The Devil

Rhett wiped the blood from his hands on his torn shirt, the metallic smell still clinging to his nostrils. The tunnel felt different now—quieter, heavier, as if the air itself had absorbed the weight of what just happened. Natos' body lay crumpled against the damp concrete, neck twisted at an unnatural angle, eyes staring at nothing.

He forced himself to look away and focus on the distant sounds echoing from the streets of the Brookside district. Henrik had moved quite a distance in his fight against the hitdevil, so he needed to catch up. Fast.

The air was colder outside the tunnel. A storm was rolling in, casting the sky in muted grays and deep purples. Tiny droplets of water were already falling on his face, and he knew torrents would be moving in within minutes.

Finding their direction wasn't hard—the destruction made it obvious.