Chaos engulfed the arena as panicked guests stampeded toward exits. Erina and Hisako hovered uncertainly, but Zed's focus never wavered. "Stay close. This won't take long."
His target: a GT Robot disguised as a portly diplomat, its mechanical core humming beneath synthetic flesh. In the original timeline, this machine had slaughtered the cloned Battle Wolf mid-labor—a cruelty Zed refused to allow.
Tina, the tenacious reporter, was absent—a logical omission. Securing access to IGO's inner sanctum demanded credentials beyond her reach. Reality, unlike fiction, barred her from this tier.
The GT Robot stood immobile, confidence etched into its artificial smirk. Why flee? Its alloy frame could weather any beast's assault.
Zed moved like a shadow, Food Honor veiling his presence until he loomed behind the machine.
CRACK.
His hand speared through its back, fingers closing around the glowing Core Unit. The robot jerked, optics flickering with simulated shock.
"Bishokukai trash," Zed hissed, crushing the core with a vice-like grip. Sparks erupted as the machine crumpled, inert. No self-destruct triggered—Zed's speed had outpaced its protocols.
In a distant Bishokukai bunker, an operator tore off his neural headset, snarling. "Who the hell was that?!" His GT model—a costly prototype—now languished in IGO hands, its secrets ripe for dissection.
Mansam appeared beside Zed, eyeing the wreckage. "That'll fetch a pretty penny in R&D. Bishokukai's been hoarding this tech for years."
Zed nodded. IGO's humanitarian focus had stifled their military advancements, while Bishokukai poured resources into mechanized terror. This scrap heap could tip the scales.
Below, Toriko cradled the dying Battle Wolf, its labored breaths syncing with the faint heartbeat of its unborn cub. Tatsu watched from the shadows, scales dimmed in uncharacteristic solemnity.
Mansam hefted the inert GT Robot, its synthetic flesh peeled back to reveal gleaming alloy limbs and a hollow chest cavity. "Bishokukai's latest model—disguised as Dohem," he muttered, prodding its counterfeit facial muscles. "Their mimicry tech's improved. Scans missed this entirely."
Zed waved off the offer of payment. "Keep it. I've no use for scrap."
Mansam grinned, slinging the robot over his shoulder like a hunter's trophy. "IGO won't forget this." He lumbered away, the crowd's panicked screams fading as security herded them out.
Below, Toriko grappled the Modified Devil Serpent, its Capture Level 25 frame thrashing under his grip. The serpent's eyes glowed crimson—Rin's combat-enhancing pheromones surging through its veins. Each strike gouged craters into the arena floor, but Toriko held firm, muscles straining as he countered with a 5-Nail Punch.
The cloned Battle Wolf stirred, amber eye locking onto the fray. Though emaciated from childbirth, primal instinct flared. In a burst of silver-blurred speed, it lunged—fangs shearing through the snake's reinforced scales. The serpent collapsed, venom pooling around its twitching corpse.
"Even on death's door…" Zed marveled. Though flawed, the wolf's Gourmet Cells had channeled its lineage's apex traits: hyper-sonic strikes, precision kills. A shadow of the Second Continent's true Battle Wolves, yet formidable.
Toriko knelt beside the wolf, now panting shallowly. "Stubborn fool," he grumbled, but his hands gentled as he checked the cub nestled against its mother's belly.