The motorway overpass had turned into a killing ground.

Once, it had carried morning commuters and delivery vans over Clawdiff’s lower streets. Now its lanes were choked with burned-out cars, jackknifed lorries, broken tram shells, and hastily dragged barricades. Council ration crates had been stacked in the centre like treasure in a siege, their brass seals still intact beneath soot and blood.

Wind shrieked between the support pillars below.

The fog moved in ragged sheets.

And from both embankments, the dead kept climbing.

Zombies clawed up the concrete in waves, sugar-glazed fingers scraping sparks from the road. Candy jaws snapped. Limbs twitched. Bright, rotting eyes rolled in frosting-smeared faces.

Hybrids and Purebloods alike fought desperately to hold the line with whatever they had left—pipes, pistols, mana charms, cracked riot shields, kitchen knives taped to broom handles.

Raiders moved among the dead with brutal coordination, using the chaos to punch toward the supplies.

Mezzo stood on the hood of a wrecked van, gryphon wings flared wide as he brought his axe down in a blazing arc.

“BACK OFF, YE SUGAR-STUFFED NIGHTMARES—THIS FOOD’S TAKEN!”

Ray smashed through a cluster of Rushers with her hammer, teeth bared.

“Hughes, left flank! They’re swarming!”

Hughes didn’t even look rattled. He reloaded calmly, voice steady as gravel under boots.

“On it. Hold fast.”

Near the ration crates, two Pureblood survivors were arguing while ducking behind an overturned delivery cart.

One was a ginger tabby in a torn skyrush jacket, goggles cracked, tail fluffed, pride somehow still spotless despite everything else being ruined.

The other was a Pureblood monkey with singed sleeves, a bloodied lip, and the weary expression of a man who had spent far too much time being friends with an idiot.

“I shouldn’t have to be doing this at all,” the tabby hissed, firing a mana-pistol wildly over the cart.

The monkey stared at him. “Well, if you hadn’t pissed off that noble, you’d still be in the Royal Quarter.”

The tabby looked personally offended. “Look, it is not my fault she came on to me.”

“She was engaged, Arch.”

“She was enthusiastic.”

“She was bored.”

“She had taste.”

“She had bodyguards,” the monkey snapped. “And now I’m stuck in this with you.”

Arch Fletcher glanced at him, grin faltering.

The monkey’s voice cracked with anger and exhaustion. “I had a business. This convoy was my last shot. All my savings were tied up in getting those supplies moved safely. And now look at it.”

A zombie slammed into the cart.

Both of them shrieked and kicked it back.

Arch swallowed. “Pliskin—”

“No. Don’t Pliskin me. If we survive this, I am never listening to one of your plans again.”

Arch raised one finger. “Technically, this wasn’t my plan.”

“That makes it worse.”

A screech cut through the din.

Then everything changed.

Lightning cracked overhead.

A pulse of mana rippled through the overpass as Celeste vaulted onto the asphalt, blades singing. Pitch shadow-jumped behind her, Lady Luck roaring. Arcade landed on the back of C.H.I.P. with a metallic thump, sparks dancing along his gauntlets. Bracer advanced like a walking wall, shield raised.

Mezzo’s head snapped up.

“Oh, thank the stars,” he breathed.

Then he grinned shamelessly.

“Celeste, love, you always know how to make an entrance.”

Celeste smiled, cheeks pink even as she deflected a claw.

“Hello, Mezzo. Sorry we’re late—traffic.”

Pitch blasted a raider off the guardrail.

“Yeah, turns out zombies don’t respect lane discipline.”

The fight turned fast.

Celeste danced through the chaos, disarming raiders and cutting down zombies with precise, merciful strikes. Ray covered her flank. Hughes barked orders that snapped the defenders back into formation. Arcade overloaded a raider mech with a smug, “You should really update your firmware,” while Bracer held the centre like an unbreakable anchor.

Within minutes—

Silence.

Zombies lay in shattered candy heaps. Raiders dragged their wounded back, retreating under covering smoke.

Celeste exhaled, lowering her blades—

—and a survivor lunged forward, yanking her out of the way as a lone zombie snapped where her neck had been.

“Whoa—careful, Commander.”

Celeste blinked.

The one who had pulled her free was the ginger Pureblood tabby, coat dusted with grime, grin cocky as anything. He brushed himself off and struck a pose like the world was a stage and the apocalypse had merely failed to appreciate his lighting.

“Name’s Arch Fletcher,” he said proudly. “Mana-disk surfer. Skyrush? Big deal. You’ve definitely heard of me.”

Celeste tilted her head.

“…I’m sorry. I haven’t.”

The smile cracked.

Just a little.

He recovered quickly. “Really? Clawdiff League? Seven-time qualifier? Gold Wave Invitational?”

She winced apologetically.

“Oh—I’m not really into sports. But you sound… very cool?”

Arch stared at her, wounded pride flickering.

“…Right. Cool. Yes. Obviously.”

Pliskin snorted beside him.

“Mate, you can’t flirt with someone who fights apocalypse monsters. Read the room.”

“I was being heroic.”

“You were posing.”

“I can do both.”

“You can barely do one.”

They started bickering immediately.

Celeste quietly stepped away, kneeling by the ration crates and inspecting the Council equipment. The seals were intact. Stabilisers solid. No sabotage.

She nodded to Hughes.

“Supplies are safe. No worries here.”

Hughes gave a sharp nod.

“Good work, all of you.”

Mezzo hopped down beside her, lowering his voice.

“Glad you came,” he said, softer now. “Would’ve been messy without you.”

Celeste stepped back from the ration crates, nodding to herself.

“Everything looks fine,” she said earnestly. “No tampering, no funny buzzing noises, no—”

Her foot caught on a loose strap.

“—ohstars—!”

She went down, arms flailing, tail puffing as she landed squarely on a crate with a very undignified thump.

There was a beat of silence.

Celeste scrambled back to her feet, dusting herself off, ears pink.
“S-sorry! Boxes sneak up on me sometimes.”

Arch Fletcher’s eyes dropped to the back of her neck.

To the faintly glowing suppression rune at the base of her skull.

He snorted.

“Ah. Hybrid. Figures.”

He straightened, tone shifting.

“Um… where exactly are the Council reps? I was expecting Purebloods.”

Mezzo whipped around, hand to his chest.

“Excuse you?”

He planted a foot on a crate dramatically.

“We are absolutely as good as—if not better than—”

The crate tipped.

Mezzo vanished from view with a surprised yelp and a loud crash.

“…better,” his voice finished weakly from the ground.

Arch grimaced.

“Right. Look, these crates are Council property. We were paid to deliver them. I’d rather not get in trouble fraternising with whatever… mash-up you are.”

Pliskin elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“Arch. Don’t.”

Arch waved it off.

“Relax, Pliskin. They’re hybrids. What are they gonna do, get offended?”

“They’re armed,” Pliskin added under his breath.

Arch turned—

—and nearly walked face-first into Ray.

She was right there.

Way too close.

Hammer resting casually against her back.

Eyes flat.

Smile nonexistent.

“Try us,” Ray said simply.

Arch squeaked.

Actually squeaked.

He stumbled backwards so fast he nearly tripped over Mezzo again.

“—OKAY—NOPE—MESSAGE RECEIVED—”

Bracer stepped forward, calm as sunrise, silver fur catching the light.

“No need for hostility,” he said evenly. “We’re all just trying to survive.”

He gestured to the wrecked overpass, the bodies, the rubble.

“Honestly, this looks unstable.”

Then, kindly:

“If you’re looking for work, our base by the park—near the Egg Tree—needs watchmen. Safer than this.”

Pliskin’s eyes lit up immediately.

“Wait, really? Guard duty? Stable location? Not being eaten?”

He grabbed Arch’s sleeve.

“That sounds amazing.”

Arch yanked his arm free.

“I don’t take advice from the unstable.”

Mezzo, still half-sprawled beside the tipped crate, lifted one paw.

“Well, feck you very much.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed.

Bracer, however, merely studied Arch with the calm patience of someone deciding whether the insult was worth his time.

“Would you take a job from a Pureblood, then?”

Arch scoffed. “Obviously.”

Bracer reached behind his collar and tugged the edge of his coat aside, revealing the absence of any suppression rune. No hybrid marking. No regulator seal. No core-stabiliser plate.

Just clean fur beneath an old collar.

Arch stared.

Bracer’s voice stayed level.

“I am Pureblood.”

Pliskin looked from Bracer to Arch with sudden, desperate hope.

Arch’s posture changed at once.

“Oh,” he said, relief flooding his face. “Finally. An actual stable person.”

Mezzo sat up sharply. “I’m going to bite him.”

Ray put one hand on his shoulder without looking away from Arch.

“Wait your turn.”

Bracer’s expression did not change.

“That stable person is advising you to accept shelter before the next horde arrives.”

Arch opened his mouth.

Pliskin shoved a finger in his face.

“You are taking the job.”

Arch glared at him. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“My business is gone, my savings are gone, our caravan is wrecked, and I am not dying on a motorway because you still think fame pays rent.”

Arch faltered.

Pliskin’s voice softened, but only a little.

“This is survival, mate.”

Arch looked toward the ruined convoy, jaw tight.

Then toward the distant fog, where more groans were already beginning to rise.

A shadow swept over the overpass.

Everyone looked up.

A flying van descended through the fog, its undercarriage glowing with pale amber lift-runes. Painted across its side in blocky blue letters was:

T.A.T.
TEMPORARY AID TRUST
Civilian Relief and Emergency Distribution

The van landed with a hiss of steam and mana-pressure. The side door slid open, and a tall Pureblood dog stepped out wearing a practical field coat, heavy boots, and the deeply unimpressed expression of someone who had already dealt with six disasters before breakfast.

Her fur was cream and brown, neatly pinned beneath a medic’s cap.

She scanned the wreckage.

Then Arch noticed her.

His grin returned by terrible instinct.

“Well, hello there. I don’t suppose the Temporary Aid Trust sends angels to every battlefield, or am I just very lucky?”

The dog looked him up and down once.

“Arch Fletcher.”

He straightened. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Yes,” she said. “You’re washed up. Cut it out.”

Pliskin wheezed.

Ray made a noise suspiciously close to a laugh.

Celeste stood awkwardly between them, ears pink, looking as if she had accidentally walked into someone else’s very uncomfortable social history.

Arch placed a hand over his heart.

“Harsh.”

“Accurate,” the dog said, already turning to the ration crates. “Load the supplies. Medical crates first. If any of you have been bitten, scratched, poisoned, cursed, or emotionally compromised, form a queue and lie convincingly.”

Arcade muttered, “Finally, someone professional.”

The TAT volunteers began moving quickly, unloading stretchers and repacking ration crates into smaller units for district distribution.

Celeste watched, relieved.

Then she bounced over to the group, tail swishing with renewed purpose.
“Anyway! Supplies are all accounted for. We should let Lady Umbranox know everything’s secure.”

She tapped her Arcbracer.

“Mission complete,” she said brightly.

Behind her, Mezzo finally sat up, rubbing his head.
“…I’m never leaning on a crate again.”

A familiar shimmer rose, resolving into Lady Umbranox’s stern, elegant projection.

“Lady Umbranox,” Celeste said, posture straight despite the dust in her fur. “The Council ration convoy on the motorway overpass is secure. Raiders driven off. Minimal losses. TAT has arrived for redistribution.”

She hesitated, then added carefully, “Civilians were involved. We intervened before things escalated.”

Umbranox’s eyes flicked briefly to the wreckage behind Celeste.

“I expected nothing less. See that the supplies are redistributed immediately. I’ll notify logistics.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Celeste replied, relieved.

Behind her, Mezzo leaned casually against a bent guardrail, pretending not to listen while absolutely listening.

Arch Fletcher scoffed under his breath.

“Unbelievable. Council actually trusting hybrids with deliveries now.”

Pliskin shot him a sharp look.

“Arch. Don’t start.”

“They’re beneath us,” Arch muttered. “This whole city’s upside down.”

Pliskin gestured wildly at the ruined motorway, the scattered bodies, the distant groans of zombies.

“Our caravan is wrecked. Zombies everywhere. Raiders everywhere. We cannot survive on our own.”

Arch grimaced, jaw tight.

“…I know.”

Bracer stepped in gently, silver wolf calm as ever.

“You don’t have to stay forever. Just until things stabilise.”

Arch exhaled slowly.

“Fine. We’ll take the watch job.”

Then, pointedly, “But the second this mess clears? We’re gone.”

Bracer nodded without offence.

“That’s fair.”

Arcade cleared his throat, scanning the overpass with a practised eye.

“Damage is remarkably minimal, all things considered.”

His Arcbracer chimed.

“Oh. Splendid timing.”

He glanced at the message, then blinked.

“Apparently, our official armour sets are now in production. Courtesy of your… generous contribution.”

Ray raised an eyebrow.

“You mean when those two idiots robbed a bank?”

Mezzo snapped upright.

“HEY—shh! Inside voices!”

Arcade leaned closer, lowering his tone conspiratorially.

“Between us? The Valenforths could stand to loosen their purse strings during an emergency. And there’s no proof it was you.”

Pitch blinked.

“…Valenforths?”

His face contorted in horror.

“You mean that snobby family that keeps showing up at charity galas like they invented kindness?”

Arcade nodded solemnly.

“Apparently.”

Mezzo clutched his chest.

“Oh stars. We robbed their vault?”

He shuddered.

“They’re insufferable.”

Before anyone could respond—

Celeste’s Arcbracer chirped sharply.

She looked down.

Then froze.

“Carys?” she said quickly. “What’s wrong?”

Carys’s voice came through tight, frantic, all the calm-like warmth gone.

“Celeste—Skye and Lumina are missing.”

The world seemed to tilt.

“…Missing?” Celeste repeated, heart dropping into her stomach. “What do you mean, missing?”

“They’re not at base,” Carys said. “I turned my back for minutes. The thread’s here—but they aren’t. They didn’t say anything.”

Celeste’s ears flattened in panic.

“Where on earth have they gone?”

“I don’t know,” Carys admitted, voice breaking just slightly. “But they’re not here.”

Celeste’s paw tightened into a fist.

The mana storm rumbled faintly in the distance.

And somewhere beneath Clawdiff—

two children were trapped.