Gyre lost his footing, rolling across the deck. Across from him, Naumoriel’s war-construct staggered for balance on its multiple legs, the ghoul swinging wildly from the tentacle-limbs. It slammed its still-open canopy against the nearby spur, and the smooth black stuff shattered, shards cascading down over Naumoriel and the deck.

“You … pestilent … human!” the ghoul screamed, as Leviathan finally rumbled to a halt. The deck remained tilted, and the small constructs skittered wildly across it, like a mound of ants after their hill has been kicked over. The arms of Naumoriel’s construct lifted him back into his seat, under the shattered remains of the canopy. Fragments of it had cut the old ghoul, and crimson stains matted his fur. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“Not precisely,” Gyre said, tossing the trigger away. “But I think I have a general idea.”

“You think you’ve won. You pathetic little worm. I fixed Leviathan once, and I can do it again, after my mind is transferred into the Core Analytica.” The war-construct stepped forward, claw-limbs extending. “But first I am going to take great pleasure in ripping you to shreds.”

Gyre let out a breath and concentrated. In the back of his skull, something went click.

I don’t have long. If he burned too much energy this time, there would be no getting back up. So let’s make this quick. He pushed off, moving in long, floating leaps, running for the construct.

Naumoriel reached for him. The tentacle-arms were faster, splitting at the ends to truss him up like a vulpi for slaughter, but his silver eye projected shadow-lines ahead of them, and Gyre watched where they converged. He stepped around the spot, swinging his blade up, and it slashed through the thin metal skin and into the dark muscle beneath. A length of tentacle flopped to the deck, the severed ends gushing black blood.

The thing’s two larger arms barred his path, claws open. Gyre pulled up short, judging his moment. Then, as Naumoriel reached forward, he jumped.

The claw-arm passed beneath him, preceded by its wave of shadows. Gyre pulled in his legs and landed, with perfect precision, just behind the leading claw, balancing on the limb as it shifted underneath him. The second claw swung around, trying to knock him off like a man swatting a fly, and Gyre jumped again. This time he made it as far as the ovoid central body, grabbing the rim where the canopy had once fit and yanking himself up.

Naumoriel straightened in his seat, snarling with bloodstained fangs. His eyes narrowed as Gyre unsheathed his silver sword.

“I should have known,” he muttered. “Should have known better than to give a morsel of power to your kind. You have always been our enemy, just as much as the sun-lovers.” He grinned, shifting his hands against the controls, and the claw-arms rose behind Gyre. “You have no idea what’s coming for you.”