I smashed into the laughing man above Yaneli, hitting him feet first in the shoulders. He crumpled with a roar of pain before the ground smashed into, my breath slamming out of me.

The world seesawed.

Men fighting, yelling, dying.

Blood in my mouth.

Blood on the ground.

My ears rang, a sharp, wet metal taste filling my mouth. Blood. Just blood. Sheer metal walls towered, bodies warping and twisting all around. Get up. Find Yaneli. My chest refused to draw air as I struggled to my feet..

To my left, a man took a sword to the neck, and the sudden fountain of red brought a burst of adrenaline to my limbs. I pulled myself up, and reached for the knife extension built into my middle finger.

Where was Yaneli?

A man charged me, and I rolled sideways, thrusting out with my knife and catching him in the leg. He screamed and again I spun, disorientated.

From above, it was easy to see what was happening, but on the floor the men seemed like giants, blood swirling, bodies clashing, the crowd's roar shaking the metal below.

"Yaneli!" I called out, not caring if I drew others to me.

Then I saw her.

She held a spear in her hands, using it to fight off the man before her. Her eyes met mine, and I saw the sheer horror reflected there. Then they flicked behind me, and I watched as she lifted the spear and threw it—straight into the chest of a man behind me.

Then Yaneli, defenseless before the man with the sword, simply closed her eyes as he plunged the sword forward. It felt like some excruciating chasm opened within me as she folded over the blade, and then the man jerked it free in a shower of blood. Her knees hit the ground.

I surged forward, past men and blood and metal, unable to see anything but her. No! Please, not Yaneli! Then I crouched beside her, and drew her into my arms, holding her head the way she'd held mine countless times, unable to comprehend the gaping wound on her stomach.

"Yaneli?" I whispered. It's alright, it's going to be alright. I can still fix this. I pressed my flesh hand over the wound, the blood running warm and wet.

She stared up at me, confused. "Z...?" Her eyes seemed both unbearably young and old at the same moment.

"They took Xyla. I couldn't let them..." I trailed off, the horror of it all washing over me. I had killed Xyla, Yaneli and myself. "Yaneli," I whispered, suddenly an abandoned child all over again. "What do I do?"

The fire faded from her eyes. I wanted her to tell me to close my eyes, to let the end come and die beside her.

Instead, she took my hand in her own, shaking fingers working at my metal hand. I thought she would draw out the knife, but instead she unfolded the tiny screwdriver built into my pinkie finger and she said the last word she ever would.

"Fight."