The air in Lebara City tasted of ash and copper. Each breath burned going down, as though the smoke itself carried tiny shards of the buildings that were already burning. I vaulted over a toppled market stall, boots crunching through broken pottery and spilled grain, eyes scanning every shadow that moved wrong.
The first monster I saw properly wasn't charging. It was *feeding*.
It crouched over what had once been a man—broad shoulders, leather apron still tied at the waist, the kind of apron a blacksmith wears. The creature's head was buried in the center of his chest, long segmented limbs folded like a praying mantis, but the joints bent backward. Wet tearing sounds punctuated the distant screams. Black ichor dripped from its mandibles and pooled beneath the body.
I didn't shout a warning. There was no one left alive close enough to hear it.
