I stayed silent longer than was comfortable—the kind of silence where your thoughts start to echo too loudly inside your skull.
Joining them meant becoming exactly what I hated. Refusing them meant dying here, in the middle of an empty road, my body dumped and forgotten. I glanced at the unconscious driver, at the woman soaked with blood, darkening the asphalt behind them. Then, uninvited, my parents' faces surfaced in my mind—my father's steady eyes, my mother's easy smile.
If they could track me this easily, then finding them wouldn't be hard.
That thought settled something in me.
I exhaled slowly, letting the fear sink down instead of fighting it. When I spoke, my voice surprised even me with how steady it sounded.
"I choose nothing," I said. I lifted my gaze to the boss. "But your death."
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Not fear—interest.
I moved.
The world lurched as my body responded faster than my thoughts. Heat tore through my spine. My hands stretched, bones grinding as claws burst free. My jaw ached as my fangs lengthened, my vision sharpening until every twitch, every breath around me became painfully clear. Fur rippled across my arms, my tail snapping into existence behind me like it had always been there.
I was faster.
Much faster than last night.
The realization hit mid-stride. Eating Robert's heart hadn't just saved me—it had changed me.
I crossed the distance between us in a blink. The boss didn't flinch. Didn't step back. Didn't even tense.
That should have scared me more than anything.
A fist came down like a hammer. I twisted, my tail whipping out on instinct, coiling around his wrist before I even realized I'd moved. I yanked and kicked, aiming for his ribs. The impact jarred my leg—but his other arm snapped up, blocking it with a dull, solid thud that felt like striking reinforced steel.
Two more arms unfolded from his sides, reaching for me.
I wrenched free and twisted away, claws scraping sparks off the asphalt as I landed. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I barely had time to reset my footing—
"Duck."
Cerberus' voice cut through my head like a blade.
I dropped.
Something hissed through the air above me. Then another. I felt the pressure shift as two massive needles slammed into the ground where my skull had been a second earlier, the impact cracking the pavement. I rolled aside and looked up just in time to see the woman move her hand—not throwing, not aiming, but conducting.
The thin stick in her grip traced a sharp arc.
The needles answered.
They tore free from the pavement with a metallic scream and curved back through the air, bending unnaturally as if pulled by invisible threads. At the end of their flight, they aligned perfectly and snapped back to her side, hovering for a breath before settling near her hands like obedient serpents waiting for the next command.
I bared my teeth, cursing under my breath.
Of course. Ranged support.
I rolled to my feet just in time to see the swordsman take a step forward. The air around him seemed to warp, his presence pressing against my chest like an invisible weight. He hadn't even drawn his blade yet.
My gaze flicked between them—Four-limbed man in front, woman to the side, swordsman behind.
A perfect formation.
Close combat pressure. Ranged suppression. A finisher waiting patiently in the rear.
How the hell was I supposed to win this?
The woman tilted her head, studying me the way a surgeon studies an incision—no malice, no excitement, just assessment. The stick twitched between her fingers again, a lazy motion, and the needles shivered in response, vibrating softly as if eager.
"You see now," she said calmly. "Running won't help."
I pushed myself up from the ground, claws scraping against the asphalt. My chest rose and fell too fast. The fur along my arms bristled under my sleeve, not just from fear, but from Cerberus pacing inside my skull like a caged thing.
Focus, he growled. She's the key. Break her rhythm.
Easy for him to say.
The boss hadn't moved an inch. He stood there with his hands behind his back, relaxed, almost bored, as if this were a rehearsal he had already seen too many times.
The swordsman behind me shifted his stance. I didn't have to look to know it—his presence pressed against my back like a drawn blade hovering an inch from skin. He hadn't attacked yet because he didn't need to. I was already boxed in.
The woman flicked the stick again. Another two metallic needles hovered.
The needles screamed toward me, cutting the air with a sharp, metallic whistle.
I dodged the first attack, but failed the second.
They struck my chest and shoulders head-on.
The impact felt like being hit by a speeding truck.
I flew backward, my body lifting off the ground before slamming hard against the asphalt. The world spun, my vision flashing white as pain detonated through my ribs. Even with Tristan's armor absorbing the blow, the force still rattled my bones, shaking my insides like loose parts in a machine.
I groaned and rolled onto my side, gasping.
But there was no piercing pain. No tearing. No warmth of blood spreading across my skin.
I looked down.
The black fabric of the hood and pants rippled once, like water disturbed by a stone, then settled back into place. No holes. No cracks. Not even a scratch.
Unfortunately, that microsecond of glance caught me off guard.
The four-limb man stepped in.
His fist met my chest with a sound like a battering ram striking stone.
The impact drove the air out of my lungs. I flew back several meters, skidding across the road until I slammed into the side of the taxi. The door crumpled inward. Metal screamed.
I dropped to one knee, coughing, vision swimming.
He's not human, I realized. Not even close.
The four-limbed man smiled. "That's the strength you used to kill Robert," he said. "Impressive. Still crude."
I forced myself to stand. Blood dripped from my shoulder, dark against the pavement. My claws dug in deeper, cracking the ground this time. I could feel it—something had changed since last night. My muscles felt denser, heavier, like they were packed with coiled wire instead of flesh.
Cerberus laughed, low and pleased. You feel it now, don't you? Power begging to be used.
"Shut up," I muttered under my breath.
The woman's eyes flicked toward me. "Talking to yourself already? That's usually our sign you're ready to break."
She lifted her stick and gave it a sharp twist. Four needles slid free at once, fanning out around her like metal petals before snapping into motion. They didn't fly straight—they curved, cutting the air in wide, predatory arcs, each one adjusting as I moved.
I leapt sideways. One needle slammed into my arm. The hood stopped it from piercing, but the impact felt like being hit with a hammer. My arm went numb for a second. Another needle skimmed past my face, close enough that I felt the wind it dragged behind.
Before I could reset my footing, the four-limbed man charged.
He came in low and fast. Two arms struck high, forcing me to raise my guard, while the other two swept in from my blind side. I jumped, tail lashing out on instinct and wrapping around one of his wrists. I twisted hard and used his momentum to spin him past me, claws raking across his ribs as he stumbled.
Blood splashed onto the pavement.
He growled—not in pain, but annoyance—and turned back immediately.
I pressed the attack, slashing again, this time severing one of his extra arms at the shoulder. The limb hit the ground with a wet thud.
For a brief moment, hope sparked in my chest.
Then the stump twitched.
Flesh bubbled. Bone pushed outward, knitting itself together with a sound like snapping branches. In seconds, a new arm tore free, fingers flexing as if nothing had happened.
My stomach tightened.
"Regeneration," I muttered.
The woman chuckled. With a flick of her stick, the four needles snapped back, rewinding into her grasp like obedient serpents, then launched again. Two came straight at my head while the other two flanked low, boxing me in.
I ducked and rolled. One needle struck my back. The armor absorbed it, but the force knocked the breath from my lungs. I barely had time to recover before the four-limbed man crashed into me, driving me across the road.
We grappled. Four arms locked around my torso, crushing. I dug my claws into his side, tearing flesh, but it slowed him only a little.
Left, Cerberus warned.
I twisted just as a needle stabbed down where my eye had been. The tip scraped against my cheeks and rebounded, snapping back toward the woman's hand.
I kicked hard, breaking the man's grip, and surged toward her.
The four-limbed man intercepted me, slamming into my side. We skidded across the pavement. I rolled, sprang up, and struck again—this time slicing clean through his leg.
He dropped to one knee.
I was already moving past him when his hand shot out and grabbed my ankle. Behind him, the severed leg was already reforming, bone crawling back into place.
"Stay," he snarled.
I tore free and pivoted, breathing hard. Sweat ran down my neck. My muscles burned, but beneath the exhaustion, something else clicked.
The woman attacked in patterns—four needles, always in rotation. The man guarded the gaps.
Their attack pattern was easy to learn. I deflected a needle with my forearm, redirected another with my tail, and slipped under a swinging fist without thinking. My body moved before fear could catch up.
Good, Cerberus murmured. You're learning.
The woman noticed. Her smile thinned.
"He's adapting."
From behind them, the boss said nothing—but I felt his gaze sharpen.
The fight slowed into a deadly balance. I couldn't break their formation. They couldn't overwhelm me. Every exchange grew tighter, faster, more precise.
Then the air changed.
A pressure crawled up my spine.
I turned just as the swordsman stepped forward.
The blade slid free with a low, hungry hiss.
He didn't rush. He didn't posture. He simply took position—cutting off my escape, completing their formation.
His aura crashed into me like a wall.
Even Cerberus fell silent.