The battle had long since gone beyond the scale of war. What unfolded between Altopereh and the Hound was no longer a clash of machines, nor even a contest between pilots, but something far more primal: two forces stripped of all restraint and driven by a single purpose, annihilation. Everything else had faded. The fleets, the burning wreckage, the distant screams over the comms — none of it reached them anymore. There was only the fight, only the enemy, only the next strike.
They moved like opposing storms colliding in endless fury, at speeds where even the most advanced Terrian tracking systems failed to keep up, so that to the outside world they were nothing but streaks of distorted light, gray and orange tearing through the void in violent, unpredictable patterns. But inside the cockpits everything was sharp, and everything was clear.
Youri's breathing was steady and his eyes were locked forward, unblinking. Blood still ran from his earlier wounds, dried at the edges and fresh at the source, but he didn't feel it. He didn't acknowledge it. He had entered that place again — that cold, endless focus where nothing existed but the kill.
Across from him, Larsen was no different. His body was failing. He knew it. It did not matter.
The Hound surged forward again, its movements still terrifyingly precise and still fast — almost matching Altopereh's impossible speed — but now there was something else beneath them. Strain. Tiny fractures ran across its armor plating and glowed faintly where the internal systems struggled to compensate; its right shoulder answered a fraction too slowly; its tail, though still deadly, lagged ever so slightly between commands. It was falling behind — not because Larsen lacked skill, but because the machine could no longer keep up with the monster it faced.
Altopereh pressed the advantage. Youri drove it forward relentlessly, every movement calculated and every strike heavier than the last, the gray blade carving arc after arc through space and forcing Larsen to defend more, react more, pushing him into an ever-narrowing corner of survival. A clash, then another, then another, and each one chipped away at the Hound, while inside its cockpit the warnings screamed. Structural integrity dropping. Core fluctuations rising. Cortex strain critical.
"Larsen!" Serin's voice cut through the chaos, sharp, urgent, cracking under the pressure. "The Hound is breaking down! You're pushing it past its limits — pull back!"
No response.
"Larsen, do you hear me?"
Nothing. He didn't even blink. His eyes stayed locked forward, pupils dilated and breathing uneven. Blood dripped from his forehead; his left arm hung limp at his side, broken and unresponsive; his right leg was pinned beneath the crushed cockpit frame, useless; and cuts lined his whole body, staining the white of his suit dark crimson. None of it mattered. He leaned forward a little, and a faint grin formed on his lips. "Just… a little more…"
The Hound lunged again. Altopereh met it without hesitation, and this time there was no finesse, no dance — only raw, brutal exchange. Blade met claw. Tail struck armor. Laser fire and plasma bursts detonated point-blank between them, every impact shaking both units to their cores.
Then the moment came, and Youri saw it. A delay. A fraction of a second in which the Hound's movement faltered. That was all he needed. Altopereh moved — not fast, but absolute — and the gray blade came forward in a single clean arc that neither hesitated nor wavered. It struck. The Hound's left arm separated instantly and spun away into the void in a trail of molten debris. In the same motion the blade carried on downward and cut through the left leg at the joint. A clean sever.
The Hound collapsed in flight. Its balance was shattered, its systems screaming as it fought to stabilize, its thrusters misfiring and its compensations lagging, its once-perfect control broken. For a moment it simply hung there, crippled, while silence bled into the battlefield. Inside the cockpit, Larsen's head dropped forward and blood dripped from his chin. His breathing came ragged. Then he laughed, a low, broken sound. "…Good…"
And the Hound moved again — against all logic, and against all damage. One arm gone and one leg missing, it surged forward all the same. The plasma swords behind it reignited and spun wildly now, not in controlled precision but in raw, unrestrained aggression. The tail lashed out again and again, each strike heavier, more desperate, more violent than the last. The Trident was gone, lost somewhere in the chaos of the earlier exchanges, but Larsen didn't need it. He had enough. The Hound threw itself into the attack and abandoned defense entirely, every remaining system pushed beyond its limits until the machine itself had become a weapon. The plasma swords launched in a chaotic barrage — no longer precise, but overwhelming in sheer number. The tail struck again and caught Altopereh across its side, forcing it back a little. Larsen roared, not in rage, but in defiance.
Altopereh answered. Its chest flared open once more, and the micro-singularity rounds came out — closer this time, faster, deadlier. One of them struck home. The Hound's torso twisted violently as the singularity collapsed inward and tore a massive chunk out of its core structure, folding its armor and ripping apart its internal systems while energy surged wildly through the exposed circuits.
The Hound stopped — not by choice, but because it could no longer move. One by one its systems failed. The thrusters died. The weapons flickered. The plasma swords dimmed, then vanished. The tail slowly went limp. Inside the cockpit Larsen's body slumped, still conscious, but barely.
Serin's voice broke through again, and this time it wasn't sharp. It was desperate. "Get him out of there! Now!"