Redwood Heights

T

he alarm sounded just after midnight.

A pulsing amber light filled the

common hall of the Slayers' compound as red sigils flared on the wall monitors.

Marcos burst from his private quarters with his tactical harness halfway

buckled. Flare was already in the hall, black undersuit clinging to his frame,

ash-gray armor pieces snapping into place across his limbs with efficient

magnet-locks. Across the room, Claire slung one of her ulaks into its curved

sheath with a cheerful, "Guess bedtime's canceled," while Caim silently

adjusted the massive greatsword across his back.

Marcos moved to the mission terminal

embedded in the wall and slammed his palm against the authentication pad.

PRIORITY CODE 5 — Multi-Ashen

Manifestation

Location: Sector 14-B — Redwood

Heights Apartment Complex

Casualties Confirmed: 7

Anomalous Ashen Formation Detected

His jaw tightened. "That's right on

the edge of our jurisdiction."

"Still ours," Flare muttered, clipping

on the last of his ash-forged plates. "Load up."

"QT's already running," Marek called

from down the hall, practically skipping in excitement. "We're gonna get to see

how those new stabilization gyros handle real terrain!"

No one commented on Marek's

enthusiasm. They needed it—something to cut the tension now vibrating through

the walls like static. Only minutes ago, they'd been preparing to interrogate

Kai about his missing implant. Now, they were rushing into a hot zone where one

wrong move could spawn another myth-born nightmare.

As they piled into the transport,

Marcos locked eyes with Kai. "You're staying inside."

"What?" Kai's voice cracked. "I can

help. I—"

"We are not risking a transformation,"

Marcos barked. "You're still on probation. No implant, no field action."

Kai's face burned with frustration,

but he nodded. "Understood… sir."

"Watch our flanks through the

sensors," Flare added. His voice was calm, but his stare was ice. "We're not

done with that conversation."

The QT roared to life, tires grinding

over broken streets and overgrown sidewalks as the vehicle cut through the

darkness like a thunderbolt. It wasn't long before they saw the looming outline

of the apartment complex—five stories tall, sprawling like a hunched beast

against the dark horizon. Rain slicked the crumbling pavement. The glass lobby

windows reflected the occasional glint of emergency lights, but the rest of the

building was cloaked in shadow.

"Thermals?" Flare asked.

"Five inside the common area," Marek

replied, eyes flicking between readouts. "One bigger, upstairs, another big one

downstairs. Heat signatures match Ashen readings. One's real large. Probably

the anomaly."

Marcos exhaled slowly. "We bait them

out. No unnecessary property damage. Marek—non-explosives only."

Marek rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Fine, but you're all denying yourselves a real fireworks show."

They deployed just beyond the complex

wall. Wind howled. Flare stepped out first, shield drawn, the oscillating edge

humming faintly like a warning growl. The others moved in synch behind

him—silent, practiced, lethal.

A flick of Marcos' wrist sent a rock

sailing toward the glass lobby. It tapped, bounced off, harmless. One

Ashen—skeletal, child-sized, its limbs too long—twitched its head toward the

sound.

Second rock—heavier. The glass

spiderwebbed with cracks.

The creature moved.

Maria, crouched by the QT's rear,

deployed a small remote-controlled car with a flickering hologram of a woman's

silhouette. It skittered forward, humming softly, casting pale light in front

of the shattered doors.

The first Ashen screeched and

lunged—straight into the trap.

Maria's kusarigama whipped forward,

chain looping around the creature's neck. She yanked hard. A blur of

motion—Marcos stepped in, twin kukris glinting, and decapitated the creature in

a single arc.

The second Ashen hesitated—sniffing at

the blood. Marek's arrow struck fast, corrosive tip burying deep into its left

eye. It screamed.

"Here we go," Claire muttered, her

boots tapping rhythmically as she darted forward. In one motion, she slashed

upward through the beast's chin, the acid from her ulak sizzling against

regenerating flesh. Its cry was cut short. But not soon enough.

A massive crash overhead.

All heads turned as the widows at the

third floor of the building exploded outward—glass, concrete, and furniture

raining down. A bear-like Ashen landed in a heap, snarling, eight feet tall

with spines bursting from its shoulders like twisted saplings. Rain pelted its

matted fur, turning the scene into a waking nightmare.

Marcos's eyes narrowed. "Team

B—engage."

Caim, Claire, Maria, and Marcos

circled wide, flanking the creature. Their weapons lit with elemental

resonance.

Flare didn't follow.

He turned—sensed it.

A chittering sound, like a thousand

insect legs scraping bone. From the left alley, a hulking form slithered into

view. Its body was long, segmented like a centipede, but with the low, powerful

torso of a badger. Gleaming black chitin, twitching antennae, slavering jaws

with too many teeth.

Its eyes locked onto Flare—and Flare

alone.

"So you're the one," Flare muttered,

tightening his grip. "Let's dance."

Behind him, Marek closed the QT's rear

bay. "You pulling it?"

Flare nodded. "Alley dead end. When I

call it, light it up."

Marek laughed like a little kid at

Christmas.

He moved.

——————————

Meanwhile,

Rain hissed against the pavement like

steam rising from the earth, softening the edges of chaos.

The QT, humming low with defensive

resonance, remained parked just inside the complex's outer perimeter. Its matte

black plating was slick with moisture, turret ports sealed for now. Inside, Kai

Kazura sat stiffly in the forward auxiliary seat — gear on, helmet resting

beside him — watching his team engage the threat through the command

interface's tactical displays.

He hated this.

Not the mission. Not the Ashen.

Himself.

Flare's voice still echoed in his

head. "No scar. No implant. We'll talk after this."

And then the look in his eyes.

Betrayal. Mistrust. Fury.

Kai had never been hit like that — not

even during the most brutal days of compound training. Flare had moved like

judgment itself, fast and absolute, slamming him against the wall with a

strength that rattled every bone in his frame. And the turrets locking on? He

hadn't even blinked. Just held him there with death humming in the air, waiting

for an answer.

He hadn't gotten the chance to

explain. And now he was here, stuck inside the QT, while they risked their

lives.

A ping on the tactical display shifted

his focus.

ALERT: MOVEMENT – BLIND SPOT SECTOR.

IDENTIFIED THREAT: ASHEN TYPE –

UNKNOWN REPTILIAN.

The feed auto-adjusted to highlight a

hulking silhouette emerging from the eastern flank of the complex. Sloped

shoulders, slick hide, long tail dragging sparks as it scraped the concrete — a

Komodo dragon-inspired Ashen, walking upright but far too fast for its size. It

was slinking toward the team's exposed side, using the ruined garden walls as

partial cover.

They didn't see it. They couldn't.

Everyone was still focused on the

larger bear-type Ashen that had crashed through the third-story window. It had

drawn their attention entirely. Marek was repositioning the QT for artillery

support on Flare's command, Maria was chaining down one of the rodent Ashen,

and Claire had just finished carving the second to ribbons with surgical glee.

But this… this thing?

It was smart. Silent. Too damn close.

Kai clenched his fists. His orders

were clear: stay in the QT. He was a threat until proven otherwise. If he died

without that microbomb implant in place, he could become something worse than

the monsters they fought — something born from his training, his speed, his

secrets.

And yet…

The image of Claire flashed in his

mind. Her casual question. The genuine concern in her eyes before everything

went off.

He couldn't sit this out.

Grabbing his helmet, Kai opened the

side hatch, rain immediately pelting his uniform. He pulled the segmented

katana from its magnetized sheath along his spine — the weapon unraveling

mid-draw into its whip-like chain form. Dripping with latent acid, each blade

segment shimmered like scales in the downpour.

"You've got orders to stay back!

Marcos will gut us both if you leave." Marek chirped

His boots hit the wet pavement with a

slap anyway.

He moved like vapor.

Across the street, the alley walls closed

in like jaws.

Flare Nacht skidded backward, boots

carving twin furrows in the damp ground. His shield caught the wild swipe of

the fused Ashen's bladed arm — the hybrid centipede-badger hissed and

chittered, its maw split down the center, layers of writhing black tendrils

snapping for his throat. Chitinous plates flexed across its hide, glistening as

the rain slid in rivulets along its insectile armor.

This thing was made from two people. A

husband and wife.

Its core pulse was jagged — like two

heartbeats trying to sync but failing, the result a shriek of constant pain.

Flare could feel it. He always could.

This one's a screamer, he thought

grimly.

Another swipe. He ducked under the

curved blade growing from what used to be a forearm and used the momentum to

slam his shield's edge into its joint. The impact rang out like a tuning fork,

and the creature shrieked again — not from pain, but rage.

Behind him, Marek shouted through

comms.

"QT coming in.. Say the word, and I'll

send the disc."

"Not yet," Flare growled back. "It's

not locked on me yet. Give me thirty seconds."

"Roger that. Gonna keep the cannon

purring. Don't get minced, boss."

The Ashen lunged.

Flare twisted sideways, letting it

scrape past. The alley was tight, but just wide enough for his plan. He slammed

his fist into the beast's side as it passed — bone singing under the hit — and

it reeled, crashing into the dumpsters and sending scrap metal flying.

One of its antennae snapped off.

Perfect.

It shrieked louder now, disoriented,

half-blind without that second feeler.

Flare bolted down the alley's length,

deeper toward the dead end.

The beast followed.

Thunder rolled as Marek's QT slid

sideways into position behind the alley exit, hidden just beyond the line of

sight. The bone saw launcher rose from its turret bed — a six-foot spinning

blade, crackling with anti-Ashen energy. Built from amalgamated Ashen remains,

it was one of their strongest countermeasures. Nothing short of a Slayer Ashen

could survive its bite.

"Now!" Flare barked into comms.

"Sending love!" Marek cheered.

The launcher fired — the bone disc

spinning fast enough to scream.

Flare dove forward, shielding his

head, as the disc passed over him.

The Ashen, mid-lunge, never saw it

coming.

The blade met its tail and carved

upward through spine, midsection, neck, and skull — a vertical bisect that

ended in a spray of thick black ichor. The disc didn't stop until it embedded

itself into a sidewalk 40 feet behind, steam rising as it cooled.

Flare coughed, rolled onto his back,

and groaned. He pushed up onto his knees.

Then he stopped.

The body was still twitching.

Not dissolving. Not breaking into ash.

Green light flickered beneath its

broken shell. Its half-face, now split and drooping, twisted with something he

hadn't seen in any Ashen before:

Recognition.

Flare's heart skipped.

He shouted, "Marek, get out of here—!"

The explosion ripped through the alley

a moment later.

The last thing he saw was the flash of

emerald fire.