CHAPTER 9 – THE QUIET BLADE BEFORE DAWN
1054 Words
The night over Ironveil City felt heavier than usual—like the clouds themselves were bracing for war. The neon arteries running through the streets flickered, unstable, as if the entire city sensed the shift in fate that had begun with the resurrection of the Mechanized Blood Blade.
Linh moved through the back alleys with silent precision, hood drawn low, boots touching the ground like falling ash. Every few minutes she glanced over her shoulder—not out of fear, but calculation. The enemy didn’t need to catch her; they only needed to predict her. And lately, they were getting better at that.
She reached the abandoned metro shaft, ducked under a collapsed beam, and dropped into darkness. The air was cold and metallic, filled with the faint vibration of power cores buried deep beneath the rails. As her eyes adjusted, a faint crimson silhouette pulsed ahead—like a heartbeat waiting for her.
“You’re late,” a familiar voice teased.
Khai stepped out of the shadows, the glow of his artificial iris casting a thin red line across his cheekbone. Part machine, part survivor, and wholly unpredictable—he was the one person in the entire city Linh trusted without calculation.
“You changed the meeting point,” Linh replied. “That makes you the late one.”
He smirked. “Fair.”
Between them, the Mechanized Blood Blade hovered—no longer the inert relic it had been a week ago. Its metal veins shimmered with bio-luminous energy, pulsing in sync with the faint tremor running through the underground tunnels. Even dormant, it carried a presence that pressed against the air, like a sharp whisper threatening to become a scream.
“Status?” Khai asked, nodding toward the weapon.
Linh activated the stabilizer ring around it. “Energy output tripled in the last hour. Something’s triggering it from afar.”
Khai frowned. “The Syndicate?”
“No,” Linh said quietly. “Worse.”
A distant explosion boomed from the western district. Dust rained from the ceiling in thin streams. The old rails vibrated. Somewhere above them, sirens erupted in staggered waves.
Khai tilted his head. “They’re making their move early.”
Linh didn’t answer. She was staring into the heart of the Blade—its core swirling, spiraling, forming unintelligible shapes that looked too deliberate to be random. The Blade wasn’t reacting to the enemy.
It was calling someone.
And Linh had a very bad idea who.
“We don’t have much time,” she said, disengaging the stabilizer and letting the Blade fold into its resting frame. “If the resonance keeps climbing, it’ll regain full autonomy.”
“And then?” Khai asked.
“It won’t need a wielder.”
Khai’s expression hardened. “We can’t let that happen.”
Before Linh could respond, a gust of cold wind tore through the tunnel. All lights went out—metro bulbs, power strips, even the stabilizer indicators on their gear. Darkness swallowed everything.
A single sound broke through it.
Clink.
Metal meeting metal.
Linh pivoted instantly, hand on her side blade. Khai lowered his stance, arm plating unfolding like a shield.
A faint, unnatural glow pulsed behind them—white, mechanical, rhythmically perfect.
Three figures emerged from the void, their bodies tall and thin, plated with segmented armor that looked grown rather than forged. Their movements were too smooth, too symmetrical. No breath. No sound. Perfect machines sculpted with terrifying precision.
The Vectura Choir.
Linh’s stomach tightened. “They’re already here…”
One of the Choir raised its arm. Beneath its faceplate, circuits pulsed in patterns resembling hymnal notation.
“Return the Blade to its origin,” the machine intoned. Its voice layered—three tones speaking at once, echoing like a chorus trapped inside metal.
Khai stepped forward first, eye burning bright. “You don’t get to make demands.”
The machine tilted its head slightly, studying him like an equation. “You are irrelevant. The relic is not.”
Without warning, two Choir units lunged.
Khai intercepted the first, his augmented arm clashing against metal in a shockwave that rattled the tunnel. Sparks burst like white fire. The second unit aimed for Linh, striking with terrifying precision, but she bent under its arm, kicked off the tunnel wall, and slashed her blade across its neck seam. The impact barely dented its armor.
“Too hard,” she muttered under her breath.
The machine adjusted instantly, learning her angle, her speed, her rhythm.
Not good.
Khai was pushed back, boots grinding trenches in the dust as he blocked a series of rapid, drilling strikes. “Linh—little help!”
“I’m busy!” she snapped, flipping backward as the second unit grabbed for her throat, missing by an inch.
The Blade, still strapped to her harness, trembled like a wild beast sensing bloodshed. Linh hesitated. Using it now could stabilize the fight—
—or accelerate its awakening.
Her heartbeat rang in her ears.
The third Choir unit finally stepped forward, its gaze locked on the Blade. “Do not resist. The artifact must be reclaimed.”
Linh gritted her teeth. “Come take it.”
She drew a breath.
Then unleashed the Blade.
The crimson core exploded with light, painting the tunnel in streaks of living red. The air vibrated. The machines hesitated—not from fear, but from sudden miscalculation.
Khai shouted, “Linh, careful!”
But it was too late.
The Blade extended into its combat form, segments unfolding like a mechanical flower blooming under the moon. It hummed with a hunger that felt almost alive.
The machines surged forward.
Linh swung.
A single arc of red tore through the darkness.
Silence followed.
The first Choir unit crashed to the ground, chest plate split open. The other two reeled back, recalculating strategies with machine-speed.
But Linh was already trembling. Not from fatigue—from resonance. The Blade’s energy was syncing with her pulse, her breath, her thoughts.
“Khai…” she whispered, hand shaking. “It’s bonding too fast.”
He grabbed her shoulder. “Then we end this right now.”
Together, they faced the remaining Choir units.
But somewhere deeper in the tunnels, something stirred—responding to the Blade’s awakening.
Something older than machines.
And far, far more dangerous.
- Writer
