Grenade and pistol in hand, she crept forward into the dim tunnel. The gang members had hooked some electric lights along the right wall, cords tied around the ancient sconces, but they flickered drowsily as if seconds from nodding off to sleep. She soon reached another vast open cavern but lingered at the entrance, crouching and inspecting the path ahead. The Cycle had come this way, and part of her wanted to scramble after him as fast as possible. The more careful part of her kept calm, watching for an ambush.
This particular cavern held a long, narrow rift running from her left to her right. An ancient stone bridge had spanned it, but it had fallenlong ago—and instead a newer construction of boards and rope stretched across the perhaps sixteen-foot gap. About thirty feet of stone ground separated her from the chasm and bridge—and a tunnel in the wall on the other side continued the path forward.
She didn’t go toward the bridge though. She hesitated, still at the mouth of the chamber. These brick walls were so old. Who had built them, centuries ago? Was this like the Originator Tomb in the heart of Elendel? Had people huddled in this cavern, their walls and bridge falling, as Harmony remade the world?
Regardless, she was worried. The Cycle had seen her; her instincts said he wouldn’t just run off, his back exposed. He’dlay a trap. She looked carefully, and glimpsed a dark shape behind some rocks between her and the chasm. He was probably hoping she’drush across the bridge, so he could shoot her from behind.
Unfortunately, as she spotted him, he rose and lifted a gun. Marasi activated the grenade—which she’dbeen holding close to her chest—by reflex. It let out a powerful Steelpush, ripping her pistol out of her hand and tossing it out in front of her. It fell straight into the chasm.
Her reaction had been just in time though, because the Cycle unloaded his pistol at her—and each shot missed, the bullets veering away andsnappinginto stone to either side of her. Marasi dashed straight at him, picking out his fine suit in the dim light. His features were more rugged than she’dexpected. A thick neck, stubble on his chin.
She’dhoped he would be carrying metal, and her advance with the grenade would throw him off balance. Instead he merely lost his own pistol, which was Pushed across the chasm, hitting the wall on the other side and falling near the path over there.
Other than that, it appeared he—like Marasi—was wise enough not to keep much metal on his person.
“By the authority of the Fourth Octant Constabulary,” she said, stopping ten feet or so from him, “you are under arrest for tariff avoidance, racketeering, and the illegal transport of weapons. You’re unarmed and cornered. Do the smart thing and surrender.”
Instead he grinned. Then began to grow.
His suit had buttons along the arms, which snapped open, giving more room as his muscles expanded to ridiculous proportions. His jacket stayed on, but also expanded through clever use of unsnapping wooden buttons along the sides.
Oh, hell. A Feruchemist. He didn’t have the Terris look—but then, neither did Wayne. You couldn’t always tell.
Marasi retreated. Getting into a fistfight with someone tapping strength was a quick road to a crushed face. Instead she switched off the grenade to conserve the rest of the charge, and ran for the bridge and the gun on the other side. The Cycle lunged forward and cut her off by placing himself directly in front of the bridge. There, with a laugh, he ripped apart the ropes holding it in place.
Okay. Feruchemists weren’t like Allomancers. They couldn’t just pop a new metal charge into their mouths and keep going. Maybe she could run him out of strength.
He dropped the rope, letting the whole wooden construct collapse. “Trell has wanted you in particular, lawwoman,” he noted in a voice that seemed too high pitched for the enormous body. “So kind of you to deliver yourself to me.”
Marasi turned and dashed for her rifle. Thumping footsteps chased her, gaining on her, forcing her to throw herself to the ground just before reaching the rifle. Her move let her narrowly dodge a grab.
She rolled as he punched, hitting the ground and grunting, then raising bloodied knuckles. Feruchemical strength could be dangerous—a lot of the Metallic Arts could hurt you. Her own included. She managed to dodge the next punches as well. Fortunately for her, the Cycle didn’t seem practiced with his powers. Despite the prepared clothing, he obviously found it awkward to move and fight in this bulkier form.
What kind of Feruchemist didn’t practice with their abilities? She scrambled for her rifle, getting to her knees and half lunging, half falling to grab it. He moved first, leaping over her with a powerful bound to snatch the gun. He then snapped it clean in half and hurled the barrel at her.
She barely activated the grenade in time, which bounced the barrel back at him—but she was holding the box awkwardly. It nearly slipped from her fingers at the jolt of force from the thrown object.
Steelpushes. Force transference. The Cycle wasn’t the only one using powers they weren’t practiced with.
She turned off the box as the Cycle dodged. The barrel of her rifle bounced against the rear wall and then rolled toward her. She reached for it, thinking to use it as a club.
Unfortunately, he lunged and seized her left arm, the one holding thebox. His powerful grip squeezed her flesh, andrusts,it felt like he could crush her very bones. Cursing in pain, she scrambled at her belt and the sheath there. As her eyes started to water, she brought up a small glittering weapon and stabbed him straight through the arm.
He howled and dropped her, then yanked the bloody weapon free.
“Glass dagger,” she said. “It’s a classic.”
He glared at her, then held up his arm. The bleeding wound began to heal.
Hell. Feruchemical healing? That proved it. She’dnever met someone who naturally had two Feruchemical powers. He was using the forbidden art. Hemalurgy.
Marasi grabbed the rifle barrel and backed away, but their fight had positioned her so that she could only move toward the chasm. Each step took her farther from the doorway she’dcome in through, where she might have been able to escape. Rusts.
She retreated, step by step, holding the barrel of her rifle in one hand, the grenade in the other. How much charge did it have left? In the chaos she hadn’t tracked how much she’dused.
The Cycle followed, sticking her knife into his belt. Then, horribly, his eyes started toglowfaintly red. “Trell is choosing hosts,” he said. “Avatars, bestowed with his power. How would you like to be the accomplishment that proves I’m worthy of immortality, lawwoman? All you have to do is die.”
She continued backward, her mind racing. He didn’t seem worried he’drun out of strength anytime soon. Within moments, he had forced her up to the precipice of the chasm, near the clump of rocks he’dbeen hiding behind earlier. She put those between them, but they weren’t very high.