3. exterminators must be PREPARED!

A row of buildings crumbled like dominoes, collapsing into themselves as a towering Myutant screeched at the top of its lungs.

Massiah burst through the wreckage, his body slamming backward through a wall, concrete and dust exploding around him.

He barely had time to process the pain before he hit the ground.

"I fucking hate this job!"

Dahlia dashed through a nearby alley, her breath sharp as she glanced up—just in time to see Massiah get launched through another building.

Wasn't this supposed to be a level-one Myutant? The lowest classification?

It wasn't supposed to be this big.

And it sure as hell wasn't supposed to be this strong.

Her voice crackled through the comms. "Was it misclassified?"

"Most likely," Massiah grunted, pushing himself upright, his spine crunching in protest. "Not that it matters. I doubt anyone in this city even knows how to properly classify a Myutant."

He wiped blood from his mouth, glaring at the roaring creature ahead of them.

"Even though it's been a hundred fucking years!"

Bystanders scattered in every direction as buildings collapsed, debris crashing into the streets while the Myutant reveled in its destruction. Its monstrous form twitched beneath the smog-heavy sky—eight legs sprawled wide, two massive pincers snapping violently at the air.

Ansel caught sight of it from below.

He shrieked, the sound tearing from his throat before he could stop it. He had to do something. He needed to help them.

"Ansel, you there?" Dahlia voice crackled through the comms.

They needed his help.

But his body wouldn't move.

His legs locked in place, trembling violently. His arms felt like dead weight, his fingers slack at his sides. His chest tightened, breath shallow, heart pounding in his ears like a war drum.

Then—his knees buckled.

He collapsed to the ground, arms wrapping around himself, his body curling inward, trying to make himself as small as possible. His breathing came in sharp, ragged gasps, his vision swimming.

"I... I can't."

"What's the plan?" Dahlia's voice cut through the comms, sharp and steady.

She raced up the stairwell of a half-collapsed building, her boots slamming against the crumbling steps. At the top, she gripped the edge of a window panel, swinging herself onto the roof in one fluid motion.

"We take out its legs first, then the head," Massiah muttered.

His hands tightened around the base of his scythe, the metal cool against his fingers as he pulled it from his back. "It's most likely a level three, which means if we—"

"On it!"

Dahlia didn't wait.

She leapt from the rooftop, hammer gripped tight, racing toward the Myutant with explosive speed. Her first swing cracked through one of its legs, severing it at the joint. The second shattered another, sending the creature tumbling sideways.

The ground trembled beneath its weight.

Dahlia landed with a smirk. "Sorry, were you saying something?"

Massiah exhaled sharply. "I was in the middle of explaining how—"

A shriek ripped through the air, piercing and unnatural.

The Myutant's severed limbs twitched, then burst apart, a sickly green glow spreading from the wounds. In seconds, the legs regenerated—thicker, stronger, moving faster than before.

Massiah finished dryly, "—if you don't kill it immediately after taking off its limbs... it becomes enraged."

The creature lunged.

"So... that was my fault."

Dahlia watched as the Myutant barreled through the ruins, its massive body crashing into buildings as it raced deeper into the city.

"We need to kill it before it gets any further," Massiah muttered, jumping down from the gaping hole in the building he'd been thrown into. His boots hit the pavement hard, but he was already moving.

"Permission to say something possibly insulting?" Dahlia asked.

"Granted."

She kept pace beside him, dodging past scattered debris as they followed the trail of carnage.

"I really thought you were just a selfish douchebag who only cared about his own skin and pockets," she admitted. "But with the first thing you care about being the townspeople? I was way off."

Massiah didn't even look at her. "The company won't pay us if there are more than twenty casualties."

Dahlia sighed. "Yep. Never mind, I was right."

The Myutant reached the main roads, its monstrous form skittering toward the intersection where two major highways led straight to the port—the lifeline of Khankar's economy.

If those roads were destroyed, the city's primary source of income would be severed.

And worse? Sabrina wouldn't pay them.

Massiah's jaw tightened as he glanced around. He hadn't heard Ansel's voice since the fight started. Half-expecting to see him splattered across the pavement, he instead caught the sound of frantic, shuddering breaths crackling through the comms.

It was just him and Dahlia.

No.

It was just him.

He launched himself forward, racing toward the road, closing in on the Myutant. With one sweeping arc, his scythe slashed through four of its legs, the severed appendages whipping through the air before crashing behind him.

The creature lurched forward, teetering—but it wouldn't fall all the way. Its head was still upright, still far out of reach.

Massiah didn't hesitate.

He dashed forward again.

The remaining four legs came into focus, his grip tightening on his scythe. He swung—

And missed.

Or rather—he didn't cut through.

The blade barely grazed two of the regenerated legs before bouncing off, the edge clashing against its newly hardened exoskeleton like steel.

"Fuck."

He swung again. No give. The blade deflected, barely scratching the surface.

Dahlia had triggered its regeneration factor, and now? Its legs were stronger.

A lot stronger.

The roads were in sight, and in less than ten seconds, the Myutant's severed legs would regenerate. The next time his scythe met its hide, it wouldn't cut through. This was the last chance—he needed a direct shot to the head.

Dahlia stood just outside the monster's reach, her grip tightening around the handle of her hammer. He hadn't mentioned it before—partially because he didn't want to inflate her ego—but her strength was remarkable. Being able to shatter the limbs of a level-three Myutant with a few swings was more than he had ever accomplished in his early days.

With her help, he could definitely ground this creature, sever the head, and end this before it reached the main roads. He glanced at her once more. She was already prepared, her stance shifting as she braced for whatever came next.

Good.

"Dahlia!"

Massiah rushed toward her, twisting his scythe around so the blade dropped low, his grip shifting as he swung the opposite end of the handle toward her feet.

She didn't need instructions. The moment their eyes met, she knew exactly what he was asking her to do.

Her foot came down onto the handle, and with a sudden surge of force, Massiah threw her into the air.

Dahlia soared above the battlefield, weightless for half a second, before locking eyes with the Myutant. It shrieked, its nine beady black eyes reflecting her tiny silhouette as she flipped midair, twisting her grip around the handle of her hammer.

Using the force of her ascent, she swung.

The hammer struck, the air cracked.

The Myutant's skull caved inward, its jaw slamming into the pavement with enough force to shatter the ground beneath it. A sickening splash of green blood burst from the wound, pooling out in thick, bubbling waves.

Three seconds.

Massiah was already moving, his body a blur as he raced toward the fallen creature.

Two seconds.

His grip tightened around his scythe, the weight of the weapon settling into his hands.

One second.

With one final, perfectly timed swing, his blade carved through the monster's throat, tearing through flesh, chitin, and bone.

The head rolled outward, and as his scythe hit the pavement, the fight was over.

Breathing heavily, Massiah glanced up.

"We did it, Sir!" Dahlia called from atop the corpse, her voice triumphant. "We saved the townspeople!"

Massiah exhaled, rolling his shoulders before grinning.

"I'm getting paid."

Dahlia's shoulders sagged, and without another word, she turned and started walking. "I'm going to find Ansel."

He glanced toward the roads, his gaze settling on the fallen Myutant, its massive body sprawled across the pavement, just shy of the granite-lined edge.

They had stopped it just in time.

Around him, buildings lay in ruins, reduced to shattered concrete and twisted metal. But thanks to the early warning, most of the townspeople had already evacuated.

No casualties.

Exhaling, he bent down, wrapping his fingers around the handle of his scythe.

"Good."

"I heard that, sir." Dahlia's voice echoed over the comms, he glanced behind and she was still there, watching him. "I knew you had a soft spot—"

"Just get Ansel, will you?" Massiah sighed, pulling out his earpiece as he walked toward her.

They moved through the wreckage, stepping over shattered stone and twisted metal. Around them, the townspeople walked in near silence, some staring numbly at the damage, others standing in front of what remained of their homes. It was horrible.

But that was the job.

That was the way the world worked.

"Ansel!" Dahlia's voice cut through the stillness, but no response came over the comms.

Just breathing—short, jagged gasps, the unmistakable sound of someone trapped in panic.

Dahlia glanced at Massiah. "We should split up."

He nodded, heading in a different direction.

He didn't want to admit it—not even to himself—but four years ago, he had been in Ansel's position.

It had been his first year as an Exterminator, and like Ansel, he had been paired up with two other recruits, only this time, he was the veteran. The mission was simple: a threat level-one Myutant in a collapsed haven. An easy job.

His hands had shaken so badly that his scythe felt like it weighed a hundred tons. His legs refused to move, his stomach twisted in knots. He had nearly thrown up right then and there, and for weeks after, he seriously considered quitting.

That day echoed in his mind like a haunting dream. He could still remember everything—the way the air felt, the heat of the sun, the smell of rot in the wind.

He was the only survivor of that mission.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget it.

So, in some way, he understood exactly what Ansel was feeling.

But at the same time, fear never fixed anything.

A sharp inhale to his right caught his attention.

Turning his head, he spotted Ansel sitting in the middle of the street, knees drawn up, his arms curled around them. The sunlight hit his shock-white hair, making him look almost delicate—like a flower caught in the wind.

A terrified, trembling flower.

Massiah walked over, lowering himself onto the ground beside him, mirroring his posture.

"You good?" he muttered, staring out at the horizon.

Ansel didn't respond. His breath still came shaky and uneven, like his lungs were struggling to keep up.

Massiah let the silence stretch before speaking again. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, uncomfortable. "Three years ago, I went on a mission in Galara." His voice was casual, almost indifferent. "It was during my first year. Myutant was right above me, pincers lined up with my skull, and I just stood there. Petrified."

Ansel's breathing hitched, but the panic in his gasps eased slightly, becoming more controlled.

"The veteran on my team, believe it or not, was Sabrina Khusanov." Massiah smirked at the memory, his fingers tapping absently against his knee. "Before she lost her eye and became a doctor, she used to be out here with us." He exhaled. "She slapped me so hard, I swear, I thought getting eaten alive would've hurt less."

A beat of silence.

Ansel swallowed. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

Massiah chuckled, shaking his head. "Nope. Just made me remember—I wasn't alone on that battlefield." He pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his coat. "On paper, we're just statistics. Expendable. But out here?" He glanced down at Ansel, offering a hand.

"You're a living, breathing person that I wouldn't replace with anyone else."

Ansel hesitated, staring up at him.

Then—

"You just said a whole lot of nothing."

Massiah sighed. "Yeah, well, it's my first time giving a heartfelt talk. Cut me some slack."

Ansel exhaled through his nose, a shaky but steadier breath than before. His hands, still trembling, tightened slightly as he reached for Massiah's. His grip was weak but stronger than before—like he was pulling himself back together, piece by piece.

Massiah helped him up, patting him once on the shoulder before stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Come on. Dahlia's probably already mad that she had to come looking for you."

Ansel let out something close to a laugh, hoarse but real. He didn't say anything, just nodded, following Massiah as they walked back toward the town.

Massiah's lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile—so slight that even he barely noticed it.

He wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, but maybe this whole recruit business wasn't so bad after all.