Page 95 of Celestial Combat

Tires screamed.

And Kali was gone.

I barely caught the flash of her profile behind the wheel, her expression sharp and alive with adrenaline, before her Porsche launched forward, a streak of deep blue slicing through the street, weaving between cars like an arrow. She cut through the lineup with a precision that was almost surgical, shifting gears so cleanly I could hear the purr of the engine even over the chaotic noise of the meet.

The street exploded into motion.

One by one, the other racers followed, gunning their engines and peeling off onto the track, headlights slicing through the darkness as they chased her down. The asphalt gleamed under the city lights, and the unmistakable scent of heated tires and exhaust fumes clung to the air as the pack disappeared onto North Hangar Road, engines howling into the night.

And I was left standing there, watching.

Jaw tight, shoulders tense, fists flexing inside my hoodie pockets, resisting the urge to react.

The smart thing to do would be to let her go.

To stand here, unmoving, and let her play her game.

I knew how these races worked. I knew the track, the turns, the risks. She’d be fine. She could handle herself.

I exhaled, slow and measured, but it didn’t ease the weight in my chest.

Because deep down, I already knew.

I wasn’t going to let her go.

The moment my tires gripped the pavement and launched forward, a surge of adrenaline pulsed through me, hot and electric. The city lights blurred past as I flew down Rockaway Boulevard, the rumble of my engine harmonizing with the chaos of the street.

This was where I belong.

The street.

The underworld.

The rush. The chase.

Tony was slightly ahead of me, his Ferrari SF90 Stradale cutting through the night like a blade through silk. A sleek, glossy red menace, pure aggression in motion. I admired the sheer presence of it – the titanium exhaust spitting flames under the streetlights. A show-off move, but then again, Tony had always been one to give a show. The under-glow flickered against the pavement, a heartbeat of crimson light pulsing beneath him as he weaved between cars with calculated recklessness.

I smirked, pushing my GT3 RS harder. Unlike Tony’s untamed power, my car was all about precision and control. Deep metallic blue paint shimmered under the city glow, reflecting neon signs and streetlamps.

This wasn’t just a car. It was an extension of me – sharp, fast, unapologetic.

My fingers flicked over the paddle shifters, downshifting as I took a curve at a speed that would terrify most. The PCCB brakes gripped instantly, keeping my car balanced, my tires clinging to the pavement like claws. Thestarry-ceiling LEDs in my roof cast a subtle cosmic glow around me, ironic to the raw speed propelling me forward.

Tony glanced at me through his side mirror, a smirk barely visible even in the dim light.Challenge accepted.

I tapped my foot against the accelerator, pushing harder, feeling the tires bite into the road. The boulevard stretched ahead, an open vein into the city, pulsing with the life of the underground racing scene. The distant wails of sirens was nothing more than background noise now – too far, too slow to be a threat.

Tony and I wove effortlessly through the scattered traffic, cutting inches between bumpers with the confidence of those who know exactly what their cars were capable of. The world outside was a blur, a kaleidoscope of movement and sound.

Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I knew this was reckless. that I shouldn’t be out here with everything going on.

But then again, we only lived once. And I intended to make the most out of mine.

This was my freedom. Raw and unfiltered.

The music from the car meet was still faint in the distance, a pulsing bassline barely reaching through the sound of roaring engines and screeching tires.

The road stretched ahead, wide and open. The city belonged to me tonight.