Prince hit the ground—
—and for a split second, he thought he was dead.
Because it was quiet.
Not the suffocating silence of the Zone.
Not the artificial absence that crawled into your bones and told you something was watching.
No.
This was normal quiet.
Wind.
Distant hum.
The faint electrical buzz of a dying streetlight.
Prince's shoes scraped pavement as he caught himself, knees bending just enough to absorb the impact. He stayed there for a moment, one hand resting lightly against his side.
Pain.
Good.
That meant real.
He exhaled slowly and stood.
The world didn't twist.
Didn't bend.
Didn't fight him.
A street stretched out in front of him—empty, narrow, lit in patches by weak amber lights. Closed storefronts. Cracked sidewalks. A forgotten part of the city that people passed through during the day and avoided at night.
No blood.
No bodies.
No militia.
Prince turned his head slightly.
Stillness.
Then—
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Measured.
Prince didn't tense.
He already knew.
Malik stepped into view from the far side of the street.
Dust still clung to him.
Bo staff already in his hand.
Eyes moving—not like a man who had just escaped death…
…but like one still expecting it.
They locked eyes.
Neither spoke.
The distance between them wasn't far.
But neither closed it right away.
Because both of them were listening.
For distortion.
For pressure.
For something breaking the rules again.
Nothing came.
Just wind sliding down the empty road.
Malik moved first.
Slow steps.
Controlled.
Prince watched him come.
No hostility.
No trust either.
Just understanding.
Same battlefield.
Same outcome.
Still alive.
Malik stopped a few feet away.
"You good?" he asked.
Prince gave a faint, tired smile.
"I've been better."
He adjusted his sleeve, then winced—small, almost invisible.
Malik noticed anyway.
"Ribs?"
"Among other things."
Malik nodded once.
That was enough.
No follow-up.
No sympathy.
Just confirmation.
Prince reached into his coat.
Pulled out a blunt.
Malik looked at it.
Then at him.
Prince shrugged.
"I'm having a rough day"
Malik reached into his pocket.
Pulled out a lighter.
Flick.
The flame came alive between them, small and steady in the quiet.
Prince leaned in, lit the tip, took a slow pull.
Held it.
Exhaled.
The smoke curled upward into the weak streetlight.
For a moment—
just a moment—
it felt like nothing had happened.
Like they weren't standing on the edge of something much bigger than both of them.
Prince handed it over.
Malik took it without a word.
Hit.
Exhaled.
Silence settled again.
Different now.
Not empty.
Grounded.
Prince's eyes drifted toward the far side of the street.
A phone booth stood there.
Old.
Rusting.
Glass cracked along one panel.
Out of place.
"Think that works?" Prince asked.
Malik followed his gaze.
"…Probably not."
Back to Devonte and Noir
The captain didn't answer.
He watched Measured Adjusted.
Then—
he moved.
Not rushed.
Not reckless.
Correct.
Panther reacted first launching toward his blind spot
but the captain was already turning.
His blade moved once. A single horizontal cut clean and precise, perfect timing.
Panther split.
Not destroyed but disrupted its form scattering into broken shadow for a split second before trying to reform. Devonte stepped in immediately closing distance blade cutting toward the captain's neck.
The captain slipped inside the strike.
Too close.
Too fast.
Devonte felt it too late the world narrowed Steel flashed. The captain's blade carved across Devonte's torso deep. Violent. Everything stopped.
Then impact. Devonte's body launched backward like he'd been hit by a truck slamming through a container wall metal tearing sparks bursting
CRASH.
He hit the ground hard.
Didn't roll. Didn't recover.
Just stopped. For a second nothing. then pain. Not sharp Not clean. Heavy. Overwhelming.
His chest wouldn't respond right His arm wouldn't lift. His vision fading at the edges.
Panther flickered—unstable. Trying to hold form.
Failing. Kong staggered its massive frame cracking at the edges then began dissolving back into shadow. Devonte tried to move. Nothing. Tried to breathe. Too shallow. The world tilted sideways The captain stepped through the broken container slowly. Not rushing. Not pressing. Because he didn't need to. "Cute Power up," he said. Voice calm. Controlled. "But you're still prey"
He raised his blade again. And that's when the lights died. Not physically. Not completely.
But perception cut. Everything dimmed. Muted.
Wrong.
The militia hesitated.
The captain didn't.
But even he paused—
just slightly.
Because the space around Devonte emptied.
No sound No presence No awareness.
Noir.
He didn't appear.
He was just—
there.
Already kneeling beside Devonte.
Already lifting him.
Devonte barely registered it.
A shadow.
A shape.
A voice somewhere far away.
"Stay conscious," Noir said.
Flat.
Direct.
Devonte tried.
Failed.
The captain moved.
Fast.
Blade cutting toward them—
Noir didn't block.
Didn't dodge normally.
He stepped—
and the space between him and the captain—
ceased to exist properly.
The strike passed through where he should've been
and hit nothing.
The entire zone shifted.
Noir's presence dropped to zero.
Not hidden.
Gone.
The militia lost him instantly.
Even the captain's eyes narrowed.
Noir moved through the dark
not traveling not running
but removing distance.
One step—
they were ten feet away.
Second step fifty.
Third gone.
The world snapped back.
The container yard returned to normal.
Sound came back.
Wind.
Metal.
Breathing.
But Devonte—
was gone.
Noir—
gone.
The captain lowered his blade slowly. No frustration. No anger. Just thoughts "Interesting ," he said. Panther's last fragment of shadow dissolved into nothing. And the Zone went quiet again.
Prince leaned inside the phone booth.
Receiver pressed to his ear.
The line barely alive.
Malik stood beside him, watching the empty street.
"…Miss me?" Prince said.
"I've got all of you. Signal is partial but stable enough."
A breath.
Then—
"Devonte, Noir—status?"
Noir answered this time.
"Alive."
Short.
Cold.
Accurate.
Destiny exhaled.
Didn't hide it this time.
"I thought I lost you."
Prince glanced sideways slightly.
"…Same."
A pause.
Then Destiny snapped back into control.
"Listen. You've been displaced. Not locally."
Prince frowned.
"…Meaning?"
"You're not near each other."
Malik's expression didn't change.
"How far?"
Destiny pulled up the reconstructed grid.
"Two days apart on foot."
Silence.
Then Prince blinked.
"…You're joking."
"I'm not."
"Then we move."
Malik nodded immediately.
"No waiting."
Prince sighed.
"…Yeah. Of course we're doing that."
Destiny cut in:
"Hold—listen—routes aren't clean yet—"
"I'll guide you."