Lucian narrowed his eyes at the junkyard. The suited group moved with careful steps, their weapons gleaming faintly under the dull light. The beasts that prowled the edges of the wreckage were already restless.
He placed two fingers to his lips and let out a low whistle—mana lacing the sound.
The effect was immediate.
The beasts let out deep growls, their bodies trembling as if a hidden signal had struck their nerves. Then, one by one, they began thrashing, claws scraping against metal, eyes glowing with savage light.
The group in suits froze.
"What the hell was that?"
One of them muttered.
The leader raised a hand to silence them. They all tightened formation, weapons at the ready, but the unease was obvious.
"Do we pull back?"
Someone whispered.
The leader's jaw tightened.
"No. We can't afford to retreat. Not now."
