The Fight Continues

Before she could react, he kicked her in the gut. She flew back, crashing into a train cart.

“Did you really think I’d make all these weapons and not keep the best for myself?” The Supplier asked casually.

Agony pulsed through her stomach—every breath a knife—but Nightingale gritted her teeth and pushed to her feet. She refused to stay down. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she hurled a shuriken through the air, aiming for his shoulder. But the Supplier raised his hand just in time for it to hit, embedding itself deep in his palm.

Blood sprayed in a crimson arc. For a split second, he stood still, examining the blade buried in his hand like he were more curious than hurt. Then, with slow, deliberate calm, he gripped the edge of the shuriken and yanked it free. The metal clattered to the ground.

Nightingales eyes widened.

The gash in his palm writhed—then nanobots began flooding out of his hand, knitting his skin back together re-forming his hand in seconds. Leaving only a minor metallic scar.

“I know you took down Rogue Knight,” he said coolly, silver mask gleaming in the moonlight. “Impressive. But the nanotech armor I gave him? That was a toy. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

A flicker of fear twisted through her chest. Real fear.

She thought of Finn. Of how he would kiss her before she left for a patrol, half-joking but always with that undercurrent of worry. Of how he hadn’t stayed over all week. Of how she hadn’t told him where she’d be tonight. If she died here, if this monster killed her, he’d never know what really happened. He’d be left with silence.

And she hated that thought more than the pain.

The Supplier struck again, his attacks were relentless. Brutal. Calculated. Each movement was honed like a blade, and his strength behind the hits felt inhuman. Nightingale managed to parry a downward strike, then caught his wrist in a fluid motion. She twisted sharply until she heard the unmistakable crack of bone snapping.

But he didn’t cry out.

He didn’t flinch.

Instead he remained disturbingly calm. Before she could take advantage, the nanotech surged beneath his skin, reweaving ligaments and sealing bone. The broken limb twitched—then flexed, whole again.

Nightingale stumbled back a step. She was running out of options.

Then he moved—hand sliding past her head. She thought she dodged, but he brushed just behind her ear, barely a whisper of contact. Unknown to Nightingale, a small swarm of nanobots shot out of his fingers and injected themselves into her ear.

Nightingale tried using her sound powers but when she opened her mouth The Supplier shot towards her and clamped a hand over her mouth.

And then the pain hit. The Supplier surged electricity out of his hand and through her body. Her limbs convulsed, her scream muffled against his palm. Her vision blurred. Then went black.

When he released her, she dropped like a ragdoll. Her body twitched weakly, nerves still firing from the shock. She tried to move, to crawl, but nothing responded.

She lay there helpless, breath shallow, every heartbeat louder than the last.

The Supplier crouched beside her, studying her face through the silver mask. She could see herself in the mirrored reflection, battered, wide-eyed, defeated.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t gloat.

Didn’t kill her.

Instead, he stood. Turned. Walked away.

Nightingale’s heart pounded in her chest, still paralyzed, still ****. She didn’t understand. Why hadn’t he finished it?

Inside her, the nanobots surged through her veins like a microscopic tide, swarming toward her brain and anchoring themselves to it with chilling precision.