Chapter 31 - Chapter Thirty One

The moment broke in a single heartbeat, alarms still wailing in the background as Adam Smasher and the armored guardian disappeared from where they stood, the ground cracking from the force of their launch as both Sandevistan units hummed in unison, high-pitched distortion tearing the air while their bodies blurred, bullets shredding the space they had occupied only a second earlier, blades sparking as they collided mid-motion, each swing carrying the weight of men built to kill; Smasher opened with raw power, dual rifles barking as fast as his frame could cycle, rounds chasing the guardian through shattered cover, but the other man was just as fast, plasma bolts spitting back in reply, every shot lighting the yard in bursts of green glow that turned steel barriers into dripping slag, and each time Smasher dodged he felt the heat singe closer, his armor scoring black and bubbling along the edges, warning tones flashing in his optics as the system read stress levels climbing. The guardian didn't relent, blade flashing in close, a massive saturnite combat knife enhanced with cybernetic sword tech that let each swing cut deeper, sharper, harder than anything Smasher had fought before, and when their weapons met the sound cracked like thunder, shockwaves rattling the drones that hovered too close; Smasher countered with brute force, his hydraulic arms forcing the clash sideways, pistons roaring as he locked grips and headbutted into the visor, denting it slightly but not cracking it, the guardian twisting away with practiced precision and slicing at his knee, sparks flying as the edge scraped through layers of alloy, leaving the joint warning in red on his HUD. Missiles roared from hidden launchers, cutting through the night with smoke trails, but both men shot them out of the air before impact, bullets and plasma tracing streaks that detonated the warheads overhead in a shower of burning fragments, lighting the yard like a second sun; they vanished again, moving too fast for drones to track, the world narrowing into flashes of contact—Smasher slamming the guardian into a wall hard enough to dent concrete, the guardian slipping under and driving the knife into Smasher's forearm to the hilt, cutting through hydraulics, severing wires, and leaving half the limb hanging before Smasher roared and ripped free, losing the arm entirely but buying distance with a plasma pistol ripped from a downed guard, firing wild until the other man ducked back into smoke. When they finally came to a standstill the yard looked like a battlefield, walls cratered, drones shattered into slag, scorch marks spread across every surface, and the two titans stood heaving with mechanical breaths, systems strained, armor dented and smoking; Smasher's forearm was gone, severed by that cursed saturnite blade, his chest plate dented inward where a plasma bolt had nearly cored him, hydraulics leaking fluid and smoke curling from melted chrome, while his opponent wasn't much better off—armor shredded along one side, plating burned through, one leg dragging slightly as sparks jumped with every step, visor cracked down the center, and blood dripping where even cybernetics hadn't saved him. Smasher looked at the ruined saturnite combat knife now gripped in his own good hand, the weapon heavier than it looked, dangerous even to him, and he let out a distorted laugh through his speaker, the sound more like static than joy, because it had been too long since someone had pushed him like this; the guardian reset his stance, blade replaced by a backup rifle, visor flickering but still locked on target, ready to keep going, but Smasher raised the knife as if testing its weight and then let it hang loose at his side, optics narrowing as he said flatly, "Enough." His opponent didn't answer, just stood with rifle steady, waiting for the next move, but Smasher turned his frame slightly, shoulder plates shifting as he began to step back, not in defeat but in acknowledgment, because this was a test and he had seen enough to know this place hid warriors built to rival him, and that was worth more than another limb lost in a yard full of corpses. He backed away, the alarms still echoing, drones hovering but not engaging, security teams watching from cover as two monsters decided the fight was done, and with one last glance Smasher left the facility grounds, disappearing into the dust and silence he had brought with him. Inside, deeper within the walls of Black Mesa, figures watched on monitors—stronger, faster, deadlier fighters waiting in reserve, unseen by Smasher or anyone outside, their frames heavier, their weapons stranger, their enhancements pushing the line of what counted as human at all—and though they hadn't been deployed tonight, their existence was proof of something even worse for anyone planning to challenge these companies: the battle with Smasher had only scratched the surface of what they had hidden in their depths.