“Fifty million credits,” Renzo murmured, his voice flat, staring at the shifting scarlet image of Ziya’s face on the towering Sky-Screen. “That’s… unprecedented. Even for a Loxian.” Ziya didn’t flinch. Her knuckles, still scraped from the Loxian sub-basement, were white against her thighs. The qi Pao had forcefully unlocked churned through her marrow, hot grease rattling along her ribs. It was too much. Too explosive. Too raw. She felt like a glass vial filled with nitro-glycerin. “It’s a distraction,” she ground out, her gaze fixed on Mina’s tear-streaked face, now projected again, flawlessly remorseful. “She wants to ensure I’m too busy running to expose her. She wants to ensure Robi is hers.” Renzo turned from the glass, his expression tight. “Your plan for that raw Dax-Fist energy… it was to find a compression hall, wasn’t it? Apex Pavilion houses the highest-rated cells in the city.” Ziya nodded, a reluctant admission. “Only a cell capable of exerting five hundred atmospheres of downforce can compress this heat into something usable. Otherwise, I’ll just explode. And I’d rather not give Mina the satisfaction.” “Good,” Renzo said, already moving towards his wardrobe, pulling out a dark, fitted tech-suit. “Because we’re going.” Ziya scoffed, eyeing the scarlet price tag shimmering across the towers. “You want to waltz into the Apex Pavilion, the most secured training facility in the Neon-Dao, with *me*? The whole district hunting my head? You've lost your mind, Dax. Even you can’t bypass that security.” Renzo paused, turning to give her a look that was almost a sneer, but softened around the edges. “Normally, you’d be right. But tonight, everyone will be focused on the broadcast. And my biometric access is still active. Besides,” he added, a flicker of something in his eyes she couldn't quite decipher, “I have an old score to settle there. And you’re not exploding on my watch, Loxian. Not after Pao went through all that trouble.” Two minutes later, Ziya folded her legs into the pillion seat of Renzo’s grav-bike, its obsidian chassis vibrating through her shins. The city lights blurred into streaks as they sliced through the deserted air-lanes, dodging the occasional patrolling syndicate drone. Renzo, clad in his dark suit, his face a focused mask, seemed utterly in his element. “Hold on,” he commanded, just before swerving the bike into a dizzying dive, straight toward a service chute hidden beneath the foundation. The grav-bike phased through a shimmering energy barrier that Ziya hadn't even registered, the metallic tang of bypassed security briefly filling the air. They were in. The Academy's lower sublevels stretched out in chrome corridors and humming coolant conduits. The air, usually thick with the scent of sweat and ozone, was strangely still. Empty. As Renzo led her deeper, the concrete above bore down like an unyielding slab, identical to the institution that had discarded her. “Crucible three,” Renzo announced, stopping before a blast door etched with copper circuitry. He pressed his palm against a scanner. A soft green light pulsed, the door hissing open. Inside, the pit opened wide, its floor paved in dense slab-alloy. A glowing core at the center hummed with crushing force. Here, she could grind the volatile heat into submission. The moment her boots hit the plated floor, boot heels clattered along the catwalks above. Lights snapped on, blinding her. From every shadow, figures emerged, their faces grim, their qi crackling with predatory intent. “Well, well, well,” a sneering voice drawled from above. “Look what the cat dragged in. The Loxian outcast herself.” Ziya shielded her eyes, her gaze sweeping across the faces. Elite heirs. From the Viperfang Clan, the Ironclad Dominion, the Shadow-Sting Syndicate. Each one a pampered, entitled brat, now eyeing her like a starved hyena.<p>“Fifty million credits,” another heir jeered, a wiry punk twirling a sonic dagger. “The Chairman wants your head on a spike, Loxian. We're happy to cash the slip.” Renzo stepped in front of Ziya, his stance widening, qi flaring. “Back off, you vultures. She’s with me.” “Oh, the Dax Prince playing white knight?” a woman with a cybernetic arm scoffed. “How quaint. But fifty million overrides old clan pacts, Dax. Step aside, or you share her grave.” The qi through Ziya's chest boiled over, snapping across her sternum. The insults, the predatory gazes, the sheer injustice of it all—it ignited a fuse. She didn’t want Renzo to protect her. She wanted to *burn* them. “I don’t need your protection, Dax,” Ziya snarled, shoving Renzo aside, her voice a low growl. Her eyes locked onto the cybernetic arm heir. “Come on, then. If you want a piece of me, earn it.” They lunged. A dozen elite martial artists, their techniques honed and lethal, converged on her. Their qi-charged strikes ripped through the air, aimed for vital points, for crippling blows. Ziya’s instincts screamed for her to dodge, to deflect, to fight with precision. But the qi… it was too much. It didn’t want to be controlled. It wanted to *explode*. It ignored her conscious commands, a primal force tearing through her meridians, seeking an outlet. Her body moved on its own, a raw conduit for the Dax-Fist’s inherent fury. She didn’t aim. She didn’t plan. She simply *raged*. With a rasping shout, Ziya drove her fist straight down into the metal floor. It wasn’t a practiced strike. It was pure, unadulterated, vindictive release. The qi, infused with every ounce of her anger and spite, erupted from her, not in a neat beam, but in a jagged shockwave. The deck plates buckled under her knuckles. A sonic crack split the room from wall to wall. The ‘Spiteful Dragon’ stance, unleashed accidentally, with uncontrolled, devastating power, detonated outwards. The elite heirs, caught mid-leap, mid-strike, were slammed against the walls, their bodies contorting in grotesque angles. Armor cracked. Bones groaned. The very air shrieked. The reinforced plating fractured across every joint, spitting jagged sheets of steel outward like shrapnel. Dust and debris filled the air. When the haze settled, a crater smoked beneath her feet. The central stabilizer pillar stood cracked down its spine, coughing blue sparks. The elite heirs lay groaning amidst the wreckage, some unconscious, all humiliated, their perfectly coiffed hair and expensive gear covered in dust and disgrace. Their qi-circuits flickered, overwhelmed, useless. Ziya stood at the edge of the crater, chest heaving, her hands still tingling with the echoes of incredible, terrifying power. She looked at the destroyed arena, at the utterly defeated heirs, at the stunned silence that followed. She had done that. Accidentally. With one punch. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. This wasn’t about survival anymore. This wasn't about hiding. This was about absolute, unequivocal destruction. She wasn’t just going to expose Mina. She was going to tear down the entire Loxian Syndicate, brick by rotten brick, and make her father watch. “Impressive,” a voice drawled from the rubble. Pao casually strolled out from behind a toppled observation booth, brushing dust from his ridiculous neon-pink tracksuit. He took a bite of a churro, a sugary glaze sticking to his chin. “A little messy for the first time, but you’ll get there.” He held up a handful of shimmering, gold-edged cards. VIP passes to the Neo-Murim Broadcast. “Get dressed, kids, we’re crashing a coronation.”

The Apex Ambush