Children of The Spheres

Chapter 35: Bow to No One

The Frame doesn't wait.

The moment the words are uttered, it moves—fast, too fast for something so large. It glides toward me, silent—no footfalls, no noise. I barely register the motion before my NeuraCore kicks in, slowing my perception just enough to react. My legs bend, the microthrusters activating, and I push off the ground, dodging sideways as the Frame's arm lashes out with a single, deadly slash.

The air hums with the force of its attack. It's not a flurry of blows—it doesn't need to be. Every movement is precise, calculated, like the Frame already knows what I'm going to do before I do it. The blade-like fingers cut through the space where I stood a fraction of a second ago, leaving a faint shimmer in the air.

I roll, the suit's microthrusters kicking in to stabilize my landing as I bring up the Caster. My NeuraCore calculates the trajectory in an instant. I fire, and the tungsten rod screams through the air, aimed straight for the Frame's chest.

The triangular panels on its armor shift, adjusting almost imperceptibly to deflect the shot. The rod impacts and ricochets off with a loud metallic clang, spiraling into the void beyond the platform. The Frame doesn't even flinch. There's no sign of damage, no indication it was ever hit.

"Is that all?" it asks, mocking me in a thousand resonant voices.

It turns to face me again, its white eyes glowing, lighting up the air. I grit my teeth and fire again. The Caster kicks in my hand, launching another round at blinding speed. The Frame doesn't move, but its panels shift again, absorbing the impact like it's nothing.

I have more weapons on me—heavier ones that might pack more of a punch—but I want to make use of the Caster. Even if it doesn't look like I'm doing any damage, I have to be. When something takes hit after hit like this, it's bound to weaken eventually—that's basic material science. No armor is invincible. I just have to keep firing, not letting its mock invulnerability discourage me.

My NeuraCore sends a sudden warning—close proximity energy build-up detected. I barely have time to register it before the Frame's wrist plates ignite, crackling with bright white light streaked with gold. The energy twists and contorts, fluid, like liquid fire, before snapping into a violent, radiant beam. It lances toward me, and I throw myself backward, the microthrusters firing off in a burst as I evade the attack by inches. The beam slices through the air where I just was, warping the space with an eerie ripple effect before dissipating.

I hit the ground, my body protected by the suit and reinforced by my new endoskeleton. The NeuraCore slows my breathing, keeping my heart rate steady, but I can feel the pressure mounting. The Frame is relentless, gliding toward me with cold, unfeeling haste. There's no wasted movement.

I fire again, aiming for the head this time. The tungsten rod streaks through the air, but the panels on its faceplate shift, deflecting the shot. The Frame raises its arm, fingers extending into a long slash that cuts through the air with frightening speed. I duck, the edge of its fingers slicing a few centimeters above my head. My NeuraCore feeds me warning after warning—analyzing every movement, every attack.

I pivot, pushing off the ground with the thrusters, repositioning myself behind one of the support beams on the platform. I need cover, but it feels useless. The Frame's energy attacks will slice through anything, and I know it. I raise the Caster again, this time at the right arm. I fire. The tungsten rod slams into the limb, but it absorbs the impact without so much as a tremor.

"Still nothing," I mutter. "Damn."

The Frame glides toward me again, faster this time. I launch myself upward with the microthrusters, flipping over its next slash. I twist mid-air, disoriented for a second before the NeuraCore adjusts, and I fire downward. The Caster roars, but the result is the same—the tungsten rod deflected harmlessly off the adaptive armor.