VRRRRR-TIG-TIG-VRRRRR.

The sound vibrated in their teeth, a high-pitched mechanical scream that bounced off the cold stone walls of the Torture Wing.

The Butcher didn't rush. He stood in the center of the hallway, a mountain of stitched skin and rusted metal.

He revved the gasoline engine strapped to his back, sending a cloud of oily, black smoke choking into the narrow corridor.

The circular saws replacing his hands spun into a blur of silver death.

Behind Leona, Grandmaster Brokk stood protectively in front of the open cell doors. He wasn't alone.

Master Orin, gaunt and pale but eyes burning with vengeance, clutched the heavy Magitech Cannon Brokk had given him.

Behind them, supported by Isabelle, were the other two legends of the Ironclan: Mistress Kida, the Rune Scribe, and General Thorgar, the Commander of Heavy Infantry. They were weak, starved, and barely conscious, but they were alive.

"He's blocking the exit," Brokk growled, his mechanical eye whirring as it calculated the Butcher's armor density. "And that plating is reinforced Star-Metal scrap. It's the same alloy we use for the blast doors."

"Then I'll knock gently," Leona grinned, stepping forward.

She didn't just step; she prowled. Her golden eyes dilated, locking onto the machine. The Berserk Aura seeped from her pores like red mist, coating her brass armor in a spectral, blood-colored film.

"Careful, lass," Orin rasped, racking the slide of his cannon. "That saw will cut through bone like butter."

"I know," Leona whispered. "That's the fun part."

ROAR!

The Butcher lunged.

For a creature so massive, he moved with terrifying, hydraulic speed. He swung his right arm, a horizontal slash aimed to decapitate Leona in one stroke.

Leona knowing she couldn't block it, instantly dropped.

WHOOSH.

The saw blade sliced the air where her neck had been a millisecond ago, the wind from its rotation cutting a few strands of her mane.

Time seemed to slow. Leona, crouched low, saw the sparks flying from the Butcher's joints. She smelled the oil and the old blood.

She slid under his guard, the sparks from his blade showering over her back. She planted her foot and exploded upward.

BANG!

She drove her right fist into the Butcher's exposed stomach.

The piston in her Steam-Impact Gauntlet fired on contact. A plume of white steam hissed out violently.

The Butcher staggered back a step, black oil leaking from a dent in his midsection. But he didn't fall. He didn't even flinch.

"Tickles..." The Butcher gurgled through his rusted vox-box.

He raised both arms high. The engines on his back roared to maximum output.

"Mince... meat."

He brought both saws down in a crushing pincer movement, intending to scissor Leona between the spinning blades.

"Leona! Move!" Lyra shouted from the back, nocking a Phantom Arrow.

"NO!" Leona barked, her voice echoing with primal authority. "Don't interfere!"

She didn't dodge. She planted her boots into the stone floor, cracking the tiles. She raised her hands.

She caught them.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

The sound was agonizing, metal screaming against metal.

Leona had grabbed the flat sides of the circular saws with her gauntleted palms. The spinning teeth bit into the reinforced brass knuckles of her armor, grinding furiously.

Sparks erupted in a blinding fountain, illuminating the dark hallway in strobes of orange and yellow.

It was a contest of nature versus machine. The hydraulic torque of the construct against the biological hydraulics of a Beast-kin.

"You... weak..." The Butcher laughed, his weight bearing down.

Leona's knees bent. The floor beneath her feet shattered, sinking inches into the foundation. The spinning blades were inches from her face, the heat from the friction singeing her eyebrows.

"She can't hold that!" Thorgar rumbled weakly from the back, trying to stand. "Brokk, help her!"

"Wait," Brokk lowered his rifle with a hand. He watched the red mist around Leona thicken into a solid, roaring flame. "Your young Lord didn't pick a soldier; He picked a monster. Watch."

Leona's arms trembled violently. Her muscles bulged, tearing the sleeves of her tunic.

But she wasn't grimacing. She was smiling.

"Weak?" she whispered.

THUMP-THUMP.

Her heart beat like a war drum. The Berserk Aura spiked, flooding her veins with adrenaline and mana.

"I am the Vanguard of the Young master!"

She squeezed.

CRUNCH.

The sound of warping metal cut through the whine of the saws.

The Butcher's mechanical eyes widened. The saw blades stopped spinning.

With a roar of exertion, Leona crushed the mechanisms. The steel blades shattered, sending shrapnel flying into the walls like shuriken.

The Butcher stood there, his primary weapons destroyed, his motors smoking.

"My turn," Leona snarled.

She released the broken blades. She grabbed the Butcher by the straps of his leather apron and pulled him down to her level.

CLANG!

She headbutted him.

The Butcher's welding mask caved in. He stumbled back, his equilibrium shattered.

Leona didn't let him fall. She pulled back her right fist.

The vents on her gauntlet hissed, building pressure. The gauge on her wrist spun into the red zone.

"Steam... HAMMER!"

She punched him directly in the face.

KA-BOOM!

The explosion was deafening. A shockwave of steam and force blew the welding mask, and the head behind it clean off the Butcher's shoulders.

The metal head flew down the hallway, bouncing off the far wall with a hollow clang.

The massive, headless body stood there for a second, oil spurting from the neck like a geyser, before toppling backwards with a heavy, earth-shaking crash.

Silence returned to the hallway, broken only by the hissing of Leona's cooling gauntlets.

She stood over the corpse, panting heavily, the red light in her eyes slowly fading back to gold. She shook the black oil off her armor.

"That felt... good," she muttered.

"By the ancestors..." Master Orin lowered his cannon, staring at the girl. "She crushed star-metal with her grip?"

"Like I said," Brokk grinned, his mechanical eye whirring. "Talent."

Brokk limped forward, stepping over the wreckage. He reached down to the Butcher's belt and ripped off a heavy, blood-stained ring of keys.

"The exit is clear," Brokk said, turning to the group.

He looked at Kida and Thorgar, who were leaning against the wall, watching the scene with renewed hope.

"We aren't done," Brokk said, tossing a smaller key to Isabelle. "Isabelle, get those shackles off the General and Mistress Kida. We need everyone moving."

"Yes!" Isabelle rushed to help the other prisoners.

Brokk looked at the heavy blast door at the end of the hall, the one the Butcher had been guarding.

"The Armoury is just past that door," Brokk said grimly. "Thrain confiscated all our tools, Thorgar's shield, Kida's staff, Orin's hammer. They are all in there."

"Then let's get them back," Leona said, cracking her knuckles.

"We have an army to build," Damien's voice seemed to echo in their minds through the contract.

Brokk racked the slide of his rifle.

"Let's go get our gear."

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