Across the clearing, the creature moved.

Twitches. Jerks.
Its blackened limbs spasmed, dragging against the soaked earth with a wet, squelching sound. One arm—twisted backwards at an unnatural angle—snapped into place with a sharp, crrkk! that echoed like breaking timber. Chunks of charred meat sloughed off, revealing fresh, glistening sinew beneath—regenerating in clumps, like mold growing in fast-forward.

It wasn't healing like a beast.
It was rewriting itself—blindly, grotesquely—like a memory too warped to forget what form it was supposed to take.

Neon's knees buckled.

His right gauntlet dimmed, then flickered out entirely. Arcane glyphs etched along its surface faded into lifeless scratches. He glanced down—blinking hard as his HUD fractured into static. The readings bled red across the display, like veins bursting behind glass.

He lifted his hand again, but it twitched uselessly—fingers trembling like brittle wires.

"…I'm out of mana," he whispered, barely audible to himself.

A sharp, metallic tang filled his mouth.
Blood.

Warm and coppery, it dribbled from his gums, pooling behind the mask's filtration vents before sliding down his throat. His vision doubled. A thin whine rose in his ears, spiraling higher until it popped violently—then silence.

Static pulsed in his goggles.
Crimson lines.
Horizontal tears.
Bleeding.

Every part of him wanted to drop. To fall into the mud and let the night take him. But through the downpour… the creature stirred again.

It rose.

---

The steam peeled from its form like skin being shed—unraveling its outline in ghastly wisps. Limbs flexed unnaturally, like joints bent the wrong way but still moving forward. The blackened mass twitched, half-formed, half-forgotten. It shimmered, translucent—shifting between forms, shapes, things Neon didn't recognize.

Its very existence clawed at the edges of reason.
Unkillable.
Unrelenting.

Neon turned his head, slow and stiff.

Beyond the twisted trees and shattered rocks, faint lights shimmered in the distance. Artificial. Constant. A row of towers, half-shrouded in rain—marking the edge of the industrial zone. The city.

Home.
Safety.
Civilians.

His breath caught. Not in fear—but in clarity.

The fight had changed.

This wasn't about killing the monster anymore.
It was about keeping it away from everything else.

The mission snapped into focus like a final piece locking into place.

Neon dug one foot into the soaked ground behind him.
Rain streamed off his helmet in narrow rivulets.
His goggles burned dim orange—one last pulse.

The creature shuddered, tearing free of the tree with a sickening crack.

Neon turned on instinct.

And ran.

“We have to warn the people!” he shouted over the wind. “Send a message to Calder—now!”

S.A.B.R.E. beeped sharply, its projector blinking to life:

Error: No signal. Interference detected. Transmission blocked.

Neon's heart sank.

“Of course it is!”

---

Mud splashed beneath each step, suctioning at his boots. His legs felt like steel rods—burning, heavy—but they moved, faster with each stride. The ruined forest blurred past in streaks of black and grey, his heartbeat hammering in his ears louder than the storm ever had.

Behind him, the Netherling howled.

A chorus of mouths. A single, alien scream.

The hunt had begun again.
But this time, he wasn't fighting to win.
He was running to warn.
To save.

To make it mean something.

Neon and S.A.B.R.E tore down the slick, winding path—boots crashing into the mud with heavy, sucking shlurks. The ground had become a graveyard of waterlogged roots and half-buried stones, the rain transforming every step into a gamble. Cold muck clung to Neon's legs like the grip of the dead, dragging him back with every labored stride.

He stumbled—one foot catching on a hidden root beneath the brackish sludge. A wet splat! followed as mud splattered high up his thigh. His breath hitched in his throat, sharp and shallow behind the rasping filters of his mask. Heart hammering like a war drum, he forced his center of gravity forward, boots skidding before regaining purchase on the treacherous slope.

Behind them, the Netherling advanced.

It didn't run. It didn't need to.

Its limbs—bent at the wrong angles—dragged wetly through the mire with a rhythmic slap… slap… slap, like the sound of meat thrown onto stone. Twisted appendages curled and convulsed, each grotesque movement defying logic. Every few steps, it twitched—resetting a shattered limb with a sickening crack that echoed through the ravine like bone splintering in a silent room.

Its pace was slow.
Its purpose wasn't.

---

They crested a jagged ridge—a slant of broken stone jutting from the forest floor like a fractured spine—and Neon skidded to a halt, knees buckling slightly from momentum. His chest heaved. His breath was fire. He could taste blood and copper inside the helmet, the air inside thick with sweat and recycled panic.

Below them, the city burned.

Cairnhelm sprawled beneath a bruised sky, swollen clouds flashing with distant lightning. Smoke rose in great choking columns, curling skyward like the hands of the damned. Flames licked through broken rooftops, swallowing entire blocks in crimson and gold. Explosions bloomed like twisted flowers—brief, bright flashes followed by deafening silence.

And then the screams.

Thin and far away.
But unmistakably human.
A child. A mother. A crowd.

Each cry floated up the cliff face, piercing and panicked—voices that cut through the storm louder than thunder.

Neon's throat seized.

"…No."
The word barely escaped, choked and hollow.

He took a step back, visor fogging with heat and fear. The internal lights in his helmet flickered, refracting his wide eyes in fractured orange. His pulse pounded in his ears, louder now than the wind.

Beside him, S.A.B.R.E. skittered to a stop—its eight segmented legs clicking against the rain-slick rock. Tiny claws scrambled for traction, the bot's glowing eye-panels flashing rapid diagnostics. It chirped softly, confused, overwhelmed by the storm of input.

Behind them, the sound came again.

---

Shlorp. Snap. Slap.

The Netherling.

It dragged its broken body up the incline, clawing across the wet stone with strength it shouldn't have. Its limbs made grotesque contact with the rock, bones bending and skin stretching like tar. Steam hissed from its back. Its torso writhed as if trying to shed its own shape.

The nightmare was catching up.

Neon pivoted too fast—his boots slipped.
His knees crashed into the mud with a wet squelch and pain flared up his side. He slammed his gloved hands into the sludge to keep from collapsing, fingernails scraping stone under the muck. He gasped. Shivered.

Then instinct took over.

He flung a fistful of the sticky, blackened earth over his shoulder. The mud hit the creature with a dull splatch, splattering across its shimmering form. For a second, the surface of its body stuttered—glitching like a corrupted image on a broken screen.

It paused.

Then growled.
A guttural, multi-throated snarl—vibrating with hunger and fury.

Neon turned, every inch of him shaking. His gaze darted from the inferno below to the horror above. He didn't know which direction was death anymore.

"We have to get out of here," he whispered.

The words fogged the inside of his helmet, a tremble in his voice that not even the modulator could hide. His fingers clenched, forcing his body to obey as he rose, legs screaming in protest. His vision swam. His heart thudded so loud it drowned out the rain.

But still—he ran.

Boots tore through the muck, S.A.B.R.E. clicking beside him in perfect rhythm. The wind howled through the trees like the voices of the damned, rain slashing sideways, stinging against armor. The Netherling's growls chased them like a second heartbeat—ragged, wet, getting closer.

Neon didn't look back.
He didn't have to.

The nightmare was coming.
And the city was already burning.