The night wasn't finished with him.
Blaine walked deeper into the city, away from the crowded streets, away from the neon glow. The buildings grew older here. Less maintained. More dangerous. The kind of place where strength mattered more than names and the weak learned to stay invisible.
He activated Perception Scan.
Numbers flickered above the scattered figures in the dark.
[Strength: 4]
[Strength: 5]
[Strength: 7]
Better. Not soft civilians. Not prey. These were hunters—or close enough. People who had survived long enough to climb a few rungs.
Good. That means they've made mistakes I can learn from.
The first one came at him from a side street. A man with a scarred face and a blade in his fist. Strength: 7. Confident. Too confident. He swung wide—amateur form, but faster than the alley men. Power without discipline. Blaine sidestepped, let the blade pass, and drove the pipe into the man's temple.
Crack.
One strike. Clean. The body hit the ground before the blade did.
[Strength +1]
[Strength: 7]
Even.
He didn't stop. The night was young and the zone was full.
The second fight came minutes later. A woman this time. Strength: 8. No weapon. She relied on speed—fast kicks, sharp angles. Better than the first. She forced Blaine to retreat twice before he read her rhythm. Three kicks, then a pause to reset stance. The third pause, he stepped in and drove his shoulder into her chest. She stumbled. The pipe caught her across the jaw before she recovered.
[Strength +1]
[Strength: 8]
Faster. The gain is consistent. Small. But consistent.
His breathing was heavier now. His arm ached from the earlier exchange with Kade. Two fights in quick succession had taken their toll. The system didn't care about fatigue. But his body did.
He paused near a collapsed storefront, pressing his back against cold stone. The pipe hung loose in his grip. His pulse slowed. His eyes swept the street.
Then the scan flickered.
At the far end of the intersection, a figure stood in the open. Not hiding. Not charging. Waiting. Unlike the others, he had chosen to be seen. His posture was relaxed. His arms were at his sides. A faint emblem—crossed lines, maybe scars, maybe a mark—ran across his left forearm.
Above his head—
[Strength: 10]
Higher than Kade.
The man didn't move. Didn't speak. He simply watched Blaine from the shadows of a broken streetlamp, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he turned and walked deeper into the dark.
Not retreating.
Inviting.
He wants the fight on his ground. Not here. Somewhere he's prepared.
Blaine didn't follow. Not yet. His body needed rest. His mind needed clarity. But the message was clear.
Tomorrow.
He turned and walked back toward the brighter streets. The ache in his arm was already fading. The hunger in his chest was not.
I was six when Kade found me. Now I'm eight. Tomorrow—
Tomorrow the gap would cut the other way.