The steel-skinned man struck first. Lyssa could barely track his leap forward. Metal knuckles drove into her cheek, throwing her onto the floor. Dimly glowing splinters flew in arcs through the air, quickly blackening.

That punch had hurt. She was already losing focus. She lifted her head off the floor in time to see a foot headed her way. A gloved hand intercepted it by the ankle. Lycosidae threw the man into a different part of the building, crashing through the place as if the walls were paper.

“Like I said,” she said, visibly recovered. “I don’t need help.”

“Neither do I,” Lyssa said. She reformed her armor and sprang to her feet.

“Fair enough.” Lycosidae stepped back and clambered out the way she came. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Fine,” Lyssa snapped.

Wild grunts accompanied the shifting of rubble as the bear-man got to his feet. A transformation was happening; he was more animal now, and the arch of his back nearly scraped the ceiling. To Lyssa’s side, the casually dressed girl shakily got to her feet. Her image was flickering like an old television. The metal borders of the office doorway bent into a straightened beam and flew to the woman standing guard beside Oscar. And the steel-skinned man was walking back, flexing in preparation.

Wordlessly, Oscar began, starting with a paralyzing blast of thought. Lyssa shielded herself, but the attack came at her like pins and needles, whereas she was prepared for a spear. A bear paw swiped towards her left while a steel fist came at her right. From above, a metal beam swung down like a guillotine.

Lyssa pushed against the metal with her own metallokinesis, and resisted the physical strikes with her shoulders. Her plating came apart in chunks. The chameleon girl sprung like a dart, jabbing her shoulder with the same needle she had injected Lycosidae with.

The numbness was instant, and climbed with every heartbeat. Her vision dimmed, then brightened from firelight. Lyssa screamed. It was unfair. There was several of them and one of her. A part of her wanted to ask for help. She silenced that little suggestion immediately. The very thought of going back on her word made her furious. Had she always been like this? She never knew.

Lyssa elbowed the chameleon in the chest, then swung the same arm forward, impaling the bear with her claws. The smell of cauterized fat filled the room. She wanted to gag. She delighted in it. Contradicting thoughts, coexisting. Her other arm formed a fist and she swung, catching steel cheek in a blast of force-fire. She held the metal beam in place as she retaliated.

Her hands now free, she closed a vice-like kinetic grip on the metal supports in the floor. The floor collapsed around them, destroying what little wall remained untouched. Then the metal lifted like a closing hand around them.

“Go!” The metalbending woman shouted as she shoved Oscar out of the forming cage.

“We’ll handle her!” The steel-skin added.

They turned back around, fists raised, but their opponent had left the room. The metal beams continued to curl, crushing the contents of the room together. They stopped when the gaps were too small for anyone to squeeze through.

Lyssa fell to a knee outside of the cage, gasping for breath. Her heart was beating like a jackhammer. The lactic burn was intense. Her thoughts swam. She could hear her blood vessels pulse. But at the same time, she felt so alive. She knew something happened whenever she came close to death. Whatever it was returned her to health, then went dormant for a while to recharge. It did something else too.

She stood to her feet and continued moving. The metalbender was trying to rip open her cage. Lyssa trusted Lycosidae would handle them.

She followed the fleeing old man down a long hallway. She reached out and clamped down on his nerves with all of her mental strength, freezing him in place. Her features strained as she did so; Oscar was fighting with decades of experience.

“How did you escape?” Lyssa asked through grit teeth.

“We have ways you wouldn’t believe,” Oscar said breathily.

“You people are mass murderers.”

“For every person we’ve hurt, Whitworth has killed a hundred more. I don’t expect you to believe me.” Oscar smiled, victorious in his defeat. “Keep working for him. You’ll see.”

Lyssa’s eyes narrowed. She felt compelled to press down harder, to find all the stitches in the old man’s mind and rip them open again. She knew she would enjoy it.

“No!” She said out loud. Her grip loosened. Bildungsroman had been integrated. The Self could not be awake. Lyssa looked through her mind. There was no presence of Bil’s individuality coming back. Then what was…?

The air popped. The teleporter appeared out of nothing—his eyes in a trance-like state. He grabbed Oscar, and before Lyssa could stop him, they had gone, leaving a faint trail of ozone.