The trench reeked of mildew, rust, and stagnant water. Kiran's breath came in shallow bursts, his chest rising and falling too fast, too loud. The stench crawled into his lungs, stuck to his throat. But it wasn't the air that made him choke.
It was the silence.
No more sirens. No more screams.
Only the slow, deliberate drag of claws across broken concrete above.
He pressed himself deeper into the trench, back scraping against damp stone. His heartbeat thudded like a war drum in his ears. Every instinct screamed at him to stay hidden.
But instinct wasn't enough anymore.
Not after what he'd seen.
His classmate—struck like an insect against a wall, ribs crushed, body crumpled. The sound of bones breaking echoed louder in his ears.
He was still shaking.
His wristband buzzed again—soft, pulsing, then cut short.
No updates.
Either the suppression field was failing—or it wasn't reaching this sector.
That meant he was on his own.
Another step scraped overhead.
Closer.
He peeked over the edge of the trench.
The creature was massive—twice his size, easily. Shaggy dark-blue fur bristled along its back like jagged blades of obsidian. Its limbs were long and thick. The claws on each paw scraped shallow furrows into the pavement. Its head lowered as it sniffed the air, each breath sharp, aggressive.
Kiran's eyes narrowed.
He recognized the features—etched into his memory from Rift History and countless sleepless nights spent reviewing field reports and grainy footage of past attacks.
Rift-Wolf. Stage 1—newly emerged, but highly lethal to basic humans.
They were fast. Erratic. Nearly silent until they struck. And they never traveled alone.
But this one looked alone.
For now.
He knew that if he didn't act, it would be too late. He had to do something.
He shifted slowly, crawling toward a pile of broken piping a few meters down the trench. His knees sank into cold, wet grime. Broken glass dug into his palms. He didn't stop. Didn't flinch.
He reached the edge.
Waited.
Watched.
The Rift-Wolf sniffed again, its body twitching with a predator's tension. The way it moved… it was hunting. Slowly, deliberately. Smelling for him.
His fingers closed around a jagged length of pipe. Rusted. Hollow. But sharp enough to pierce flesh.
He looked around. Grabbed a fist-sized rock in his other hand.
His breath caught.
He threw the rock—hard, clean—into the alley behind the wolf.
CLANG.
The beast turned instantly. Claws screeched as it lunged toward the sound, snarling.
Now.
Kiran moved.
Low and fast, silent but focused. His body remembered drills. His feet knew where to land without thought. He crept up behind it.
It hadn't noticed yet.
One chance.
He lunged.
The jagged pipe plunged into the Rift-Wolf's side, just behind its shoulder blade.
It let out a sharp, guttural snarl. The pipe hadn't sunk deep, barely grazing beneath its hide.
He failed.
The pipe had done almost nothing—scraped hide, barely drew blood. The Rift-Wolf twisted, enraged rather than wounded, and its claws lashed out with terrifying speed. The first swipe caught his ribs—cracking two of them instantly. Pain ripped through his torso, white-hot and dizzying.
Kiran barely ducked under the second strike, but the claws grazed his temple, leaving a gash that blurred his vision with blood.
It turned fully now, dark black eyes locking onto him.
Then it charged.
Kiran braced, though every cell screamed to run. The wolf slammed into him, hurling his body like a ragdoll. His shoulder collided with a broken wall. Something snapped in his arm. He couldn't tell what exactly—only that the pipe slipped from his grasp and the world tilted sideways.
He rolled, coughing blood, ribs screaming. He snatched the pipe again with his left hand, weaker.
He swung.
It clanged uselessly against the creature's shoulder. It turned on him, jaws flashing. He raised the pipe again just in time—only to have the wolf's bulk slam it aside and send him crashing into another wall. His left leg gave out. He tried to stand. But it was useless, he fell back down.
The wolf stalked forward, low and deliberate. Its snarl was a death sentence.
Still, Kiran forced himself upright using the pipe as a crutch. Shaking. Breath hitching.
Another strike came—this time he parried it just in time, but the recoil sent a shock up his broken arm that made him scream.
He swung wild. Missed. The wolf's claws raked down his side, tearing skin and cloth in one brutal sweep. Flesh peeled like wet paper.
He dropped again. The pipe fell.
Vision swam.
Kiran couldn't rise.
He was broken.
Blood poured from too many places.
He was sprawled on his back, soaked in his own blood. One eye swelled shut. His chest felt like it was caving in. His right arm was shattered, ribs splintered, leg twisted at the knee. His body no longer obeyed. The pipe rested just beside him, barely within reach.
The Rift-Wolf lunged.
And in that instant—time unraveled.
His mind fractured into flashes: the bitter heat of a dying world, the cockpit cracking open as his first life ended in smoke and screams. The look of contempt—no, of disgust—etched into the face of that celestial judge who had sent him here. He saw the hollow gazes of his peers in this world—the way they glanced past him like he didn't exist. He saw the dozens of mornings waking up before dawn, every pushup, every run, every strike against padded walls in cheap gloves and threadbare shoes.
He remembered the promise he made to himself: this life would be different.
He would not be erased again.
He would not be pitied.
This was his second chance to matter.
And he would not die here.
Not like this.
Not a stain on the pavement beneath a nameless beast.
Resolve surged—not with power, not with strength, but with refusal. He would not go quietly.
He reached out with the last of his strength.
Fingers closed around the shaft.
The beast's mouth opened wide, fangs gleaming with saliva and blood--his blood. It was diving straight for his throat.
In the final instant, as the weight and fury of the Rift-Wolf came down on him, Kiran raised the pipe.
He didn't aim. He didn't calculate. He just reacted.
The momentum of the beast's charge drove the jagged pipe up through its open mouth—steel ripping through soft tissue, punching through bone.
Its weight collapsed fully onto him, fangs raking into his shoulder—but stopped short. The pipe, lodged deep in the skull, had halted the final bite.
It spasmed violently—once. Twice.
Then went still.
The beast's weight crashed onto him.
Its spasms rattled his bones.
Then stopped.
It slumped atop him. Heavy. Hot. Silent.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
He didn't know if the blood pouring down his chest was his or the beast's.
But it wasn't moving.
He had killed it.
Barely.
Somehow.
He didn't feel relief.
Just cold.
Trembling, Kiran reached for his wristband. Fingers slippery with blood. He activated the emergency signal.
Blue light blinked.
Then faded from his vision.
He tried to move.
Collapsed.
Then everything went dark.