The Parliament of Knives

The Grand Clocktower Parliament was the architectural heart of the Iron Republic. The massive, circular chamber was built into the interior of the city’s central clock. Towering, grinding brass gears formed the walls, deafening the room with the relentless march of time. The politicians sat in tiered balconies, looking down at the central podium.

Silas Vance stood at the podium. He looked pale, leaning heavily on a cane, his chest bandaged beneath his dark suit.

Minister Thorne stood opposite him on the floor, flanked by a dozen heavily augmented, Syndicate-hired mercenaries masquerading as Parliament Security. The doors to the chamber were locked. The trap was sprung.

"You are unfit to lead, Vance," Thorne’s voice echoed over the grinding gears, amplified by a brass megaphone. "You harbor fugitives. You endanger this city. Step down and surrender executive power to the Cabinet, or we will remove you by force."

Silas didn't waver. He stared Thorne down with absolute defiance. "I will not surrender the Republic to a syndicate pawn, Thorne. You brought murderers into this chamber. Do it. Make yourself a martyr."

Thorne sneered. He raised a hand, signaling the augmented mercenaries to raise their rifles at the President. "Have it your way. Fire."

Before a single trigger could be pulled, the colossal stained-glass face of the Clocktower above them exploded inward.

A shower of colored glass rained down on the parliament floor. Swinging in on a grappling line, backlit by the smog-filtered sun, was Nyx.

She detached the line and dropped thirty feet, landing directly in the center of the mercenary squad with the heavy, bone-rattling thud of a predator.

"Miss me, Thorne?" Nyx roared.

The chamber erupted into absolute chaos.

Nyx was a hurricane of blades and kinetic fury. She didn't fight with the restraint of a bodyguard; she fought with the lethal, unleashed brutality of the Sump Pits. Her spine hummed, a high-pitched scream of overclocked aether.

She ducked a rifle blast, driving a trench knife into a mercenary’s thigh, using his falling body as a shield against incoming fire. She drew the heavy revolver, firing point-blank into the chest plates of two approaching attackers.

"Kill her!" Thorne shrieked, scrambling backward behind the podium.

Three augmented assassins charged her at once, moving with the same unnatural speed she possessed. Nyx met them head-on. She blocked a blade strike with her armored forearm, the metal sparking, and delivered a devastating, spinning kick that shattered an assassin’s jaw.

She was taking hits. A blade sliced her shoulder. A glancing aether-bolt scorched her side. But she didn't feel the pain. She only saw Silas.

Silas hadn't cowered. He had drawn his own concealed weapon, providing covering fire from behind the mahogany podium, taking down an assassin trying to flank her. They moved in terrifying, perfect synchronization—the idealistic politician and the lethal street fighter.

With only two mercenaries left, Nyx sprinted toward the massive, rotating gears that made up the chamber wall. She vaulted off a railing, catching a moving brass cog. The machine carried her upward, over the heads of the remaining attackers.

She launched herself off the gear, dropping directly onto the last two mercenaries. She drove both heels into their shoulders, driving them into the marble floor, rendering them instantly unconscious.

The fighting stopped. The only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the great clock and Nyx’s ragged breathing.

Nyx stood up slowly, blood dripping from her chin. She stalked toward Minister Thorne, who was cowering against the back wall, his megaphone dropped.

Nyx grabbed him by the throat of his silk suit, lifting him inches off the floor.

"I told you," Nyx whispered, her silver eyes blazing with lethal intent. "If he dies, I rip your heart out."

"Nyx. Stop."

Silas’s voice cut through the red haze in her mind. It was calm, steady, and anchoring.

Nyx looked back. Silas was limping toward her. He placed a gentle hand over hers, the same hand that was crushing Thorne’s throat.

"We don't kill him," Silas said quietly. "We arrest him. We put him on trial. We show the city exactly what the Shadow Cabinet is."

Nyx looked from Thorne's terrified face to Silas's steady blue eyes. Slowly, the mechanical whirring in her spine powered down. She released Thorne, letting him collapse into a pathetic heap on the floor.

"Your call, Mr. President," Nyx breathed.