New York. 3 a.m.
The sky was dead black, the wind howling between tall buildings. Neon lights flickered across empty streets, bouncing off wet asphalt.
A girl ran.
Black hair plastered to her face, jacket torn at the sleeves, sneakers slick on wet concrete. Breath ragged. Heart hammering. Every leap sent her sliding across the rooftops, palms scraping, knees aching.
They're still… still behind me… please… not again… Her mind raced, panic cracking her thoughts.
Behind her, shadows moved.
Men in black robes, faces hidden, one glowing eye on their chest. Their footsteps weren't human—they were hunting.
A knife spun through the air. She ducked. Another blade nicked her leg. Pain ripped through her ankle. She stumbled.
"Ahh… shit…" she gasped, scrambling forward. Can't stop… can't…
She rolled off the edge of a rooftop.
Crash.
Metal vent buckled under her weight, tumbling down into a narrow alley.
She landed hard. Knees scraped, ankle bleeding. The world tilted, spinning.
She tried to crawl. Hands trembling. Pain screaming in every nerve.
Boots hit the ground behind her—slow, certain. One by one, the black-robed figures dropped down, circling her like living shadows.
"Please…" she whispered, voice cracking. "Stay… stay away…"
Then white light exploded.
Frost spread across walls. Mist rolled like frozen breath.
A boy stood there. Black hair slick, white shirt faintly glowing. Mist curled from his fists. His eyes were cold, sharp.
"Are you okay… sister?" His voice was soft, careful, protective.
She stared. Too afraid to answer.
He turned slightly, gentler this time. "Are… you okay, sister?"
"I… I can't move…" she whispered, trembling.
"Then stay behind me." His fist glowed faintly with violet energy.
The shadows surged. Knives flew, aura crackling red across their hands.
Lin Feng's thoughts raced: My body… weak… too many… how… can I save anyone… or die…?
He moved. Blur. Knife hit wall. Punch to jaw—one down. Knee to ribs—two down. Elbow strike—three down. Bodies slammed against walls, dust and sparks flying.
The girl's hand shook. She pulled a curved blade from her pocket, ancient metal. White core, purple edges, glowing faintly.
I… I can fight… I have to…
She pushed herself up. Breath ragged. Knife ready.
The two moved like one. He froze the air; she slashed through it. Aura clashed with aura, blades with fists.
A red flash. One cultist attacked the girl. She crashed into the wall. Pain seared through her chest. Her scream tore the night.
"NO!" Lin Feng's voice cracked. He grabbed a broken bottle, sprinted, jumped, slammed it into the attacker's throat. Silence.
Then a growl.
Moonlight fell on the last figure. Muscles bulged. Bones snapped. Fur sprouted. Claws ripped through sleeves. Eyes glowed. The robe split—werewolf.
Lin Feng froze. Werewolves… myths… Fear coiled in his chest.
The beast lunged. He twisted mid-air. Violet energy pulsed from his fists. Frost spread.
A voice hissed in his head: "You just healed. Now you waste it. Give me control if you want to live."
"No…" he said aloud, shaking his head. "I… I don't need your help."
The alley went silent.
Purple frost crawled across his skin. Ground cracked. Eyes glowing violet. He rose, air swirling.
One hand shot forward. The werewolf slammed into a wall, bones cracking.
"You… wanted a monster?" he whispered. "Then… face one."
The fight became chaos. Knives streaked magically. Bodies flew. Blood mixed with frost. The girl slashed, he struck. Together. Understanding without words.
The werewolf lunged. He grabbed a metal pipe, drove it through its chest. Purple frost spread, freezing the beast mid-scream.
Silence.
The boy breathed hard. Eyes fading to black. The girl sat, trembling.
"What… what are you?" she whispered.
He didn't answer. Only looked at his hands. Then turned, leapt up the wall, gone.
The alley fell quiet. Distant sirens hummed in the city.
---
Morning — Office, 9:00 a.m.
Sunlight spilled across glass and steel.
Gao Yunsheng leaned back, laughing, hands clasped behind his head. "Man… you can't tell me—do you have any company near me worth investing in?"
Lin Feng sat small, bruised, hair still damp from sweat. He smiled faintly. "Of course. It's called Ship It. Kevin Gibson's work."