The ground wasn’t supposed to breathe.
But beneath Neon's boots, it did.

It groaned like something alive—ancient and angry—as jagged fissures split the alley floor. Chunks of 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 nerves. Patches of matted fur clung to ash- and blood-soaked skin. Legs bent at angles too sharp to be natural. Joints cracked. Mouths twitched, lined with too many teeth.

They sniffed the air—slow, deliberate.
Drawing in rust, wet stone, ozone… and the copper tang of something long dead.

A growl rumbled from the pack—not one throat, but many. A layered, monstrous bass that settled in Neon's chest like a warning.

"Positions," he murmured, already moving.

They struck without warning.
No signal. No screech.
Just motion—pure and lethal.

Claws tore into concrete. One leapt from the wall, jaws unhinged, trailing slobber and decay.

---

Click-clack.
S.A.B.R.E.’s crossbow whirred to life behind Neon, barrels spinning before erupting into a hailstorm. Steel bolts sliced the air, embedding with whispering thunks.

Neon darted left. Calder veered right, blade drawn. Rain slicked his shoulders. Their formation—wordless, perfect.

The alley became chaos.
Limbs. Steel. Shrieks.

Time fractured.

A snarl.
A flash of lightning—not from the sky, but from Neon.

Arcane power burst from his palm, a jagged bolt of blue-white energy that lit the battlefield. Calder's silhouette moved with deadly grace.

His prosthetic hissed, locking steady. The repeating crossbow stuttered to life. A bolt tore through the storm, punching into a lunging hound’s chest. The beast crumpled mid-air, steam pouring from its shattered ribcage.

Neon pivoted, lightning still crackling along his arm. He felt the pull—a flicker of energy, just enough for one last strike.

Another blur—overhead. A hound dropped from the rooftops.

He flicked his wrist. A bolt coalesced—no chant, no glyph. Just raw instinct.

He hurled it.

The bolt hit mid-fall, piercing fur and bone in a searing flash. The body slammed down hard, limbs twitching. Then silence.

Steam curled from the impact. Rain fell harder.

Ping.
A core ignited—smoke poured from the body, burning deep.

Stone exploded. More hounds landed.
Relentless. Mindless. Starving.

A metallic clang shattered the rhythm.

S.A.B.R.E. stuttered.
One hound clipped its joint mid-leap. Sparks flew. Plates groaned.

But it didn’t fall.

The crossbow shrieked louder. Bolts surged like a storm. One split a skull. Another shredded a leg. The bodies hit the ground twitching—then still.

Silence.

Breathing.

And then—the Alpha moved.

---

The rubble at the alley’s end shifted—not debris. Something beneath it.

It stood.
No—unfolded.

Twice the others’ size. Four glowing amber eyes blinked open. Its body was part flesh, part scorched armor—jagged plates melted into sinew, hardened by some old hellfire.

Steam hissed. Smoke curled like incense. With each breath, it exhaled metallic heat.

The scent of burnt iron hit Neon’s molars.
Even the rain couldn’t wash it away.

It howled.

The world cracked.

Not just sound—impact. A blast that tore the air apart. Walls trembled. Lightning split the sky in cold, colorless blue.

Calder flew backward, skidding across stone, choking on air.
S.A.B.R.E. seized. Its limbs jerked as circuits overloaded. Sparks rained down. The barrels stopped with a final clack.

Neon braced himself, one arm raised. The other moved—drawing lines in the air, already casting.

Calder groaned, using the wall to pull himself upright. 

---

"Reapers, lad. That’s what these bastards are."

Neon kept his eyes on the Alpha.
"How do we stop it?"

"Take out the Alpha. Only shot we’ve got."

The hounds tightened—too clean. Too tactical.

"They’re pack creatures—but the Alpha links 'em. Not just leadin’. Commandin’. Feeds 'em tactics, instincts. Makes 'em smarter."

Sparks curled along Neon’s knuckles.

"Kill the Alpha, maybe the rest scatter. But wait too long—"
Calder spat blood, stood straight, arm hissing back into place.
"—and they adapt. Fast."

He locked eyes on the silhouette.

"They’ll learn every move we make. Counter it. Overrun us. These things adapt like cursed fire in dry brush."

"So we hit it hard. Hit it now. Or we're bones in the alley."

The Alpha wasn’t just leading.

It was changing the battlefield.
And it was just getting started.

Wind coiled around Neon’s feet, crawling up his arm. Magic pulsed beneath his skin. He clenched his jaw, fed it heat. A spark bloomed—fire flickering in the downpour. The wind caught it, sharpened it.

Fire fed by wind. A storm in his grasp.

He narrowed his eyes.

The lead hound charged.

Neon struck first.

He thrust his palm forward.

The air ignited.

A streak of fire-laced wind tore through the alley, slamming into the beast with explosive force. It didn’t even yelp.

Just impact.
Smoke.
Silence.