stones like blood.
Doran exhaled sharply, steam rolling from his lips.
The flames that had once crowned him now receded to faint embers, barely clinging to the edges of his coat.
The cold of the city reclaimed its dominion once more.
With slow, deliberate movements, Doran sheathed his sword.
The battered blade rasped against the scabbard, the metal grinding as it locked into place.
He let out a quiet breath.
"Thank you," he murmured to the broken street, to the dead around him, to the empty sky above.
"For the challenge."
His boots scraped over shattered cobble as he turned, walking to where Ray had fallen.
He knelt beside him.
The Flipad's frame was still.
No light in his optics.
No hum from his systems.
Only silence—and the thin trails of steam escaping the cracks in his battered body.
Ray's hand still clutched the sword he could no longer lift, fingers locked in a death grip of stubborn will.
Doran stared at him for a long moment.
"…You fought until you died," Doran said, voice low, almost reverent.
"A true warrior. You're more alive than any of us. Especially me."
He reached down, grabbing Ray by the arm to lift him—
"Gah!"
Doran jerked back instantly, shaking his hand.
"Damn it! What the hell did you do to yourself?!"
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, flames still flickering faintly against the cold.
"I was gonna haul you back to Leyla and have her fix you…" he muttered, glancing at the twisted, overheating body in front of him.
"But I guess… I'll have to bring her and the ship to you instead."
The cold wind blew down the street, carrying the scent of scorched oil, cracked stone, and something faintly metallic—like the smell of memory itself lingering after a storm.
Doran sat back on his heels for a moment longer, the city breathing in silence around him.
And for the first time in a long while—
He allowed himself to breathe, too.