Cael kept running. His lungs burned, his legs screamed, but he didn't stop.
The sky had fallen completely into darkness now. That was when it truly began—the time when monsters left their dens, when the shadows turned hungry. This was life now. A world where night belonged to them... and humans hid behind locked doors and silent prayers.
He dropped his bag. It slowed him down. Survival was all that mattered now.
Focus. Move. Live.
He darted down a side street, then made a sharp turn into a narrow alley.
Wrong move?
He bit his lip, second-guessing the decision too late. The alley was tight, suffocating, lined with trash bins and the skeletal remains of what used to be normal life.
He hurled a metal can behind him, trying to distract the creature. It clanged and echoed. No luck.
A sheet of plywood leaned against the wall—he shoved it over in desperation.
The monster leapt over it effortlessly. Graceful. Predatory.
It landed in front of him with a thud, blocking his way.
Cael stumbled back and hit the ground, landing hard. His breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled as he pushed himself back, scraping across rough pavement.
The creature stood tall—limbs too long, spine arched like it shouldn't exist. Its long tongue slithered out between jagged, bloodstained teeth. Yellow eyes glowed in the dark, locked onto Cael like a beast savoring the moment before the kill.
It stalked forward. Slow. Confident. Cruel.
Cael's hands fumbled in his pockets, eyes never leaving the thing, every nerve in his body screaming.
His fingers found something.
Please... anything.
The monster lunged.
Cael yanked out a small canister—pepper spray—and unleashed it straight into the monster's face.
A piercing shriek tore through the alley.
The beast recoiled, claws flailing, stumbling back as it clawed at its own burning face.
Now.
Cael scrambled to his feet and bolted down the alley, heart thundering, feet barely touching the ground. Behind him, the screeches echoed louder and angrier.
He didn't know where he was going. Didn't know what waited ahead.
But he ran—
because stopping meant death.
As Cael sprinted through the streets, his breaths came in ragged gasps. No one. No help. No hope.
His hand clenched in frustration.
Where are they?
The Night Watchers—those meant to protect the country when the sun falls. Where were they now?
His jaw tightened as he forced his legs to keep moving. Behind him, the guttural screech of the creature echoed like a curse.
Elsewhere...
"Target's emerging... crawling out of the sewer now," whispered a girl, voice hushed but steady through her earpiece.
She crouched on a rooftop, her round glasses gleaming under the moonlight. Her hand gripped a device—a tracker pulsing with red and yellow lights. Red meant monsters. Yellow meant humans.
There was too much red.
"Copy that," a man's voice responded calmly, though urgency coated his words.
"I'm sealing the hatch—right now."
He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, cloak fluttering like wings in the night. His movements were swift and silent—ghostlike. He moved like a shadow born for war.
He landed beside the black braided hair girl with barely a sound.
"Did you finish setting it up?" he asked, eyes already scanning the area.
"Yes. Done," she replied curtly, fingers moving over thin wires.
Before them, a shimmer of moonlight revealed an intricate web of white thread encircling the area—a 100-meter perimeter trap.
The man smirked. "Good work, Nyra."
Without waiting for her response, he stepped forward and sliced open his palm with a sharp blade. Blood dripped, crimson against the pale moonlight, falling onto the nearest thread.
The moment it touched, the web reacted.
The white threads glowed red—alive with power. His blood infused the seal, turning it into a living barrier. The ground hummed as the trap awakened.
Within the ring of blood-thread, a monster howled and thrashed. It lashed out at a humanoid figure—a lifeless doll moving with precision and speed. A puppet.
Nyra's fingers danced subtly, eyes locked onto the battle. She guided the doll using her Marionette Arts—an ancient, forbidden craft.
The man turned to watch her, scoffing lightly—not out of scorn, but pride.
She's too good at this.
He unsheathed his blade, taking a defensive stance.
All he had to do now was guard her.
Because the real threat wasn't the one in the trap.
It was the others coming—drawn to the blood, to the barrier, to the power.
And he would make sure none of them laid a single finger on Nyra.
In another region, mist curled around the ankles of three figures—silent, lethal, and uninvited.
Kaelira halted first.
Her fox ears twitched. Black hair shimmered faintly under the moonlight as her green eyes narrowed. She crouched, pressing a palm against the damp earth.
"There," she whispered. "Three heartbeats. Two dying. One... not human."
Behind her, Ravika cracked her knuckles, a grin spreading across her face.
Her lean arms bore faded tribal tattoos, the echoes of a past most wouldn't dare ask about. Crimson hair fell behind her like a warrior's banner, and a bone-carved horn crown glinted with ancient lacquer.
"Finally," Ravika said, stepping forward with the grin of someone born for chaos. "I was getting bored."
A growl rumbled from the treeline—low and unnatural.
Then it charged.
A grotesque fusion of wolf and insect burst from the fog, mandibles twitching, spines rattling like chitinous drums. The mist recoiled around it. Its furnace-coal eyes locked on them with primal rage.
Kaelira didn't flinch.
She dashed forward, low and fast, blades slipping into her hands from sheaths along her thighs. Her footwork was like dancing—fluid, relentless. She struck the beast first, her twin daggers flashing as she tore across its flank, carving deep lines before springing back.
The monster shrieked, turning—
But Ravika was already in motion.
With a primal yell, she slammed her glowing fist into the creature's ribs. The impact sent a ripple through the fog, lifting dirt and leaves. Bone cracked. The beast reeled, stumbling toward a tree.
Kaelira leapt, flipping midair, driving her heel into its skull. It collapsed with a howl.
"Left side!" Kaelira called, spotting movement in the shadows.
Another beast lunged from the dark.
Ravika met it head-on. Her tribal tattoos blazed crimson, and her arms shimmered with protective force as the monster's claws scraped uselessly against her skin. She grabbed its arm, twisted—and with a roar, snapped it at the joint before slamming the creature into the dirt.
Then came the crow's call.
Mourn stepped out from the fog without a sound.
Black-clad from hat to boots, he looked like the fog had shaped itself into a man. The crow on his shoulder cawed again, its eyes glowing faintly violet. It took flight, circling overhead.
Through its gaze, Mourn saw everything—every heartbeat, muscle twitch, and breath the creature took. He tilted his head.
"Now," he whispered.
Then he vanished.
No sound. No flash. Just a flicker of feathers in the air.
He reappeared behind the beast—a silent shadow born of dusk.
In his gloved hand, a curved obsidian dagger shimmered into existence. He drove it deep, right between the armored plates along the monster's spine.
The blade drank light.
The creature hissed—high, wet, and full of fury—as black smoke bled from the wound. The smoke curled around Mourn's frame like old companions greeting a familiar soul.
The beast staggered.
Then fell.
Kaelira, calm as always, let her green eyes sweep across the darkness.
"Cleaner than last time," she murmured.
Ravika scoffed, cracking her knuckles again. "Too clean. I barely broke a sweat."
Mourn said nothing.
The crow fluttered back to his shoulder, eyes still locked on the shadows beyond.
"There's another," he said at last, his voice dry as old ash. "Deeper in. Bigger."
Without hesitation, he turned and walked into the fog.
Kaelira followed, silent as drifting snow.
Ravika spat to the side, grinned, and rolled her shoulders with a fighter's hunger.
Then they were gone.
Vanishing into the grey—ghosts of war, hunting nightmares in a world fraying at the seams.