The stale air was heavy with the scent of blood—thick, tense, and weighed down by apprehension. For a long moment, no one moved. Even the bots stood still, their eyes narrowed as they calculated their next move.
Akhil stood amid a pile of mangled mechanical parts, destroyed beyond repair. A blood-red mist swirled behind him like a vortex, casting him in the image of an angel of death. Despite the number of enemies still before him, his spirit remained unbroken.
Intense fatigue gnawed at every muscle in his body, yet he stood firm, crimson eyes locked solely on the figure ahead.
Akhil bit his lip, anger and frustration twisting inside him. He didn't want to continue the fight. Why would he? The one standing against him was Seth.
They hadn't shared much of what could be called a bond, yet Seth had always been his biggest supporter—someone who believed in him even when he couldn't believe in himself.
