The tunnel erupted.
Shadows tore free of the walls, rushing us like a flood given claws. The air filled with a shriek so sharp it made my bones hum, vibrating through my teeth, through my skull. I stumbled backward, barely catching myself on the slick stone.
The woman moved like she had been waiting for this. Her rebar swept in wide, precise arcs, sparks bursting each time it struck stone or shadow. Each blow rang like a bell in the narrow tunnel, and the shadows recoiled only for a heartbeat before surging back.
I dragged the boy close, heart hammering so hard it threatened to burst through my chest. The creatures pressed in, their shapes impossible to pin down—one moment smoke, the next jagged stone, twisting, writhing, sliding along the walls like liquid darkness given teeth.
One lunged at me. My body reacted before thought. I struck out, jagged stone from the tunnel floor gripped tight in my hands, and felt the impact reverberate up my arms. The shadow staggered back, claws scraping uselessly against air. Another came. Then another.
The tunnel became chaos incarnate. Claws flashed, iron rang, and the crash of bodies against stone drowned out all sense of time. My ears rang. Sparks danced like fireflies in the black. I lost count of how many we fought. My arms screamed. My legs threatened to give out. My lungs burned.
But I didn't stop. I couldn't. Every time one slipped close to the boy, I was there, shoving it back, meeting it head-on even when my chest felt like it might implode.
The woman fought like fire unleashed, every motion a storm of skill and raw force. But even she faltered, forced back step by step. The shadows only grew thicker, their numbers multiplying in ways that made no sense, flowing out of the walls, pooling in the floor, crawling along the ceiling.
Then one slipped through.
It came at me fast, too close, too sudden. My body jerked sideways, but not enough. I grabbed the first thing my hand found—jagged stone torn from the tunnel floor—and drove it forward with every last shred of strength I had.
The creature recoiled, a wet, hollow sound ripping through the dark as it collapsed, shuddering, dissolving into shadow.
Silence didn't come. Only the tense pause before more shapes gathered just beyond the edge of sight, dozens of them, waiting, patient as predators do.
The boy clung to me, trembling so violently I thought he'd collapse. My own body felt hollow, spent, as though I'd poured every ounce of me into holding him upright. But I forced myself to stand, to breathe, to move.
The woman's chest heaved, arms heavy at her sides, weapon dripping faintly, sparks fading. Her eyes met mine, hard and unyielding. "We can't fight them all."
I knew she was right. My hands shook. My lungs tore with each breath. Every step felt impossible.
And yet—when the shadows surged forward again, curling like smoke and fangs, I stepped toward them anyway.
Because standing still wasn't survival.
And running wasn't an option.
Not for the boy. Not for me.