Eva's fist connected with Prime 7's block, the impact sending shockwaves through her arm. She didn't stop—her other hand came up, Pulse fused with her knuckles, and drove into his gut. He folded, just for a moment, just enough.
His knee hit her face.
The world snapped sideways. Eva tasted blood, felt her jaw crack, heal, crack again. She didn't stop. Her fist found his ribs, her leg swept his knee, she was moving, always moving.
Prime 7 jumped back, landing in a crouch.
"Dominance Sphere."
The world went grey.
Eva felt it—his domain, pressing down on her, trying to crush, to control, to own. It was nothing like the creature's sphere. This was refined. Controlled. Absolute.
She vanished.
Not teleportation—speed, pure and brutal. She was beside him before his sphere could react, her fist wreathed in purple fire, her pulse screaming. He blocked. She attacked. He countered.
They were matched.
She unleashed her own sphere. Purple fire erupted, clashing with grey, the two domains grinding against each other, neither yielding, neither breaking.
Blood Rush.
Eva pulled the technique from her memory—Derek's words, his explanation, his warning. She pulled the Pulse into her blood, let it flow, let it rush. Her heart hammered. Her vision sharpened. Her body felt like it was going to tear itself apart.
What is this feeling? She'd never understood Derek's excitement, the way he'd laughed when he'd danced through the battle, immortal and mad.
Now she understood.
Prime 7's fists came at her—two hundred punches in five seconds, a blur of impact and force. Eva took them. Each one landed, each one hurt, each one made her smile.
She punched him.
He flew across the room, his domain flickering. Hers surged, pressing, dominating. Her Pulse was sky-high, her blood was fire, her body was screaming.
She couldn't maintain it.
She went up, came down, and punched his mask. It didn't break—Prime masks were stronger, denser—but he flew anyway, crashing through a console, through a wall, through everything.
Purple flames danced around her, rising, feeding on something she couldn't name.
She landed, breathing hard, and felt the air shift.
Below her.
His spike came up through the floor, fast, brutal, aimed at her stomach. Eva twisted, but not fast enough. The spike tore through her shirt, through the fabric, shredding it from her midsection. Her abs were exposed—scars crisscrossing the muscle, old wounds and new, the map of everything she'd survived.
Blood welled from a shallow cut where the spike had grazed her. She barely felt it.
Prime 7 pulled himself up through the hole he'd made, spikes already reforming on his knuckles. "You're fast," he said. "But not fast enough."
Eva looked down at her torn shirt, at the scars, at the blood. Then she looked at him.
Three spikes hit her stomach. Her chest. Her side. Black and jagged, punching through skin, through muscle, through her.
She pulled them out. One. Two. Three. The wounds healed. The blood rush faded.
She covered her hands with Pulse and fire. The flames rose, climbing her arms, reaching her face, her eyes, her hair.
They charged.
Their fists met in the center of the room. The shockwave shattered windows, cracked walls, sent debris flying. They held there, locked, neither yielding.
Eva pulled back, a ball of purple fire forming in her palm, growing, feeding, expanding. She pushed it into him.
He burned.
His shirt dissolved, revealing a chest covered in scars, muscles crisscrossed with yellow veins that pulsed with their own light.
His fist found her stomach. His spike found her side, shredding through armor, through skin, through the muscle that should have protected her. Blood poured down her leg, her side, her self.
She raised her hand and burned.
A beam of concentrated fire—not the wild flames of before, but something focused, something pure—hit him square in the chest. His skin blackened. His veins burst. He fell to his knees, gasping, healing.
The ground shook.
An explosion—massive, world-ending—ripped through the facility. The floor beneath Prime 7 cracked, split, fell away. He was already standing, already healing, already shouting.
"I'll kill you, Rostova! Next time, you won't be lucky!"
His platform descended into darkness.
Eva stood at the edge, breathing hard, her side still bleeding, her flames dying. She looked down at the hole where he'd vanished, then turned.
She ran.
The walls were cracking. The ceiling was falling. Somewhere, her friends were fighting.
She didn't know her sister was in this facility. Didn't know Lily had already found Jenny. Didn't know the explosion that had nearly killed her was the same one that had swallowed them both.
She just ran.