Chapter 4: The Symphony of Scorched Iron
The interior of the transport car was no longer a vehicle. It had become a furnace. The smell of ozone and burning denim filled the air as Ren's Double Blazing Shackles fully manifested. The chains were not just weapons. They were umbilical cords of molten spite connected directly to his soul.
Ren pulled the chain. Silas was dragged through the air, boots scraping sparks across the metal floor. But the veteran did not panic. With a flick of his wrist Silas kicked the massive Ironwood Coffin he carried on his back.
The coffin lid slid open mid-air with a heavy thud that echoed through the car.
Silas spoke calmly, voice low and rough from years of smoke and graves.
"You think heat is enough, Shambles? I've seen stars go cold. Your flame is just a candle in a graveyard."
From the dark maw of the coffin three skeletal wooden hands emerged. They were not human. They were long, spindly, wrapped in faded funeral silk. They grabbed Ren's glowing chains with their bare fingers.
The red-hot iron hissed against the cold dead wood. Silas used the leverage to swing himself around the ceiling of the car. His scythe traced a lethal arc toward Ren's neck.
Ren's skin was bubbling. He could feel his Soul Stability dropping like a stone. Forty-five percent. Forty-two. He could not win a battle of endurance. He had to use the pull creatively.
Instead of dragging Silas closer Ren slammed his left fist into the floor. The second chain anchored there with a metallic clang. He used the tension of the anchored chain to launch himself under Silas's scythe.
As he passed Silas in mid-air Ren wrapped a loop of the burning chain around the wooden arms of the coffin. He did not just pull. He vibrated the chain. The high-frequency heat sawed through the Pale Mourners like a hot wire through wax.
Ren's face was contorted in silent agony. His eyes were bloodshot. The chains glowed so bright they turned white at the edges. Where the metal touched his forearms the skin blackened and fused to the links. Every movement peeled the skin further.
It hurts. It hurts so much I can't feel my fingers. But if I let go Jax dies. Mina, whoever she is now, she dies.
Silas landed. His coffin was smoking. His wooden Mourners were severed. He looked genuinely impressed. His cigarette fell from his lips.
"Impressive. You're trading your future for a single minute of power. But the weight of the dead is heavier than fire."
Silas slammed the coffin shut. The sound created a sonic shockwave that shattered every remaining window in the train. The coffin itself began to grow. The wood expanded until it filled half the car.
Ren did not back down. He realized he could not just lash out. He had to concentrate the fire.
He pulled both arms back. The chains coiled around his fists like massive glowing boxing gloves of molten iron.
He kicked off the wall, leaving a charred footprint.
He drove both Molten Fists into the face of the massive coffin.
The shockwave sent a ripple of red flame through the entire transport. The wood of the coffin cracked. Silas was sent skidding back toward the exit door. His boots sparked against the metal.
The train screeched. The tracks ended abruptly. The vehicle slammed into a buffer at the edge of the Zone 3 border.
Dust settled.
Silas was gone. Either thrown from the wreck or retreated into the shadows.
Jax slumped against the wall. His Gravity Shield had finally deactivated. He gasped for air.
Mina sat in the wreckage. She stared at her hands as if they belonged to a stranger.
Ren stood in the center of the debris. His chains retreated. The red glow faded into a dull ugly grey. As the iron uncoiled it ripped away the sleeves of his hoodie. His blackened scarred arms were exposed. He took one step toward Mina. He tried to say her name. He collapsed face-first into the ash.
Outside the broken doors the bone-white trees of the Static Orchard loomed. The Mini-Star in Paradise pulsed with a cold indifferent light.