Kínitos cracked his knuckles. Blue energy steady now.
"Then let's go."
But he didn't move right away. Instead, he looked around the pillar. Scanning the ground. The subway platform was littered with debris—broken bottles, rusted rails, a discarded shopping cart.
Need something, he thought. Something to make unstoppable. Just in case the bear sees us.
His eyes landed on a piece of rebar. Three feet long. Rusted but solid. Wedged between the tracks.
He pointed.
Sarah nodded. She understood.
Kínitos crept out from behind the pillar. Low. Slow. Each step silent. His ankle still ached, but the red string was gone. He could move.
He reached the rebar. Wrapped his fingers around it. Pulled.
It came free with a soft scrape.
Too loud.
Both of them froze.
The bear's growl rumbled from somewhere to their right. Deep. Questioning.
Kínitos didn't breathe. He clutched the rebar to his chest. Blue energy flickered around his hands—not coating yet. Waiting.
Seconds passed.
The growl faded. The bear shifted. Heavy footsteps moving away.
Kínitos exhaled. Crept back to the pillar.
"Got it," he whispered.
Sarah looked at the rebar. "Can you make it unstoppable?"
"Yeah. But it'll drain me. Save it for when we need it."
They waited. Listened.
The bear was to their right, somewhere in the darkness. The hybrid had gone left. The big vampire stood at the bottom of the stairs—but his back was turned. Watching the tunnels.
Now, Sarah mouthed.
They moved.
Kínitos led. Rebar in one hand. Sarah followed, pipe raised. Purple energy weak but present.
They stayed low. Hugged the wall. The emergency exit glow was maybe two hundred feet ahead. Past the bear's position.
Fifty feet.
One hundred.
The bear's breathing was closer now. Kínitos could see its shape—a massive shadow hunched near a collapsed section of tunnel.
They crept past. Slow. Step by step.
Then Kínitos's foot hit a broken bottle.
Glass skidded across concrete. The sound echoed.
The bear's head snapped up.
Red eyes found them.
It roared.
Kínitos didn't think. He coated the rebar—blue energy blazing. Unstoppable.
The bear charged. Fast. Too fast.
Sarah stepped in front of him. Raised her hands.
A shield. Purple. Translucent. It materialized an inch from her palms—hexagonal, like honeycomb. Energy rippled across its surface.
The bear hit the shield.
CRACK.
The shield held. The bear bounced back, shaking its head. Confused.
Sarah's arms shook. Sweat dripped down her face. "I can't... hold it long..."
Kínitos raised the rebar. Unstoppable. Ready.
The bear lowered its head. Paws scraped the concrete. Ready to charge again.
"Get behind me," Kínitos said.
Sarah dropped the shield. Dove to the side.
The bear lunged.
Kínitos swung the rebar.
From left to right, the rebar ripped through the bear like cutting it in half.
Top half flew backward. Bottom half crumpled. The bear made one final noise—a wet, choking growl—and then both halves turned to ash. Gray dust scattered across the subway floor.
Silence.
Kínitos stood there, rebar still raised. Breathing hard.
Then they heard it. A sound. Not the bear. Not the big vampire.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Kínitos looked up. Way up. At the far end of the tunnel. Over 400 feet away.
The hybrid stood there. Skinny. Hunched. Its long limbs bent at wrong angles. Red eyes glowing in the dark. It wasn't moving. Just staring.
"Go," Sarah whispered.
They ran. Sarah coated her sleeves—purple energy clinging to the fabric. Kínitos did the same with blue. The energy made their arms lighter, faster. Pumping harder.
The exit glow was only 100 feet away.
80 feet.
The hybrid hadn't moved.
60 feet.
Sarah glanced back. The hybrid was still there. Still staring. Still not moving.
40 feet.
She looked forward again.
Then—BOOM.
The ground behind them broke into pieces. Concrete shattered. Dust exploded.
Sarah spun around.
The hybrid was beside her.
Running on the wall. Its back fully leaned backward—head facing forward, spine curved like a crescent moon. Its long legs stretched wide, each one the size of her entire body. It looked at her with a cracked smile.
Their eyes locked.
Then it swung its leg.
Kínitos stepped in front of her.
He didn't swing the rebar. Didn't dodge. He just planted his feet. Coated his chest. His arms. His whole body.
Unstoppable.
The hybrid's leg connected with Kínitos's shoulder.
CRACK.
Not Kínitos's bones.
The hybrid's leg shattered. Pieces of bone and rotting flesh exploded outward. The hybrid screamed—a high, thin sound—and stumbled back, hopping on one leg.
Kínitos didn't move an inch.
"Run," he said.
They ran.
They ran.
Twenty feet to the exit. Fifteen.
Then the hybrid's arm—the one that wasn't shattered—circled around. Fast. Too fast. Its long fingers wrapped around Kínitos's ankle.
Kínitos didn't have time to react.
The hybrid swung him.
Like a ragdoll. Kínitos flew through the air—sideways, spinning. He hit a pillar. Bounced off. Kept going.
But he caught himself. Mid-flight.
Immovable.
He stopped. Hanging in the air. Suspended. For a second, he thought he was okay.
Then he felt it.
Something deep inside him. Not his ankle. Not his shoulder. Deeper. A burning. A cracking. Like something was breaking from the inside out.
His core.
Sarah saw it.
The blue string inside his chest—the one that connected to his energy—was turning dark. Black at the edges. Spreading inward like poison.
"Kínitos!" she screamed.
He couldn't answer. The pain was too much.
What is it? Sarah's mind raced. Is it 'cause he's using his ability too much?
She'd never seen anything like it. The blue string that was always bright, always steady—now flickering black.
Kínitos fell.
His immovable broke. He dropped to the ground. Landed hard. Before he could stand, the hybrid was there.
Its good leg—the one that wasn't shattered—kicked him in the chest.
Kínitos flew backward. Hit a wall. Bounced off. Hit the ceiling. Cracks spiderwebbed above him. Bounced again. Walls. Ceiling. Floor. Like a pinball made of flesh and bone.
He landed in a heap. Groaned. Didn't move.
The hybrid hopped toward him. Cracked smile wider now.
Sarah's hand went to her belt. A small device. A button.
Dante said to call if we're in trouble.
She pressed it.
"We need Dante," she whispered.
A light blinked red. Then green.
Somewhere far away, wind picked up.