"Are you here for the girl?" I asked.
The blind man stopped a few steps away. His cane rested lightly against the asphalt, its tip aligned with the center of the road as if he'd measured the distance without seeing it.
He turned his head—not toward my voice, but toward me.
"Are you here for her?" he replied.
The echo in his words tightened something in my chest. For a brief moment, the world held its breath.
Then the air began to move.
Wind gathered around him, subtle at first, lifting dust and dead leaves into a slow, disciplined spiral. It didn't lash or howl. It waited. That kind of restraint was never human.
I didn't hesitate.
The change came like a pressure release.
Heat surged through my skin as fur pushed through my pores, coarse and dark, spreading across my arms, shoulders, and spine. My fingers lengthened just enough for claws to slide free—bone unchanged, shape intact, but edged now with something meant to tear. My jaw burned as my canines extended, fangs settling into place with a dull ache. Behind me, my tails emerged one by one, heavy and solid, muscles knitting around them as if they'd always been there, simply waiting.
After what happened earlier, lowering my guard wasn't an option.
Headlights cut through the darkness.
A line of them. Evenly spaced. Too many.
Marcus Helberg's convoy.
Engines rolled closer, their sound filling the road as the vehicles advanced without slowing. I glanced past the blind man.
"We'll continue this later," I said. "I still have unfinished business."
His head tilted slightly toward the approaching noise. "Is she there?"
"It's none of your concern."
He didn't answer. The wind around him tightened, drawing closer to his body, like a breath pulled deep into the lungs.
The convoy didn't slow.
Seven vehicles barreled forward, headlights flaring bright enough to bleach the road white. I raised an arm to shield my eyes, instincts flaring hot.
They see us.
They're not stopping.
Before I could move, the blind man tapped his cane once against the asphalt.
The night fractured.
Wind exploded outward in a focused surge, tearing loose gravel and chunks of road as it raced forward. The two lead cars lifted clean off the ground, flipped end over end, and slammed onto their sides in a screaming collision of metal and sparks. The rest of the convoy skidded to a halt, tires shrieking as drivers fought to regain control.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then doors flew open.
Men poured out with military precision, rifles raised, muzzles sweeping. High-caliber weapons. Seven cars' worth of armed escorts.
The central Maybach opened last.
Marcus Helberg stepped out, unhurried, smoothing his coat as if he'd arrived at a formal reception rather than a battlefield. His gaze swept over the wreckage, the armed men, the blind man—and finally me.
Two figures flanked him.
My attention locked onto them instantly.
They felt wrong.
The old man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, posture immaculate. The other was young, lean, holding a metal baseball bat loosely over one shoulder. Both radiated the same dense, oppressive presence I'd felt before.
Nihilkins.
Marcus exhaled through his nose, visibly annoyed. "Knuckleheads," he said. "Who do you think you are, attacking me? Do you even know who I am?"
"You have what we need," I said. "Give her to me, and you walk away."
Marcus laughed softly. "I spent a fortune on her." His eyes flickered with amusement. "I'll return what's left when I'm bored. Assuming she survives that long."
The air around the blind man snapped.
Wind surged forward in a violent lance aimed straight at Marcus—
—and stone answered.
Boulders tore themselves from the ground, stacking into a rising wall just in time to intercept the attack. The impact shattered rock instead of flesh, debris raining down in a thunderous roar.
The old man lowered his raised fist with deliberate calm.
"How dare you," he said, voice steady, "direct hostility toward Mr. Helberg."
Marcus didn't even look at him. "Don't waste time, Alfred. Eliminate them."
"Yes, master."
Alfred stepped forward and drove his fist into the stone barrier.
The boulders exploded outward like cannon fire.
At the same time, gunfire erupted.
I moved instantly, tails snapping for balance as I dodged, bullets ripping through the space I'd occupied a moment earlier. I could take gunfire if I had to—but the boulders would pulp me.
The blind man didn't flinch.
Stone disintegrated into dust inches from his body. Bullets flattened and fell, stopped by an unseen pressure. He walked forward through the storm, cane tapping once more as the wind folded around him like armor.
I charged.
Marcus was already retreating toward his Maybach, guards forming a moving wall. I hit them head-on.
Claws met flesh. I tore through the first man's chest, felt his heart burst under my grip. The second lost his head before he could scream. The third raised his rifle too late—my tail crushed his throat.
The young Nihilkin stepped into my path, bat spinning once before stopping dead, perfectly controlled.
My claw slammed into the metal.
The impact jolted my arm, vibration biting deep, but the bat held. He grinned.
"What a monster," he said, and swung.
The bat crashed down, shattering asphalt. I twisted aside, countered with a knee to his ribs. He slid back half a step—only half—and laughed.
We collided again and again. Claw against bat. Fur against steel. Sparks flew with every strike. He fought like a street brawler sharpened into something far worse—raw aggression reinforced by Nihilkin resilience.
I caught him with a tail strike, then raked my claws across his thigh. Blood spilled—dark, thick.
His grin faltered.
He swung again. I slipped inside the arc and drove my elbow into his jaw. Bone cracked. He staggered. I followed through, hurling him into the side of a car hard enough to fold the metal around his body.
He didn't get up. His body lay half-crumpled against the ruined flank of the car, metal warped inward where I'd thrown him. The bat had slipped from his hand, rolling across the asphalt and coming to rest near my feet. Blood streaked down his temple, dark and viscous, soaking into the collar of his shirt.
I exhaled slowly, claws flexing as the adrenaline tried to burn itself out of my veins.
Cerberus' mocking voice echoed in my head, 'Too weak for a Nihilkin. What a disappointment.'
Behind me, Alfred advanced.
Stone crawled over his body, layering into dense armor that thickened with every step. He bent his knees and launched himself skyward.
He came down like a falling monument.
The blind man moved at the last possible moment. Alfred's impact obliterated the road, carving a massive crater, shockwaves ripping outward. I felt it through my feet.
Then a laugh came from the man I thought to be dead.
It was low at first—wet, breathless—but it carried.
The sound crawled up my spine.
His fingers twitched. Then his arm bent. He pushed himself upright with an audible crack, vertebrae snapping back into alignment as if the damage were nothing more than an inconvenience. Metal groaned as the crushed car door peeled away from his shoulder.
He stood.
Casually.
He reached up, wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand, and examined it with mild curiosity. Then he brushed dust from his jacket, straightened the hem, and rolled his neck once, bone popping.
I stared.
I knew Nihilkin were hard to kill—but seeing it was something else entirely.
He picked up the bat.
The metal rang softly as he spun it once, twice, then rested it across his shoulders. His grin returned, wider now, eager.
"Damn," he said, eyes locking onto mine. "That actually hurt."
My tails lashed behind me, instincts screaming. "You should've stayed down."
He chuckled and stepped forward, boots crunching over shattered stone. "Care for round two?"
Behind him, the wind roared as Alfred walked up from his crater, stone armor shifting and reforging with grinding sounds. Ahead of us, Marcus watched it all with open satisfaction, as if this violence were no more than entertainment bought with his money. I couldn't see the girl, but I knew she was inside. I can sense her.
Cerberus growled in my head, low and pleased.
That's more like it, boy. Nihilkins don't break easily.
I lowered my stance, claws digging into the road. Fur bristled along my arms, my heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the fight yet to come.
"Fine," I said, baring my fangs. "But this time, I won't hold back."
The bat struck the ground once.
And he came at me smiling.