Liang didn't stand up.
He sat behind the desk in his walking tank, looking bored. The bronze exoskeleton hissed, venting steam from the shoulder joints. It was a bulky, ugly thing—pipes, pistons, and rivets holding together a cage for a soft human body.
Liang tapped the glass of his helmet. A holographic display projected onto the visor.
"Level 35," Liang muttered, reading Marcus's stats like a menu. "High strength. Low tech. You're running a melee build in a gunpowder meta. Bold choice."
Marcus didn't understand the words. He understood the tone.
It was the tone of a man looking at an insect.
"Get out of the chair," Marcus said. His voice was low, vibrating with the Ghost's intent to kill.
Liang laughed. It was a tinny sound through the suit's external speakers.
"You think this is a duel?" Liang asked. "This isn't Gladiator, Marcus. This is a resource management sim. And you are a glitchy NPC that I need to patch."
Liang raised his right arm.
He didn't swing. He pointed.
A pneumatic cylinder on his forearm hissed.
THUNK.
A heavy iron bolt, thick as a thumb, shot from the wrist launcher.
It missed Marcus's head by an inch. It smashed into the wooden railing behind him, shattering the sturdy oak beam into splinters.
Marcus didn't flinch. The Ghost had seen the muscle twitch before the shot.
"Physics engine is working," Liang noted, checking his HUD. "Velocity good."
He stood up.
The suit groaned. The hydraulics whined. Liang was seven feet tall in the armor. He towered over Marcus. The desert wind whipped around them, howling through the antenna wires.
"Come on then," Liang said, opening his mechanical arms. "Let's see the damage model."
Marcus charged.
He didn't scream. He didn't waste breath.
He closed the ten-foot gap in a heartbeat. The Ghost poured adrenaline into his legs.
Marcus swung his gladius. A two-handed, overhead chop aimed at the helmet's neck seal.
CLANG.
The blade bounced off.
Liang hadn't even blocked. The bronze collar of the suit was an inch thick. The sword left a scratch, nothing more. The vibration traveled up Marcus's arm, numbing his fingers.
"Armor rating: High," Liang mocked.
The mechanical arm swung.
It was slow. Telegraphed. But it had the weight of an anvil.
Marcus tried to duck. He wasn't fast enough.
The bronze backhand caught him in the chest.
It felt like being hit by a car.
Marcus flew backward. His feet left the deck. He slammed into the desk, flipping over it, crashing onto the hard wood.
Pain exploded in his ribs. He tasted copper.
"Hit box is small," Liang muttered, walking around the desk. Each step shook the floorboards. Clank. Hiss. Clank. "Gotta use AoE."
A vent on the suit's chest plate opened.
WHOOSH.
A cloud of white steam blasted out. Scalding hot.
Marcus rolled. He scrambled across the deck on hands and knees as the steam burned the air where he had been lying. His left arm blistered instantly.
He scrambled to his feet, gasping.
He couldn't hurt him. The sword was useless against plate armor. The suit was too heavy to grapple.
"Running away?" Liang taunted. "Pathfinding error?"
Marcus looked around. They were on the top deck of a moving tower. The wind was high. Above them, the massive wooden Semaphore Tower swayed in the gale.
Use the world, the Ghost whispered.
Marcus sheathed his sword. He grabbed a boarding axe from his belt.
He didn't run at Liang. He ran at the tower.
"Environmental damage?" Liang laughed. "Cute."
Marcus ignored him. He reached the base of the signal tower. Thick hemp ropes held the structure in place against the wind.
Marcus swung the axe.
Chop. The rope snapped.
The tower groaned. It leaned.
Chop.
The second rope gave way.
The massive wooden structure—tons of timber and iron—tipped. Gravity took over.
"Oh, crap," Liang said.
The tower fell.
It crashed down directly on top of the exosuit.
Wood shattered. Dust exploded. The deck shook violently.
Marcus crouched, shielding his eyes from the debris.
Silence.
Then, a mechanical whine.
The pile of timber shifted. A bronze hand punched through the wreckage.
Liang stood up. He shoved a massive beam off his shoulder. The suit was scratched, dents in the shoulder plates, but operational.
"Physics engine is solid, bro," Liang said, dusting off his metal chest. "You can't cheese this fight."
The Engine Room.
Narcissus was drowning in enemies.
The lower deck was a slaughterhouse. The slaves had fled into the corners, huddled in terror.
Narcissus stood by the main drive gear. He was alone.
Three marines with swords circled him. A fourth lay dead at his feet, his skull crushed.
Narcissus was bleeding from a cut on his thigh. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"Surrender!" a marine shouted.
Narcissus laughed. It was a wet, gurgling sound.
"Surrender is for men who fear death," Narcissus growled. "I am already dead."
He didn't attack the men. He turned his back on them.
He looked at the main drive shaft. A massive oak trunk, spinning with the force of a hundred oxen. It drove the gears that turned the wheels outside.
"Stop the heart," Narcissus whispered.
He raised his axe.
The marines lunged. A sword tip pierced Narcissus's shoulder.
He ignored it. He swung the axe with everything he had left.
CRACK.
The bronze axe head bit into the spinning gears.
Sparks showered the room.
The axe acted as a wedge. The teeth of the wooden gears slammed into the bronze metal.
SCREEECH.
Wood sheared. The massive drive shaft shuddered. The momentum of the ship fought against the jam.
Something had to give.
The gear exploded. Splinters the size of spears flew across the room.
The drive shaft seized.
The entire Land Battleship lurched. The forward momentum slammed into a wall of friction.
The floor tilted violently.
Top Deck.
Liang staggered.
The sudden stop threw the massive exosuit off balance. The gyroscope inside whined, trying to compensate.
Liang flailed his mechanical arms. "Lag! What is this lag?!"
Marcus saw the opening.
He didn't look at the armor. He looked at the joints.
When Liang stumbled, the knee joint bent. The bronze plates separated to allow movement.
Underneath, Marcus saw it. Black rubber hosing. The hydraulic line.
There.
Marcus didn't think. He launched himself.
He slid across the deck like a baseball player stealing home.
He drew his gladius.
Liang tried to stomp on him. The metal boot came down.
Marcus rolled. The boot smashed into the wood inches from his head.
Marcus thrust upward.
He drove the sword into the back of the suit's knee.
He felt the blade pierce rubber. He twisted.
HISSSSS.
Black fluid—hydraulic oil—sprayed out under high pressure. It hit Marcus in the face, blinding him in one eye.
The suit's leg locked up. The pressure dropped instantly.
"Critical failure!" Liang screamed. "Servo offline!"
The massive metal leg buckled. The suit collapsed onto one knee.
Liang was immobilized.
Marcus wiped the oil from his eye. He stood up.
He didn't have a weapon. The sword was stuck in the suit's leg.
He didn't need one.
He jumped onto Liang's back.
He grabbed the edges of the helmet. He jammed his thumbs into the seal.
"Get off me!" Liang shrieked. The mechanical arms flailed, trying to reach behind his own back, but the range of motion was limited.
Marcus roared. He pulled.
He wasn't fighting a machine anymore. He was opening a can.
"Game over," Marcus hissed.