THE REASON

Lucia's Final Sacrifice

The air crackled with the unspoken horror of the impending shot. Just as Leon’s finger began to tighten on the trigger, a blur of motion erupted from Veronica. Driven by a surge of adrenaline that belied her usual cautious nature, she lunged forward, snatching a heavy, jagged piece of wooden debris shattered on the floor and bringing it down with a desperate, surprisingly powerful swing against the side of Leon’s head.

The impact was sickeningly loud, a dull thud that resonated through the ruined room. Leon staggered infinitesimally, his confident smirk twisting into a momentary grimace of surprise. He didn't crumple, didn't even seem truly stunned, but the unexpected assault caused his aim to waver, the shotgun jerking a crucial inch away from Maya’s temple. It was the sliver of an opening Lucia needed.

Ignoring the white-hot agony searing through her shattered left forearm, Lucia moved with a speed born of pure desperation. Her eyes, narrowed with fierce resolve, scanned the masked Cogs. One stood near the overturned remains of a bookshelf, his weapon – a sleek silver Pistol– now tilted slightly, his attention momentarily snagged by the sound of Veronica’s desperate blow. With a guttural grunt of effort, Lucia lunged towards him, her good arm reaching, fingers scrabbling for the tell-tale shape of a handgun beneath his jacket. Her fingers brushed against cold steel. With a swift, brutal yank, she pulled free a compact automatic pistol.

Before Leon could fully refocus, Lucia snapped the weapon up, her movements surprisingly steady despite the tremor of pain wracking her body. The other masked Cog, his head snapping towards the commotion with an unnerving, almost mechanical swiftness, began to raise his own weapon. Lucia didn’t hesitate. Two sharp cracks echoed through the ruined room, the muzzle flashes spitting fire in the dim light. Two precise shots found their mark, piercing the white mask in identical spots above where human eyes would be. The Cog’s mechanical movements stuttered, a jerky spasm, then ceased, his body collapsing to the floor with a heavy thud, his rifle clattering beside him.

The second masked Cog, who had been momentarily stunned by Veronica’s attack on Leon, was now reacting, his hand reaching to pull the trigger of his own sidearm. But Lucia was faster. Two more rapid shots, a tight double-tap, and his masked head snapped back, dark liquid blooming against the pristine white. He, too, crumpled, his weapon still partially holstered.

Leon, his initial shock replaced by a dangerous fury, finally turned his full attention to Veronica. His face, moments before a mask of cool control, was now contorted with rage. His jaw was clenched, the muscles in his neck corded, and his eyes, dark and intense, burned with murderous intent. "You little insect!" he spat, his voice a low growl that promised pain. He took a heavy step towards her, the sound of his polished black shoes crunching on the broken glass and splintered wood seeming thunderous in the sudden silence. Each footfall was deliberate, predatory.

Lucia, seeing the immediate threat to Veronica, unleashed a torrent of fire. Gripping the stolen handgun tightly in her uninjured right hand, she squeezed the trigger repeatedly, the small weapon bucking in her grip. The sharp reports filled the air, a staccato barrage aimed squarely at Leon’s head and chest. The bullets ripped through the air, kicking up dust and debris around him, forcing him to flinch and raise his arms defensively. He roared in frustration, momentarily halting his advance on Veronica, forced to prioritize his own survival against the unexpected hail of gunfire. "Damn you, Lucia!" he snarled, bullets whizzing past his ears.

Then, a soft groan broke through the chaos. Maya stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze unfocused for a moment before sharpening with dawning awareness. She blinked, her hand instinctively reaching up to touch the sticky wetness matting her hair. Her fingers came away smeared with blood, but her expression was more one of mild surprise than agony. The deep gash on her head, which moments ago had seemed life-threatening, was already visibly closing, the edges of the wound knitting together with unnatural speed. She blinked again, her eyes locking onto the scene of c*****e unfolding before her, a silent testament to the extraordinary biology that had made her a target for so long. She whispered, her voice still weak but laced with a hint of her usual strength, "What… what happened?"

The staccato bursts from the stolen handgun abruptly ceased, the slide clicking back on an empty magazine – a stark, metallic punctuation mark to their fleeting hope. Lucia’s breath hitched, a ragged gasp against the dust-filled air, her gaze darting frantically between Leon, who was slowly lowering his arms, a furious snarl twisting his handsome features into a mask of pure malice, and the inert, awkwardly sprawled forms of the masked Cogs. The brief, hard-won reprieve had evaporated like morning mist.

Leon took a deliberate, measured step forward, his polished black shoes crunching ominously on the broken glass and splintered wood. His gaze, intense and predatory, locked onto Lucia. “Out of bullets, old woman?” he sneered, his deep voice laced with a triumphant malice that sent a shiver down my spine. “Did you honestly believe that pathetic little peashooter could even inconvenience me?”

Before he could close the remaining distance, a raw, guttural cry tore from Veronica’s throat. Her face, stark white and etched with terror, yet her eyes blazing with a newfound, desperate courage, propelled her forward. Scrambling amidst the treacherous debris, her hands found purchase on a large, jagged piece of the fallen bookshelf – heavier, thicker, and far more substantial than the flimsy wood she’d wielded before. With a strength born of pure adrenaline and fear for Lucia and Maya, she hefted the makeshift weapon and charged at Leon’s exposed flank, swinging the heavy timber with every ounce of her being.

The impact was sickeningly loud, a dull, resonant thud that vibrated through the ruined room. The heavy wood slammed into Leon’s ribs with a brutal force that made him grunt, a sound of genuine, outraged pain finally escaping his lips. He staggered sideways, his impeccably tailored jacket momentarily creasing, his focused intent on Lucia fracturing as his body twisted. The blow wasn't enough to incapacitate him, not by a long shot, but it bought Lucia precious, vital seconds.

Seeing the infinitesimal window of opportunity, Lucia moved with a desperate, almost feral agility that belied the agonizing throb of her slowly healing injuries. Her gaze, sharp and predatory, fell upon the fallen form of one of the masked Cogs. Near his outstretched, lifeless hand lay a sleek, combat-style dagger, its black blade gleaming dully in the fractured light filtering through the ruined walls. With a low, guttural sound of effort, she lunged, her uninjured right arm stretching, fingers wrapping with a fierce grip around the cold, textured hilt.

As she straightened, the dagger held defensively before her, Leon, his momentary surprise giving way to a volcanic fury, snapped his attention back to Lucia, his eyes narrowed into slits of pure rage. He saw the weapon, saw the unwavering intent etched on her weathered face. He moved with a terrifying speed that spoke volumes of his enhanced abilities, intercepting her before the honed steel could find its mark. His hand shot out, a lightning-fast blur of motion, clamping down on Lucia’s wrist in a brutal, bone-crushing grip.

“Ooh, little one,” he hissed, his voice a low, venomous rasp, his fingers tightening like steel bands around her already shattered left forearm, eliciting a sharp, involuntary cry of pain that tore from her throat. “You truly believe you’re a match for a Supreme Being? You’re nothing but an insect buzzing in my ear.” With a vicious, contemptuous twist, he disarmed her, sending the dagger spinning across the room to clatter against the broken remnants of their sanctuary.

That was my cue. A primal fear, a desperate surge of protectiveness for Lucia and the still-recovering Maya, and a burning need to contribute, however futile it might seem, propelled me forward. My trembling hands scrabbled amongst the sharpest shards of broken window glass scattered across the floor, my fingers closing around a handful of lethal slivers. As Leon’s attention remained fixed on Lucia, a desperate, silent prayer on my lips, I hurled the glittering fragments towards his face.

A whirlwind of tiny, razor-sharp projectiles rained down on his impeccably smooth skin. The shards stung, drawing thin lines of bright red blood across his cheek and forehead, marring his perfect features. It wasn’t a debilitating attack, barely more than an annoyance to someone of his power, but the sudden, unexpected assault caused him to blink, his eyes momentarily losing focus, and recoil instinctively, his grip on Lucia’s injured arm loosening by a crucial fraction of an inch.

Lucia, ever the opportunist, seized the minuscule advantage. Using the momentum of Leon’s slight recoil, she twisted her body, her good leg hooking swiftly and precisely behind his. With a sharp, forceful pull, fueled by adrenaline and sheer willpower, she yanked, throwing his superior balance off. For a fleeting, glorious moment, the impeccably dressed Leon stumbled, his polished shoes losing purchase on the uneven floor, his composure cracking.

“You think I don’t know about the blood?” Leon spat, his voice a low, dangerous growl, his burning gaze boring into Lucia’s. He regained his footing with an unnatural speed that belied his momentary disorientation, his eyes flicking with chilling understanding to the small smear of dark liquid staining the back of Veronica’s hand – a droplet that had escaped a minor cut sustained amidst the shattered debris. A cruel, knowing smile stretched across his bloodied lips. “Such a convenient little weapon, isn’t it? The first generation… always so volatile. A taste of their own pathetic medicine.”

Before Lucia could even begin to decipher the horrifying implication of his words, Leon was upon her again, his movements a terrifying blur of speed and power. He lashed out with a brutal, earth-shattering stomp aimed directly at her chest. The force of the blow sent her flying backwards, crashing against the remnants of the wall with a sickening thud, a strangled cry escaping her lips as breath exploded from her lungs. It was a brutal, undeniable demonstration of the chasm that lay between their power, leaving us no illusions about our chances in a direct confrontation.

Leon continued his inexorable approach towards the downed Lucia, his heavy footsteps echoing ominously in the ruined room, each one a death knell. His intent was clear: to finish the job, to extinguish the last flicker of resistance. It was a stark, brutal tableau – the seemingly invincible victor standing over his broken prey, the battle unequivocally lost.

A desperate, reckless impulse surged through me. Ignoring the tremor of fear that still coursed through my veins, I attempted to follow Leon, my intention to launch myself onto his back, to claw, to bite, to do anything to distract him, to buy Lucia even a sliver of a chance. But before I could take more than a hesitant step, a firm, surprisingly strong grip clamped around my wrist, halting me in my tracks. I turned my head sharply to see Maya, her face pale but her eyes sharp with a grim determination.

"Leave her," she whispered urgently, her voice low and strained. "She knows. We can't win this fight, not today. We have to get out of here, now." Her words, though harsh, carried the cold logic of survival. Every instinct screamed at me to help Lucia, but Maya's grip was insistent, her gaze pleading. We were outmatched, outgunned, and any further direct confrontation would likely result in our swift demise.

My gaze lingered on Lucia, sprawled amongst the debris, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, her face smeared with her own blood. Her eyes, though clouded with pain, flickered upwards, catching mine. For a long, agonizing moment, our gazes locked. Then, with a barely perceptible movement, a slight, almost imperceptible nod, her bloodied face seemed to convey a grim understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the impossible situation.

Leon reached Lucia. His large hand, the same hand that had held the shotgun moments before, stretched out, closing around her throat with effortless ease. He lifted her, not gently, but like a discarded doll, her feet dangling inches above the broken floor. A strangled gasp escaped her lips, her remaining strength fading.

But even in this moment of utter defeat, Lucia was not entirely without recourse. With a subtle, almost imperceptible movement of her free hand, she brought something into view – a small, metallic sphere clutched tightly in her bloodied fingers. The pin was already gone, the tiny lever held down by her thumb. The air around her crackled with a silent, deadly promise.

Understanding flashed in Maya’s eyes. "Now!" she hissed, pulling me with surprising force. Veronica, her face a mask of horror and dawning comprehension, stumbled after us. We turned and fled, scrambling back through the ruined living room, away from the looming figure of Leon holding Lucia aloft, away from the ticking time bomb she held in her hand, away from the inevitable, earth-shattering explosion that would soon follow. Our retreat was a desperate scramble for survival, leaving behind a fallen comrade and a silent promise of vengeance in the dust and the coming fire.