Page 214 of Celestial Combat

I caught it, heartbeat skipping in rhythm with the echoing bass of distant speakers.

He glanced back , throwing me a smirk. I returned it.

Oh, he was so on.

I slid into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirrors, and let the purr of the engine settle into my bones as I advanced to the start line, right next to Zane.

Then the lights dimmed, signaling the countdown.

Zane and I glanced at each other through the open windows. Smirked.

The whole floor came alive.

Tires screamed. Engines roared. Neon streaked like fireworks in reverse. And we were flying.

I shot forward, headlights slicing the darkness, chasing Zane as he wove between concrete pillars and flashbulb turns. My breath caught with every drift, every close call, but it wasn’t fear – it was flight. The kind that made your soul stretch out of your body and laugh like it’s never known a cage.

Up here, the city belonged to us. Rooftop lights turned into blur. Billboards blinked past like ghosts. In the rearview, I saw a pack of cars chasing the same high.

There was no destination.

Only movement.

The squeal of rubber, the metallic hum of control slipping just to the edge of chaos – this wasn’t a race. It was a memory being born in motion. A rhythm of rebellion and joy, loud enough to drown out everything else.

I screamed with adrenaline, feeling the wind as it blew through my hair.

As I entered another spiral to make it to the next level,my eyes met Zane’s across, drifting in sync slightly ahead of me with a glint in his eyes and fire in his hands.

He’d brought me to a place where speed meant freedom, and pasts didn’t have to stay buried if you learned how to outrun them.

And I was right there with him – burning rubber under a Tokyo sky, leaving everything else in smoke.

So, I guess I forgave him for making me lose my Porsche in the first place back in New York.

We came up hot, tires shrieking, headlights slicing through the spiraling dark of the garage. The scent of burnt rubber clung to the air like cologne – thick, intoxicating. Each level blurred past in a rush of concrete, echo, and adrenaline. I could see Zane’s taillights just ahead, glowing like twin devils, teasing me.

I pushed harder.

Downshifted. Drifted the turn so tight my tires kissed the edge. For a second, I thought I’d edge past him on the final stretch.

But he knew I was coming.

He cut the last corner like he’d drawn it in his sleep – precise, ruthless, fluid – and shot forward with just enough finesse to beat me by half a hood.

We both skidded to a stop on the rooftop, engines growling, then sputtering into silence. My car rocked slightly with the aftershock of speed. A few racers from the earlier crowd stood around, clapping slow and impressed, faces washed in the glow of the city skyline.

Zane looked over at me through his window.

“I really thought I had you back there,” I said, shaking my head with mock disbelief.

He raised an eyebrow, smug as hell.

“I see, I’ve underestimated you,” I continued, unbuckling my belt and stepping out.

He got out too. “Finally catching on, huh, killer?”

I laughed and walked toward him, high on the thrill, the speed, the sharp edge between rivalry and love.

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