The three of them slowed only when the monster's angered sounds faded behind them and the dust finally settled. The ruined village stretched out in all directions. Collapsed roofs, overturned carts, and bodies the girl tried not to look at.
Her breathing trembled, uneven, and she wiped at her face with shaking hands. The warrior crouched down, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Lera… you're safe now. I promise," he said softly, guiding her to sit beside the remnants of a fallen wall.
"We're not moving until you catch your breath. No one's going to take you." Though she tried to be strong, the girl's chin quivered. "Is… is it over?"
"For now," he assured her. "We'll take you somewhere safer. But only when you're okay to walk." Ryu stood a few steps away, keeping watch over the alley they had come from. His chest still rose and fell quickly from the fight, though he tried to hide it.
When the warrior finally straightened, he approached him. "Thank you," Ryu said, nodding toward Lera. "She needed that." The warrior brushed dirt off his clothes and studied him for a moment before replying. "You fight like you've lived twice as long. How old are you?"
"Fifteen," Ryu said. It made him blink. "Same as me, then." He let out a small, half-surprised breath, "I thought you were older."
Ryu shrugged. "Life hasn't exactly been easy." The warrior paused, his expression shifting. There was respect and curiosity, maybe a little caution as well. "Have you awakened yet?" Ryu shook his head. "No. Not yet."
"Tsk." His brow furrowed as he folded his arms. "Then we got lucky out there. Really lucky." He glanced back toward the alley, where faint echoes of the entity's movements could still be heard.
"If neither of us has awakened, then next time we see that thing… one mistake will finish us."
Ryu looked over the ruined homes, the blood, and the smoke curling into the air. "Then we won't make mistakes." It almost made him smile at that. "You're bold," he said. "I like that. But boldness isn't enough."
He turned his gaze back to Lera, who was rubbing her eyes, trying to rebuild some sense of stability. "I'm Hanagome," he said, finally giving his name. "Chief's son. I was sent to find any survivors still trapped here." Ryu nodded back, introducing himself properly this time. "Ryu."
"Well, Ryu," Hanagome continued, "there's a safehouse not far from here, the rest of our survivors are waiting there. I need to take Lera back before that thing circles around again."
He hesitated for a beat before adding, "If you're willing, I'd appreciate your help getting her there. And anyone else we find." Ryu glanced across the rubble, eyes narrowing. The thought of Iyu flickered in his mind, tightening something in his chest.
"If the survivors are gathered there… I might find someone I'm looking for," he murmured. Hanagome extended a hand. "Then we help each other." Ryu clasped his hand firmly.
"Alright," he said. "Lead the way." But before they moved, Hanagome shook his head and held up a warning finger. "Not yet. We move only when the entity leaves this side of the village entirely. It's been roaming around the entire village, if we wait it out we'll be safe to go back."
Ryu tensed, remembering that the entity's still somewhere nearby. Lera quietly stood, moving closer to them. "Will we… really make it?" Ryu, without thinking, rested a reassuring hand on her head.
"Yeah," he said. "We will." Then he looked at Hanagome. "But only if we're smart. Hanagome nodded. "Then let's survive the next five minutes. After that, we head for the safehouse."
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Warhound moved like a shadow shaped into a beast, his werewolf form gliding across rooftops with silent, predatory precision. The moonlight barely raced his fur as he bounded from one crumbling structure to another.
Pin was clinging tightly to the thick fur between his shoulder blades, her small fingers curled into him in a way that told Warhound she was more frightened than she let on. Below them, the village was a field of ruin.
Corpses. Shattered homes. The faint echo of screams that had already died out. Warhound angled his body to keep Pin's line of sight away from the worst of it, twisting, lowering himself, or taking wider jumps when needed.
But Pin still caught glimpses. An arm sticking out from rubble, a smear of blood, a shape curled unnaturally on the ground. She said nothing. She had seen things like this before. Too many times.
She knew what Warhound had done in the past, what he was capable of and what he had become because of her. And though she didn't understand all of it, she understood one truth with a clarity beyond her years.
Every horrible thing she had seen him do was to protect her.
As the scene worsened, Pin shut her eyes and pressed her face into his back, gripping tighter. Warhound felt the shift of her tiny weight, the tension of her arms, and it made him slow just for a moment, his monstrous eyes softening with something dangerously close to grief.
He kept moving before something caught his eye.
A body lying near the corner of a collapsed house. Something about the shape, the broad shoulders and familiar posture sent an electric jolt through his instincts. He froze mid-step, claws scraping tile.
His muscles tightened, ears snapping forward, breath halting. For a split second, he thought it was Ikra. His vision tunneled. His heart slammed once, hard. A surge of old instinct. Fear, anger, protectiveness, all spiking through his spine.
Pin felt the sudden stop and lifted her head. "...Warhound? What's wrong?" she whispered, her voice trembling. Warhound stared at the body. No movement. No breath. And as he blinked, the details became clearer.
It wasn't Ikra.
Just another corpse.
Another casualty of the entity's rampage.
The tight coil in his chest loosened, replaced by a cold, crawling discomfort he didn't like acknowledging. He lowered his head slightly and forced his body forward again. "...Nothing," he growled softly, though his voice betrayed the strain.
"Just… keep your eyes closed."
Pin obeyed without question, resting her head back against him. Warhound moved on, quicker now, quieter, more alert. The fleeting vision of Ikra lingered in the back of his mind like a ghost.
Warhound finally slowed as he reached the edge of the village, only to stop dead. A massive blue dome rose overhead like a second sky, humming faintly, its surface shimmering with shifting hexagonal patters.
He stared at it, stunned. He had been so focused on the rooftops, so focused on keeping their scent hidden and avoiding any prying eyes, that he hadn't noticed the giant barrier sealing the entire village in.
He stepped closer and pressed a clawed hand to the surface. It resisted instantly, stiff and rubbery like reinforced glass wrapped in gel. He dug his claws in, the muscles in his transformed forearm bulging, but the dome only flexed before throwing his arm back with a pulse of blue light.
"...A trap," he muttered under his breath, ears flattening.
But not for him.
If the people hunting them had this level of tech, this kind of containment, and they knew he was here, they would've already be bagged, tagged, and separated. No, this was something else. Something he had stumbled into by accident.
Someone else in the village had drawn this level of attention. Someone dangerous enough that an entire dome had to be erected to contain it. His mind flicked back to the corpses scattered in the streets, to the savage tearing and crushing, the messiness of the kills.
The villagers hadn't been slaughtered by soldiers or bandits, this was something else. Something monstrous.
He scanned the perimeter, nostrils flaring, senses on overdrive. They had to survive the chaos around them. Wait it out, stay hidden, and leave when the opportunity presents itself.
On his back, Pin finally spoke in a soft, strained voice.
"Warhound… can we rest?"
Her tiny hands were still tightly woven into the fur along his neck. Hours of clinging through chaotic jumps and frantic rooftop dashes had left her trembling, exhausted.
Warhound looked around until his eyes landed on the tallest structure in the village, the luxury hotel towering over the rest like a palace of glass and steel. Normally, it would be filled with wealthy festival-goers, music, lights, and laughter echoing through its upper floors.
Now it was silent.
Warhound's expression softened for a moment. He thought about all the disgusting, cramped, dangerous places they had slept in for years. Alleys, abandoned apartments, dirty motels. Pin had never known what it was like to sleep somewhere warm and safe.
Maybe.. Maybe this once, he could let it slide. It was risky. But she deserved something good. Something normal. He crouched slightly so he could look at her from the corner of his eye.
"The festival might've turned into a disaster," he rumbled, voice calmer than before, "but that doesn't mean we can't still have a little fun." Pin blinked, the dull fear in her eyes replaced instantly with a spark of childish excitement.
"R-Really? What're we gonna do?" Warhound smirked, the sharp fangs in his muzzle flashing. "That," he said, tapping her forehead lightly with a claw, "is a secret." Pin's face lit up, and for the first time since they arrived in this cursed village, she smiled wide.
"Okay! I promise I won't peek!"
"Good." Warhound straightened. "Hop back on." Pin re-secured himself in his fur, now more eagerly than before. With one smooth movement, Warhound leaped upward, landing silently on the nearest rooftop.
He adjusted his steps, sweeping across the village with near-invisible grace as he headed for the hotel. Stealthy, precise, and ready for whatever horrors lurked below. They moved toward the towering building, unaware that both refuge and danger waited inside.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Midas' eyes narrowed as he stared through the wavering blue shimmer of the dome. For a split second, something darted across his peripheral vision fast, unnaturally fast. He leaned forward, trying to catch another glimpse.
Was that… a person? No, it was too quick. Too smooth.
Before he could focus, Anora's groan shattered his concentration. "Ugh, come on!" she yelled, slamming her fist against the smooth, elastic-like surface that rippled outward like thick fluid.
Midas dragged a hand down his face. "Anora… please. Just give up already before you regret it."
"No," she shot back immediately without even turning around. "Backup's probably gonna take, what, an hour? Maybe even more! And every second counts. People are probably still dying in there, dying right now, or worse!"
"We've done everything we can," Midas repeated calmly, though the edge in his voice showed he was seconds from losing patience. "And you already called The Director, he said he'll be coming with people suited for this exact situation. Trust him."
Anora spun toward him. "Suited? Suited how? Suited like us or suited like… Whatever the hell that thing is that's been tearing through the place! You heard the constant screams, what if–"
"Anora." His tone snapped her rambling in half. "Stop. Breathe." She crossed her arms, scowling. "This is insane. We're just supposed to sit here? Doing nothing?"
"You already are doing something," he countered calmly. "You're preventing me from dying of stress." She shot him a flare so sharp it could cut steel.
Unimpressed, Midas continued, "Backup will arrive. The Director said they'd send someone specialized for containment events. Someone who actually knows how to deal with…" He gestured vaguely at the dome. "This."
"Yeah, in an hour," he said bitterly. "And an hour is enough for an entire village to be wiped clean." Midas's expression tightened. "Anora…" His tone dropped. "Trust me. It can get worse. Much worse."
Her sarcasm returned instantly. "Oh please, tell me. How could this possibly get worse?" Midas looked her dead in the eyes. "Because the shield isn't the only thing I built."
Anora froze.
"...What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.
Midas hesitated. Not because he was unsure, but because he knew what he was about to say would change her entire approach. "The shield was only phase one," he said. "Phase two was a security countermeasure. A deterrent system."
"A weapon," she muttered.
"A defense mechanism," he corrected, though his tone made the difference questionable. "Hundreds of autonomous micro-drones. Fast. Reactive. Programmed to strike anything not registered as friendly."
Anora's brows pulled together. "...Inside the dome?"
"Outside," he corrected firmly. "Think of them as wasps. You tamped too much with the hive, they get released. Their job is to eliminate intruders before they ever step foot in the village."
A heavy silence fell between them. Anora slowly lowered her hand from the dome. "...So if we keep poking this thing…"
"We risk triggering the swarm," Midas finished. "And trust me, you do not want to find out how efficient they are." Her jaw clenched as she took a step back from the barrier. Even someone as stubborn as Anora had limits, and Midas could see her instincts screaming not to test this particular limit.
He softened slightly. "Look. I know it's frustrating. I know you want to help. But right now, the best thing we can do is avoid making the situation any worse." She didn't respond right away. Instead, she stared through the translucent blue at the village within, her expression a tense knot of worry, fear, and anger.
"...I hate waiting," she whispered.
"I know," Midas replied. "But sometimes patience keeps you alive." She let out a long, shaky breath. "...Fine. We wait. But the moment a path opens, we're going in." Midas gave a tired nod. "Fair enough."
The two sat beside the humming barrier, Anora tense, ready to spring into action the moment she had the excuse, and Midas silently praying that she never tried to force one.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Iyu and Pheo arrived at the entrance of the hotel, its glass doors looming tall and lifeless against the dim sky. The once-polished facade was scratched and dusted with sand, as if the desert had been slowly reclaiming it.
Pheo was the first to notice something was wrong. "Uh… that wasn't there before," he muttered. Strips of red fabric, or what looked like fabric, were tangled around the handles and wedged into the seams of the doors, preventing them from opening fully.
They stretched and overlapped in uneven layers, like decorative streamers left behind after some abandoned celebration. Pheo reached out, tugging one experimentally, but it wouldn't budge.
"Can you help me force it?" he asked, glancing back at Iyu. "It's stuck pretty bad." Iyu stepped forward, placing both hands against the door. "On three," he said calmly. "One… two–"
They shoved together. The resistance gave way with a sharp groan of metal and glass, the red strips tearing loose just enough for the doors to part. The moment there was space, they slipped inside, letting the doors fall shut behind them with a hollow thud.
The silence inside was immediate and suffocating. The lobby was vast, its high ceiling disappearing into shadow. Chandeliers hung overhead, some cracked, some tilted at odd angles.
Furniture had been overturned, and the once-luxurious carpets were stained with dirt and dust. The air smelled stale, like a place that hadn't been breathed in for days. Pheo exhaled slowly. "Well… so much for luxury."
Iyu didn't respond right away. He was scanning the entrance, his eyes tracing the walls, the floor, the corners where the light barely reached. The same red strips they'd forced through outside appeared here too, winding along pillars and curling across the marble tiles as if they were part of the hotel's original design.
"...This place has a strange sense of style," Iyu finally said. "Red accents everywhere." Pheo shot him a look. "Wasn't there last time I was here, probably put it up for the festival."
They moved further inside, their footsteps echoing too loudly for comfort. Iyu slowed, his gaze lingering on one of the strips draped over a fallen couch. For just a moment, he thought it shifted. Barely, like fabric reacting to a draft.
He stopped.
"Did you see that?" he asked quietly.
Pheo frowned. "See what?"
Iyu stared at the strip again. It lay perfectly still now, limp and ordinary. He shook his head slightly. "Nothing. I thought it moved."
"Probably just your nerves," Pheo said, though he sounded less convinced than he wanted to be. "Given everything that's happened. I wouldn't blame you." They approached the stairwell, passing a darkened elevator lobby.
The indicator lights were dead, the doors slightly ajar. "Stairs," Pheo said immediately. "I don't trust these things in times like these."
"Agreed," Iyu replied, "If the power's unstable, we'd just be trapping ourselves." The stairwell itself was narrow compared to the grand lobby, its walls painted a dull cream that was now interrupted by more red strips.
They stretched upward along the railing and spiraled around the banister, twisting into the shadows above. Iyu tilted his head, studying them as they climbed. "If this was intentional," he mused, "it's bold… Almost immersive."
Pheo let out a quiet laugh. "You're seriously critiquing interior design right now?"
"I'm just saying," Iyu replied, though his eyes kept flicking back to the strips. Once again, he hesitated, watching closely. They didn't move. Not this time. They continued upward in silence after that, each step taking them further from the lobby and deeper into the hotel.
When they reached their floor, Pheo slowed and then stopped entirely, raising a hand. "This is it," he said softly. The stairwell door to their floor stood slightly open, darkness spilling through the gap.
The floor they stepped onto felt untouched by the chaos below. Plush carpet muffled their footsteps, and the air carried a faint, clean scent. Polished wood and old perfume, not blood or smoke.
The lights were still on, casting a warm glow that made the silence feel deliberate rather than abandoned. Iyu slowed, eyes narrowing. "Why does this place look… fine?" he asked quietly. "Everywhere else we've been looks like it's been torn apart."
Pheo glanced around, uneasy for the same reason. "This level's different," he said. "It's reserved. Special guests only. VIPs" He gestured toward the doors lining the hall. Each one bore a name, engraved neatly into a metal plate instead of a room number.
"People with enough influence that the hotel makes sure nothing ever touches their floor." They continued down the hallway, the quiet pressing heavier with every stepo. Pheo stopped suddenly.
They stood before a door marked ANORA VALE.
For a moment, he just stared at the name, as if expecting it to disappear. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "She's been… on the edge since this morning," he said, more to himself than to Iyu. "I should talk to her alone."
Iyu hesitated. "Are you sure?"
Pheo nodded. "Stay out here. I won't take long."
Reluctantly, Iyu agreed. As Pheo slipped inside and closed the door behind him, Ity wandered a few steps down the hall, studying the design. How the walls subtly curved, how the lighting was angled to never cast harsh shadows.
Yet even here, thin red strips curled along the corners of the ceiling and doorframes, decorative at first glance… though Iyu couldn't shake the feeling that one of them shifted when he wasn't looking.
Inside the room, Pheo didn't waste time. "Anora," he said, urgency creeping into his voice. "Something's wrong in the village. We need to move–"
He crossed to the bed and yanked back the sheets.
Empty.
His heart sank. "Anora?" he called again, louder this time. But there was no answer. No movement. Just silence, thick and absolute. Standing alone in the immaculate room, staring at an empty bed, Pheo realized something with chilling clarity.
This time, she hadn't waited.
And this time, he was truly alone.