Chapter 07

Chapter 07

When Laziness Bleeds

Iron Palm hit like a moving furnace.

The road buckled beneath his feet as he charged. Heat rolled off him in waves, blistering paint, cracking glass. Baba raised the crow-shield just in time, the impact sending him sliding backward across the asphalt.

Pain flared up his arms.

“Okay,” Baba groaned. “Now this is personal.”

The shield’s crack glowed red, as if absorbing more than it should. Baba felt it—heat seeping through the metal, testing his limits.

Iron Palm laughed, flexing his molten hands. “You don’t belong here, bird.”

Baba wiped blood from his lip. “Neither do you. Yet here we are.”

Iron Palm slammed his fists together. A shockwave of heat blasted outward. Baba was thrown into a wall, bricks collapsing around him. For a moment, everything went dark.

Get up.

The voice wasn’t the Architect’s.

It was his own.

Baba pushed himself upright, legs shaking. Blood dripped onto the ground. The ring burned hotter than ever, pulsing in rhythm with his heart.

“Fine,” Baba whispered. “But I’m doing this the easy way.”

He dropped the shield.

Iron Palm blinked. “What—”

Baba stepped forward, empty-handed, shoulders slouched, expression bored.

Iron Palm swung.

The punch stopped mid-air.

Green light erupted from Baba’s eyes as wings of shadow and metal burst from his back, catching the molten fist inches from his face. The crow-shield reformed—not in front of him, but around him.

Armor.

The crow’s head crowned his shoulder, eyes blazing.

Iron Palm stumbled back. “That wasn’t in the briefing.”

Baba tilted his head. “Briefings are complicated.”

He moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

Baba struck once—shield-wing slamming into Iron Palm’s chest. The heat fizzled, metal cooling violently. Iron Palm screamed as his glowing hands dimmed, power disrupted.

Baba stood over him, breathing hard.

“You could’ve walked away,” Baba said quietly.

Iron Palm looked up in fear. “You don’t understand. He made me this way.”

Baba’s grip tightened.

“I understand more than you think.”

Police sirens wailed in the distance.

Baba released him and stepped back. “Tell your boss,” he said. “I’m not his experiment.”

He leapt upward, wings carrying him into the night.

He landed hard on a rooftop, collapsing to one knee. The armor peeled back into the ring, leaving Baba shaking and bleeding.

“That was not easy,” he gasped.

Mariama appeared from the stairwell, gun lowered but eyes wide.

“You almost died,” she said.

Baba laughed weakly. “Still lazy.”

She knelt beside him. “The Architect wants escalation.”

Baba nodded slowly. “Then he’ll get resistance.”

He stared at the ring, now dim and cracked.

“I won’t be his hero,” Baba said. “Or his villain.”

Mariama met his gaze. “Then what are you?”

Baba smirked faintly. “A problem.”

Far away, the Architect watched the fight’s data stream fade to black.

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “He’s learning to choose.”

He looked at a new schematic—multiple figures, marked ACTIVE.

“Let’s see how laziness survives a war.”

Above Banjul, crows circled restlessly, as if sensing what was coming next.