The dirt road vibrated beneath the worn wheels of my motorcycle. Behind me lay the remains of a silent city, and in front of me rose a dusty hill crowned by what looked like a metal graveyard. The sun beat down with a furious rage, and a hot breeze kicked up particles of rust from the ground. I stopped in front of the rusted workshop gate: scrap metal, scattered parts, and a makeshift structure that looked more like a war shelter than a place to repair anything. But according to the rumors, the man who could fix what no one else could touch lived here.
I was looking for KEN VOLKOV, 30 years old, WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE, REWARD OF 12,000 ₫ (DRAKS), known as the Steel Mechanic. His seventh sense allowed him to create any metal with his hands and control the metals around him. If anyone could bring my motorcycle back to life, it was him.
I got off and pushed the gate, which shrieked as if in protest. I took a few steps and came face to face with a young man with a sharp gaze and an agile body. His posture was defensive, and his voice was sharp:
"What are you looking for here?"
"A repair," I answered bluntly. "I'm looking for the mechanic."
"Intruders aren't welcome. Especially armed ones," he said, raising his hand.
The ground trembled beneath my feet, and a crack suddenly opened. I jumped to the side just in time to avoid falling. That's how the fight began. His name was ZAYEN DEL'ARID, 19 years old, and from his control over the earth, I knew he also had the seventh sense. My fist met his. Agile, precise. He was good, even better than Cruz and Hand-Hard, but I was good, too, though without my sword, I could only match him.
Our exchange was even until a second attack came from my right flank. A bulkier shadow lunged at me with the force of a stampede.
"Let your guard down and you lose!" he shouted, trying to hit me with both fists.
It was RHOK GAIAR, 18 years old, his energy brutal, almost savage. I was forced to retreat, blocking as best I could. Two against one, and I was still holding my own. I was about to draw my sword. I felt it vibrate on my back, as if it craved fire. But then, a voice boomed like thunder:
"Enough!"
A man with pure steel arms appeared between us. Literally. His forearms were covered in metallic plates that moved like living skin. It was Ken.
"What kind of welcome is this for a visitor?" he said, looking sternly at his disciples.
Zayen and Rhok lowered their heads, muttering apologies. Ken turned to me.
"What brings you here?"
"My motorcycle... it stopped working. I was told you were the best."
He gave a brief nod and walked over to my vehicle. He touched one of the parts with his fingertips and closed his eyes.
"The thermal core piece is warped. It's overheating. I'll make you a new one."
I watched as he held out his hand, and his seventh sense came to life. Liquid metal emerged from his palm, floating in the air like dancing mercury. In seconds, a new, perfect piece was formed.
"Done," he said.
There was no time for thanks. The silence was broken by the roar of engines and heavy footsteps. Chakal appeared, surrounded by his gang: Cruz, Hand-Hard, and several Normal Elite and Bronzes soldiers. They surrounded us like a pack of hounds.
"The bike," Chakal said. "That bike belongs to our boss. And so does the sword. This time, we're not here to play games. We came prepared."
"It's not yours," I replied. "It's mine. And if you touch that sword, I'll burn..."
"Easy, kid." Ken took a step forward. "This is my workshop. I'm in charge here. You stay out of it."
Chakal snapped his fingers. Cruz attacked first, but Zayen stepped in the way with a stone spear.
"You'll have to go through me," he told him.
Hand-Hard charged, but Rhok crossed his path, pushing him back with his brute strength.
"You're mine."
Chakal smiled. Ken looked him straight in the eyes.
"I guess that leaves you with me," Ken said.
They both lunged at the same time. The clash was brutal, metal against rage and metal. The lower-ranking soldiers came at me. I didn't need my sword for them. A fist to the throat, a kick to the temple, fire in my knuckles. One by one, I knocked them down.
Dust flew, stones exploded, and metal boomed like war drums. It was a symphony of chaos, a choreography of blows. After several minutes, the invaders fell one by one. Tied up, immobilized, defeated.
Chakal spit blood and hatred as they dragged him away.
"You shouldn't have followed me, I warned you," I said to Chakal.
"You could come with me," I said, addressing Ken. "I didn't just come to get my bike repaired. I'm looking for the legendary motorcycle."
The mechanic was silent for a moment. His gaze hardened.
"No."
His disciples looked at him, confused. He never talked about his past, but they knew this wasn't just a simple workshop. There was history here, wounds, secrets. The place was called Gaiar's Refuge, and they said that five years ago, Ken had picked them up off the street and never looked back. Here, they found a home.
"I saw your 'Wanted' poster at a northern station. I wanted to ask if..."
I stopped. A shiver ran down my spine. From the hill, a silhouette was watching us. Tall, still. A hooded figure who had been watching us from the beginning.
"It's true... you have the fire key," a voice whispered in the wind.