The ground wasn't supposed to breathe.
But beneath Neon's boots, it did.
It groaned and heaved like something alive—something ancient and angry—as jagged fissures split the alley floor. Chunks of broken concrete shifted underfoot, and from the ruptured earth, they emerged.
One by one.
Six... maybe eight of them.
Grotesque hounds, all ribs and ruin, bodies hunched and twitching like misfired nerve signals. Their matted fur clung in patches, drenched in ash and blood. Their legs bent at angles too sharp to be natural. Joints cracked as they moved, and their mouths twitched in erratic spasms, lined with rows of teeth that didn't belong in any sane anatomy.
They sniffed the air in unison—slow, deliberate.
Their nostrils flared, drawing in the thick cocktail of rust, wet stone, ozone... and the coppery tang of something long dead.
A growl rumbled from the pack. Not from one throat—but many. A layered, monstrous bass that vibrated the air and settled low in Neon's chest like a warning.
"Positions," Neon murmured, already moving.
The pack struck without warning.
No signal. No screech.
Just motion—pure and lethal.
They came fast and wide, claws raking the ground in a violent sprint. One leapt from a wall, jaws unhinged, trailing slobber and decay.
Click-clack.
S.A.B.R.E.'s rotating crossbow clicked to life behind Neon, the barrels spinning with a mechanical purr before erupting into a hailstorm of whirring bolts. Steel sliced the air, embedding into fur and flesh with whispering thunks.
Neon darted left, low and fast. Calder veered right, blade in hand, the rain slick on his shoulders. Their formation was wordless but perfect—two halves of a single lethal motion.
The alley transformed.
A blur of limbs, steel, and shrieks.
Time fractured.
A snarl.
A flash of lightning split the alley—not from the sky, but from Neon.
The surge burst from his palm, a jagged arc of blue-white energy that lanced upward with crackling force. The flash lit the rain-soaked battlefield for an instant, casting Calder's silhouette in stark relief as he moved with deadly precision.
Calder's prosthetic arm hissed softly as it locked into place, stabilizing his aim. The repeating crossbow clacked—a rhythmic, mechanical stutter—as he loosed a rapid burst. One bolt carved a clean path through the downpour, punching straight through a lunging hound's chest. The beast crumpled mid-air, steam pouring from the split in its ribcage as it hit the ground in a wet sprawl.
Neon turned sharply, eyes gleaming with focus. Threads of blue lightning still danced along his arm, the aftermath of a hard-won mana surge. He could feel it—a trickle of strength returning, enough to shape one last strike.
A blur of motion overhead—another hound dropping from the rooftops.
Without hesitation, Neon flicked his wrist. A sharpened lightning bolt coalesced instantly, no words, no ritual—just raw intent and muscle memory.
He hurled it.
The bolt struck mid-fall, piercing through fur and bone in a searing flash. The creature's body twisted, then slammed into the ground with a sizzling crack, limbs spasming before going still.
Steam curled from the impact as the rain fell harder.
Ping.
The creature screamed, smoke pouring from its side as the alchemical core ignited—burning deep into its sinew
Stone exploded around them as the others landed, claws gouging the concrete, but still they came.
Relentless. Mindless. Starving.
---
A harsh clang ripped the rhythm.
S.A.B.R.E. stuttered.
A hound had clipped one of its front joints with a flying tackle. Sparks erupted as the bot faltered, plates shuddering.
But it didn't fall.
The crossbow spun faster, shrieking now—a mechanical banshee. Bolts surged outward like a storm unleashed. One struck a hound clean between the eyes. Another tore through a leg mid-leap. The bodies collapsed with spasmodic jerks before falling still.
For a moment, there was only rain.
And breathing.
Then the Alpha moved.
The rubble at the far end shifted—not fallen debris, but something beneath it. Something massive. Something waiting.
Stone clattered aside.
And then it stood.
It didn't walk out of the rubble—it unfolded.
Easily twice the size of the others, its silhouette devoured the space it entered. Four glowing eyes blinked open—amber and cold. Its body looked half-scorched, covered in jagged armor plates fused into flesh, melted and hardened by some old hellfire.
Steam hissed from its wounds. Smoke curled from its back like incense. And with every slow, laboring breath, it exhaled a cloud of metallic heat.
The scent of burnt iron filled the alley.
Neon felt it in his molars.
Even the rain couldn't wash it away.
It lifted its head—and howled.
The world cracked.
The sound wasn't just heard. It hit.
An earth-shattering blast, raw and guttural, that tore the air apart and pulsed with unnatural force. The very walls of the alley trembled. Lightning split the sky above, casting the entire battlefield in stark, colorless blue.
Calder was flung backward like a ragdoll, skidding across the wet stone, coughing and gasping for breath.
S.A.B.R.E. locked in place.
The bot's frame spasmed, limbs jerking wildly as circuits shorted. A cascade of blue sparks rained down, tiny fireflies of overload. Its spinning barrels jerked to a stop with a final clack, smoke rising from its center joint.
Neon braced himself against the force, one arm raised to shield his eyes from the blast of heat and debris. The other was already in motion—fingers tensed, palm open, drawing invisible lines through the air with practiced speed.
The pack wasn't just surviving—they were adapting. Growing bolder. Smarter.
It was evolving.
The Alpha wasn't just leading them.
It was changing the battlefield.
And it was just getting started.
A gust of wind coiled around Neon's feet, swirling up his arm like a living thing, drawn to the pulse of magic crackling beneath his skin. He clenched his jaw and fed it heat—a spark of fire blooming at his fingertips, flickering hungrily in the rain. The wind caught and wrapped it, fanning the flames into something sharper, faster.
Fire fed by wind. A storm within his grasp.
He narrowed his eyes, locking on the lead hound just as it snarled and broke into a charge.
With a sharp forward thrust, Neon unleashed the blast.
The air ignited.
A streak of wind-laced fire tore through the alley, a burning arc that slammed into the advancing beast with explosive force. It didn't even have time to yelp—just a flash of impact, a burst of smoke, and then silence.
---
Rain slashed across Neon's face as he surged forward, boots skidding over slick concrete. He reached Calder just as the boy staggered upright, his silhouette barely holding against the weight of that sonic blast. Water poured from Calder's soaked clothes, running in rivulets from his collar, his fingers still clenching his crossbow like a lifeline.
Neon grabbed his arm and hauled him up. The storm howled above, thunder cracking like a war drum.
"You good?" Neon asked, voice cutting through the wind—steady, urgent.
Calder coughed hard, spat blood to the side. Pain rippled across his bruised frame, but his eyes—storm-lit and steady—burned with defiance.
"Aye," he rasped, jaw clenched. "Let's end this."
Above them, the sky tore open again, lightning bathing their soaked, mud-streaked faces in blue-white fire. Two lone figures on a broken battlefield, facing the nightmare that refused to die.
The bridge beneath them groaned—its weathered planks warped, split, and slick with rain. Every step was a gamble. Beneath the slats, dark water churned, disturbed by the heat of wreckage and flame. A chorus of smoke, steam, and scorched wood choked the air, stinging their throats with every breath.
Calder dropped to a knee behind a shattered support beam, chest heaving. His hands trembled as he loaded the last of his bolts, muscles sore and battered, soaked to the bone.
He fired—one, two, three.
Each bolt slammed into the Alpha's armored hide with a metallic crack, ricocheting sparks that lit the beast's glistening body. Distraction—that's all he could offer now.
The Alpha turned. All four of its eyes locked on Calder.
It crouched.
A predator poised to kill.
And in that moment—Neon vanished into motion.
He moved like a shadow, weaving through the broken bones of the alley, slipping under collapsed beams, ducking past splintered wood and glimmering shards of shattered lantern glass.
The rain soaked through his clothes, stung his skin, but he didn't stop.
Each step was a heartbeat. Each breath, a countdown.
He was close now.
So close.
---
A blur of metal launched through the air.
S.A.B.R.E. struck like a thunderclap, landing squarely on the Alpha's back. Its mechanical limbs wrapped around the beast's molten plates with hissing force. The spider-bot's crossbows spun, barrels glowing with heat as they unleashed a storm of bolts directly into the Alpha's exposed joints.
The creature howled, staggering beneath the weight, thrashing wildly—but S.A.B.R.E. held on.
And Neon didn't miss his chance.
He broke from cover with a burst of speed, dagger in hand—its blade etched with sigils, gleaming like lightning in the rain.
With a shout that cut through the chaos, Neon leapt forward.
Plunged the blade deep.
It drove into the cracked seam of armor just below the shoulder—where plates met flesh, where steam vented through fractured bone. The dagger sunk to the hilt with a wet, molten hiss.
The Alpha screamed—a broken, guttural roar that trembled through the broken bridge like a living quake. Its claws scraped wildly, trying to throw them off.
But Neon held fast.
Calder watched from his knees, lips parted in a silent breath as Neon drove the dagger home.
And though every muscle ached, every nerve screamed—he loaded one last bolt.
He fired.
The shot was clean, final—slamming into the Alpha's ribs with enough force to pin the beast against the shattered guardrail. The bridge groaned beneath it, warped and splintering under the creature's colossal weight.
Neon stepped back, rain sliding down his face as he pulled the last bolt from his side quiver.
This one was different.
He held it steady in his palm, breathing deep—then channeled.
Lightning first—a flicker of raw voltage that danced along the shaft, charging it with blinding speed.
Wind followed, coiling tight around the bolt like a whisper, sharpening its edges, guiding its path.
Then came fire—a slow-burning ember that bloomed beneath the surface, seething with restrained fury.
The rain hissed as the elements fused—an arcane cocktail of velocity and impact, humming with volatile power.
Neon exhaled.
And loosed it.
The bolt became a streak of silver and stormlight—a thunderclap in motion.
It struck dead center—right into the Alpha's glowing chest, burying itself in the molten core of its corrupted heart.
The beast convulsed, its four eyes flaring wide with agony.
It let out a final, deafening scream—raw, fractured, the sound of something ancient breaking apart—before its body erupted in a rush of fire and concussive wind, blowing back steam and rubble in a wave.
Then it toppled.
Crashing over the edge.
Falling into the dark below.
Its body slammed into the dark canal with a tremendous splash, sending a wave of water and steam erupting skyward. Rain met boiling heat in a violent hiss, cloaking the bridge in mist.
And then…
Silence.
The storm began to ease. The wind softened. The rain slowed to a gentle drizzle, falling like ash in the quiet aftermath.
Neon stood over the broken bridge, breathing hard, blade still in hand.
The nightmare was gone.
But the memory of it would linger, burned into the storm-washed steel of their souls.
---
The pounding of their boots echoed sharply against wet stone as Neon, Calder, and S.A.B.R.E. ran alongside the canal's edge. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and riverweed, mingled with a distant tang of smoke. Lightning flickered overhead, briefly illuminating the shadowed alleyways.
Neon's hand shot forward, pointing toward a barricade up ahead. His voice cut through the clamor, sharp and urgent.
"Over there! Just ahead, the barricade—let's go!"
The three of them pushed forward, hearts hammering, eyes locked on their goal.
Closer now, the scene came into focus—a tightly packed crowd pressed against a heavy, closed gate. Polished knights stood like statues, their halberds gleaming dully in the storm's fading light. Faces were streaked with grime and tears; slum families clung to each other, some pleading, others trembling. Children whimpered softly, clutching ragged blankets, their eyes wide with fear.
Calder's gaze swept the crowd, narrowing with suspicion.
"Somethin's wrong…"
Without hesitation, Neon stepped forward, weaving through the restless civilians. The metallic clank of armor and the murmurs of the crowd rose around him. His voice was sharp, demanding answers.
"What the hell's happenin'?"
Tension coiled thick in the air—like a storm about to break.
A ragged hand gripped Neon's arm tightly, cold and trembling. A slum woman's face, streaked with grime and weariness, lifted toward him—eyes desperate and pleading. The rain mingled with the dirt on her cheeks, glistening in the dim light.
"They won't let us through. Said it's for the inner city people only…" Her voice cracked like brittle glass, heavy with fear and exhaustion.
Neon's jaw clenched, his brows knitting together as anger simmered beneath the surface. The faint hiss of his respirator punctuated the tense silence. His voice dropped, icy and sharp, slicing through the noise.
"They're what?!"
Before he could take another step, a Knight moved forward—heavy armor clinking as his halberd lowered deliberately to block the way. His stance was rigid, unwavering, a wall of authority.
"Orders," the Knight said coldly, voice echoing under the storm. "Prioritize citizen-class evacuees. Back away."
Neon's breath hissed steadily through the respirator, the sound almost mechanical. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on the Knight's unyielding figure. The crowd held its breath around them, tension taut as a drawn bowstring.
"These people are citizens," Neon said, voice low but burning with fierce conviction. "What're you even guarding, if not them?"
The rain fell harder, drumming against armor and stone, as the standoff deepened—words hanging like thunder in the charged air.
---
The Knight's posture stiffened like a drawn blade, the weight of his armor shifting with the sudden tension. His voice was firm, clipped with authority.
"Sir, you're armed and unregistered. Stand down."
Calder moved swiftly to Neon's side, his presence calm but steady—an anchor amid the rising storm. His voice was low, trying to smooth the crackling tension.
"Let's not pick a fight here, lad…"
But Neon was already moving, stepping forward with a fury that crackled through the humid air. His eyes burned, fierce and unyielding beneath the flickering streetlights.
"There's a pack of monsters four blocks back, tearing people apart—and you're drawing lines based on birth papers?"
The words hit hard, like stones thrown into a quiet pond. Another Knight's hand shot out, grabbing Neon's arm with iron grip—but Neon wrenched free, shrugging it off like a sudden storm breaking free from chains.
His voice rose, raw and desperate, echoing off the cracked walls and soaking rain.
"People are dying!"
Around them, the crowd held its breath—caught between fear, fury, and a fragile hope that someone might break through the walls of cold authority.
A heavy silence dropped over the street like a shroud. Children stopped crying, faces upturned with wide, haunted eyes. Even the rain seemed to soften, the pattering fading to a distant whisper—as if the world itself was holding its breath.
The lead Knight glanced nervously over his shoulder. Youth and uncertainty flickered behind his eyes, barely hidden beneath the cold metal of his helmet. His voice was low, hesitant.
"We don't have orders to accept anyone else…"
Neon stepped forward, deliberate and slow, rain hissing as it met the arcs of electricity dancing across his fingers. In his other hand, his dagger glinted—etched steel humming with residual charge.
The only sound was the low crackle of lightning coiled around his knuckles, like a storm barely held in check.
His voice cut through the silence—calm, but fierce, a warning wrapped in thunder.
"Then you're gettin' new ones."
S.A.B.R.E. moved into the open, its eyes glowing a faint, eerie blue, casting ghostly light on the damp stones. Calder flexed his fingers, raising his tools with quiet readiness.
Neon's voice hardened like tempered steel.
"Open the gate. Or I will."
Suddenly, another Knight captain strode forward, visor lowered, his halberd crackling with crackling arcane energy that hummed in the charged air.
"Evac zone's full. Turn back. Or be treated as hostile. This is your final warning."
A desperate father pushed through the crowd, trembling arms hoisting his wounded child over the barricade. His voice cracked with urgency and fear.
"She's wounded! Please! Just take her—please!"
Then—CRACK! A whip of blue-white arcane energy snapped from the Knight's weapon, striking the man mid-climb. The father and child tumbled backward, a heart-stopping thud and screams ripping through the stunned crowd.
ZRAKKT!
THUD—SCREAMING
Close on Neon's face—jaw clenched tight, eyes wild with fury and heartbreak. His voice dropped to a low, seething growl.
"You're killing them…"
The crowd erupted, voices crashing like waves against the barricade. Shouts, cries, and curses filled the air as the desperate pressed forward. One woman hurled a stone that shattered against the armored line.
Slum Voices (overlapping):
"Bastards!"
"Let us in!"
"They're dying out here!"
The barricade trembled under the weight of rising chaos.
---
Rain streaked down Calder's face, carving lines through grime and blood like cold, deliberate fingers. Each droplet traced the path of unspoken rage, settling into the hard lines etched deep beneath his eyes.
"Bloody hell…" he muttered, voice barely audible above the storm. But it wasn't fear that made his hand tremble.
It was resolve.
He looked down at his right hand. A battered glove of scorched leather clung to it, fingers creased and blackened from years of use. It wasn't worn for warmth or comfort—it was a disguise. A barrier between the world and what lay beneath.
His jaw tightened.
Then, with a harsh pull, he ripped the glove free.
Ffft-chkk.
The leather dropped into the mud with a wet slap.
What remained was a weapon.
A military-grade prosthetic, raw and scarred, built for war. Matte steel plates caught the dull shimmer of stormlight, scorched edges framing alchemical welds that pulsed like living veins. Runes flickered faintly along the joints—glowing, humming, alive. And across the bracer, etched deep and permanent, read:
C.R.A.D.L.E. Delta 06 – "Rho."
Neon's voice came soft, shocked.
"You've been hidin' that?"
Calder didn't answer right away. The arm hissed as metal plates shifted—rotating, sliding apart with seamless precision. A low click. A pulse of heat. Then: a brutal cannon-barrel slid out over his forearm, ringed with molten-red etchings that pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Aye," Calder said, eyes hard beneath the rain. "Ye have yer secret, boy."
He raised the arm, letting the barrel glow. "I have mine."
He stepped forward, just beside Neon. S.A.B.R.E.'s optics brightened, the spider-bot clicking softly in quiet solidarity. Around them, the slumfolk gathered, rain-soaked and trembling—but not from the cold. There was fire behind their eyes now. They saw something. They saw hope.
Calder's voice was low, cold.
"Guess I was wrang."
Neon straightened beside him, lightning still crackling faintly between his fingers.
His voice came sharp, commanding—iron beneath the calm.
"You heard the man."
He met the stunned gazes of the knights ahead.
"Gate opens… or we go through it."
---
The Knight-Captain stood frozen, rain trailing in rivulets down his steel visor. The gleam of Calder's arm cannon reflected in the polished metal—inches from his face.
The cannon hummed, deep and rising, a sound like the storm itself gathering breath. Alchemical sigils pulsed, growing hotter, brighter, steam hissing from vents like the growl of something ancient and barely restrained.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then the Knight-Captain's gaze dropped—just for a moment—to the etched brand along Calder's forearm:
C.R.A.D.L.E. Delta 06 – "Rho."
His breath caught.
"You're a… Crusader," he said, the words heavy, uncertain.
Like he wasn't sure if it was accusation or revelation.
Calder's voice came low and ironclad.
"Aye."
He stepped forward, cannon unwavering, his eyes locked through the Captain's visor.
"Choose yer next bloody actions carefully."
The words struck harder than any shot. Around them, the air felt thinner. Charged. Unforgiving.
A flicker of doubt cracked across the Knight-Captain's stance. His shoulders, once squared in practiced defiance, sagged by a single inch.
Then—
"Let them through!" he barked, voice cracking under the pressure. "Stand down—now!"
Weapons lowered. Gates creaked open.
The storm didn't ease, but the battlefield shifted—tension replaced by the uneasy quiet of survival.
Neon and Calder stepped forward together, S.A.B.R.E. clicking softly at their side.
They didn't look back.
The barricade groaned as it unlocked, gears clanking and metal hinges whining against rust. Slowly, the gate began to part.
Behind Neon, the slum crowd surged forward with a collective breath of disbelief and relief. Voices rang out, soaked in rain and emotion:
"We're through!"
"Bless ya, lad!"
"We're gonna make it!"
For the first time all day, Neon allowed himself the ghost of a smile. Hope surged through the soaked street like lightning in a wire.
---
The sky had other plans.
A shriek split the air—deep, shrill, unnatural. It cut through joy like a knife through canvas.
SKREEEEEE!!
High above, a monstrous shape plunged from the clouds—wings like torn flags of war, its body wrapped in wet, rotting chitin. Glowing pits where eyes should be burned with furious decay. A flying Netherling.
Panic snapped through the crowd. Screams erupted. Children cried. People scattered. Knights broke rank, scrambling for formation.
Calder's head snapped upward.
"Bloody shitehawk!—above the foundry!" he bellowed, voice like rolling thunder.
Neon had already turned, pulling his dagger instinctively, body lowering into a ready stance.
Calder didn't wait. His cannon arm locked into position with a thunderous clank, sigils glowing like fresh brandings in the rain.
A blast of compressed arcana and steam exploded from his forearm.
THRMMM-WHOOM!!
The shot slammed into the descending Netherling mid-air, tearing off one of its wings in a spray of molten ichor and shattering armor.
The beast howled, spiraling violently through the stormy sky before crashing through a third-story window of a crumbling tenement. Glass shattered. Wood splintered.
KRRASSHHH!!
The impact rocked the alley. Debris rained down.
S.A.B.R.E. flared its optics and scanned the wreckage. Neon stepped forward again, dripping, eyes narrowing.
Neon moved first.
He vaulted over the crumbling wall, dagger drawn, boots hitting wet stone near the shattered building. The flying Netherling's broken body twitched in the wreckage—but it wasn't alone.
From the gutters, from sewer grates and broken walls, smaller spawn began to pour out—pale, twitching things with too many limbs and snapping mandibles. Their movements were erratic, insectoid, and fast.
One of the climbers skittered at him, too fast for the eye—but not fast enough for Neon. His dagger arced through the air in a silver blur.
SHHKKT.
The spawn split down the middle, a spray of hot ichor hissing into the rain.
Another shrieked, lunging from a cracked window behind him. Neon didn't flinch. He pivoted smoothly, driving his dagger up into its gut mid-air. The blade glowed with sigils that shimmered like lightning on a wire.
FSSSSK.
It spasmed and died, sliding off the blade.
Across the canal, Calder crouched on top of the barricade, eyes locked onto the recovering beast. The larger Netherling was clawing at the broken facade, trying to lift off again—wings snapping and twitching.
Behind Calder, a handful of civilians had rallied. Makeshift courage burned bright.
"We can fight! Keep 'em back!" a man shouted.
One girl, no older than sixteen, hurled a rag-wrapped molotov into the gaping mouth of a crawler. It erupted in fire and hissed violently, writhing before collapsing in a heap.
An old man limped forward with a crutch, shouting hoarsely, and cracked another spawn clean in the skull.
THWAK.
The slum folk held the line.
Then came the final moment.
The flying Netherling shrieked again, flaring its ruined wings one last time. Calder didn't hesitate. He dropped to one knee, planting his prosthetic arm against the barricade for balance. His cannon locked into place, glowing hotter than before.
He exhaled once. Then fired.
BOOOM—SHHRRKKK
The blast slammed through the air, ripping the creature's head apart in a spray of molten gore and shattered bone. Its body dropped like a felled tree, smoke curling from the crater where its skull had been.
A beat of silence followed. Then another wave of cheering, louder than before.
Hope didn't just survive—it fought back.
---
The flying Netherling's carcass hit the street like a meteor.
Its armored husk slammed into the cobblestones with a sickening THUUUUM, a final twitch rolling through its chitin-plated limbs. Steam hissed from its corpse—ash and black ichor curling into the rain-soaked air.
Silence followed.
Neon stood still, dagger lowered but not relaxed. All around him, smaller spawn lay scattered and twitching, carved apart in moments. His breath fogged faintly, steady and shallow.
"…That's all o 'em?" he muttered.
He scanned the shadows.
No more came.
Then, with a heavy groan of wood and magic-bound steel, the checkpoint gate creaked open again.
Knights surged out—not with warnings or threats, but with blades drawn and formation tight. They fell into a purge sweep immediately, cutting down stragglers and driving back the last of the spawn hiding in corners and sewer mouths.
The Knight Captain's voice barked sharp through the chaos.
"Purge formation—push them back!"
Neon watched, wary. But the swords weren't pointed at civilians this time.
One Knight paused to help a limping man to his feet, offering a gauntleted shoulder. The older civilian hesitated before accepting it.
"…Didn't think they'd ever help," he whispered.
The tone wasn't gratitude. Just disbelief.
Smoke hung low as the slum crowd shuffled forward, crossing through the now-defended checkpoint. Children were lifted. Wounds were carried. Hope moved slowly—but it moved.
Calder stood by the gate, silent. His cannon arm steamed in the rain, still warm from the shot. He watched the people go past with quiet steel in his eyes.
Neon cleaned his blade with a torn cloth, gaze distant.
Across the threshold, the last family crossed the line.
Behind them, a knight pulled the lever.
KACHUNK—CLANGG.
The checkpoint sealed again.
Silence. The canal was behind them now. The street ahead lay still. Broken, yes—but safe… for the moment.
Neon turned toward Calder. Both were bruised, dirtied, soaked to the bone. But alive.
"Thanks, Calder."
The older man grunted, voice dry and gravel-thick.
"Dinna thank me yet. The night's nae over."
From the side, a faint metallic clink.
S.A.B.R.E. limped forward, one leg sparking, optics dimmed but steady. It tapped Neon's shin with a soft click.
Neon dropped to a knee beside it, resting a hand on the dented chassis. His eyes didn't stop scanning the skyline—black with smoke, the edges of the city flickering with far-off light.
---
The ground shook.
Neon stumbled slightly as loose gravel rained down from the barricade above. The roar that followed wasn't just sound—it was pressure. A rolling growl that rattled the ribs and clawed at the base of the spine.
From beside him, Calder growled out.
"The hell is goin' on out there?!"
Neon didn't answer. His hands moved on instinct.
He raised his goggles and adjusted the dials with practiced precision. The lenses flickered, humming faintly—then switched into spectral scan mode. The world turned ghostly, shades of heat, magic, and structure bleeding together in his view.
He whispered, almost to himself.
"C'mon… show me."
Then the smoke parted—just enough.
And he saw it.
A nightmare stitched from raw fear and broken logic.
It loomed like a twisted colossus—bent low with limbs that stretched too far, muscles tangled and cracked with glowing fractures that oozed pale arcane light. Bone horns spiraled from its skull like a crown of jagged antlers, while its back writhed with slick, oily tendrils of Void matter.
The creature slowly approached the barricade, each heavy step shaking the ground beneath. Then it slammed into the crumbling buildings, roaring like a territorial beast—stone and timber splintered beneath its blows like brittle glass.
Neon's breath caught.
His eye, framed behind the goggle lens, narrowed sharply. The moment froze—his instincts screaming louder than his thoughts.
"…No…" he breathed.
Calder stepped beside him, squinting upward.
"What d'you see, lad?"
Neon didn't look away.
His cracked lips moved. One word. No tremble. Just truth.
"…Nothin' good."
The beast was closing in now—slamming its weight against the defense wall, again and again. The barricade groaned, wood and stone cracking like the spine of some dying giant.
Knights stood above, weapons raised but hands trembling.
No one moved.
Neon stood at the base, the closest of anyone. His legs wouldn't cooperate.
He tried to lift his dagger.
It hung limp at his side.
"Can we even fight that thing?
I'm spent…
I've been fighting all night…
I can't move.
Why… Why is this happening?"
He shook, cold despite the heat.
His mind spiraled—every scream, every fight, every cut he'd endured today surged back like a tidal wave. It had been too long. Too much.
Too many fights. I'm done.
Then—
BOOM—KRAKKK!
Calder had climbed halfway up the barricade, prosthetic arm raised high.
He turned, glaring down at Neon. His voice was harsh, but not cruel.
"Get it together, lad. This ain't the time."
He turned back and fired again—point-blank into the monster's chest. Arcane blast and steam burst through the air.
The beast staggered.
But only slightly.
It roared again, louder this time—infuriated, not injured. The wall cracked further, timber screaming under the pressure.
Calder's jaw tightened. His eyes blazed with defiance.
He looked down again—not with scorn, but with something that steadied.
"This beast's nae ordinary fiend… but we'll hold it. Togeth'r."
Neon didn't respond at first.
Then—his hand twitched.
Slowly, fingers curled around the dagger's hilt.
His grip tightened.
A single bead of blood rolled down the blade from his cracked knuckles, glinting red in the smoke-filtered light.
And then, a whisper—barely audible, but firm.
"Together."
---
The world shattered in a single heartbeat.
A monstrous CRAAASH—BOOM split the night as the barricade gave way.
Stone and timber exploded outward like shrapnel. Knights were thrown like rag dolls, limbs flailing through the air. Calder flew with them, clutching his prosthetic cannon arm, gritting his teeth even as the world turned sideways.
Dust and debris swallowed the street.
And through it all, Neon stood—still.
S.A.B.R.E. hunkered low near his feet, one leg sparking with effort, ever-loyal, ever-steadfast.
Ahead, the beast emerged fully, now unrestrained. Towering. Horrific. Its body rippled with dark sinew and luminous fractures, dark ichor dripping from its claws. It locked eyes with Neon.
And it screamed.
A guttural, otherworldly bellow that seemed to bend the air around them.
Neon didn't flinch.
His breath was ragged. His body, bruised. But his eyes—his eyes were steel.
This ends here.
He braced. He gripped the dagger with both hands. His legs bent slightly, preparing for the charge.
But then—
WHOOOOM!
A blast of arcane energy erupted from behind him, pure force and brilliant light. It struck the beast with devastating power, sending it stumbling back, one foot grinding furrows into the cobblestone.
Neon ducked instinctively, momentarily blinded. He spun, confused.
And then he saw them.
The C.R.A.D.L.E Crusaders.
Dozens of them—advancing in perfect formation. Their steps synchronized, spells already mid-cast, weapons gleaming in the breaking light. Hovercrafts hummed low overhead, casting shifting shadows as they deployed rapid-fire energy bursts from above. Massive battle bots lumbered forward beside the infantry, their heavy limbs shaking the ground with every step, guns blazing with arcane-charged shells.
Each move was measured. Unrelenting. Coordinated.
Bolts of fire and streaks of pure light slammed into the creature's limbs. Binding glyphs snapped shut around its legs. Hammered runes detonated with thunderous effect. No time was wasted. No mercy was given.
They fought like a machine with many hearts.
Neon stepped back, letting them pass. He didn't speak. He simply watched.
The colossal monster lashed out, but it was too late. Too many blades. Too many spells. Its roars turned desperate—then fractured—then silent.
Piece by piece, it fell.
Calder groaned from nearby, dragging himself to his feet, coughing out dust. He leaned on a half-splintered beam, watching the onslaught unfold with grim respect.
Neon finally dropped to one knee.
The adrenaline seeped from his limbs like ink into water. The weight of the night caught up to him all at once—fear, exhaustion, relief. His dagger clattered to the ground beside him, forgotten.
Overhead, the first pale light of dawn crept across the soot-streaked skyline.
He whispered, barely audible.
"It's over… The night's finally over!"
He closed his eyes.
A breeze caught the rising dust, and for the first time in hours…
Dawn had come.