The moment the tunnels came alive, Ciel moved.

  The Collector and Red weren’t just watching them anymore—they were moving, lunging, twisting through the sludge of their domain like predators playing with their food.

  Ciel’s instincts kicked in before thought could—she pulled both revolvers, her golden-violet eyes flashing in the dim glow of the sewers, and fired three shots straight at the Collector’s face.

  The bullets slammed into his thick hide—but instead of tearing through, they sank in, swallowed by the muck-like flesh, disappearing like pebbles into a swamp.

  “Well, that’s new.”

  The Collector laughed, his voice a gurgling, wet vibration in the air. “Bullets won’t save you down here, little shooter.”

  “Bet.”

  Ciel dropped low as Red scuttled toward her, its limbs bending at unnatural angles, its jagged, red-furred body a blur of motion.

  “Oh, let’s play! Let’s play! Let’s play!”

  A clawed hand slashed forward, too fast to dodge complete, Ciel twisted, barely avoiding getting gutted, but still feeling the sting of claws raking across her thigh.

  Pain flared, but she was already twisting with the momentum, flipping backward, landing on the balls of her feet.

  Then came Gorrug.

  The orc barreled forward, his massive warhammer swinging in a wide arc, aiming straight for the Collector’s bloated skull.

  It hit.

  It should have crushed bone and sent the thing flying.

  Instead, the impact sent a shockwave through the chamber, but the Collector barely flinched.

  The hammer sank into its flesh, like hitting something gelatinous yet solid, and the Collector just grinned.

  “Strong. But I’m hungrier.”

  Its massive clawed hand shot forward, grabbing Gorrug’s shoulder.

  The orc snarled, trying to pull back, but the creature’s grip tightened, and then the skin where it touched began to rot, decay crawling like tendrils over his armor.

  “Oh, fuck that!”

  Sylva appeared from nowhere, her bare feet silent on the sewer floor, and drove both her daggers into the Collector’s arm.

  Dark magic flared, and this time, the beast actually reacted, recoiling, snarling as the wounds sizzled, burning with unnatural black flames.

  Gorrug ripped free, rolling his shoulder, shaking off the decay before it could spread further.

  “Ha! You call that a grip? I have had hugs tighter than that!”

  Miri, humming softly, lifted a hand, fingers curling into an unnatural shape. “You big guys handle that one.”

  She turned to Red, who was still twitching excitedly.

  “Oh, little one, you’re fun.” Miri grinned, her black-silver eyes swirling with arcane symbols.

  Red tilted its head, its massive, soulless black eyes locking onto her.

  “Oh? Oh? Hex witch? Hex witch! I wanna play with you!”

  “Oh honey, you don’t.”

  With a whispered curse, Miri’s fingertips darkened, tendrils of shadow lashing out like living things.

  They wrapped around Red’s limbs, constricting, sinking into its fur like living chains—

  And then, Red laughed.

  Laughed, then twisted its body so violently that its own bones cracked, and then—

  It broke free.

  Miri actually blinked. “Well. That’s concerning.”

  Veyra, perched atop a crumbling pipe for a better vantage point, let out a low whistle.

  “I hate whatever that thing is.”

  She cocked her rifle, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The shot rang out, echoing in the chamber—

  And Red dodged.

  Not like a normal creature.

  Not with instincts, not with speed.

  It moved before the bullet even left the barrel.

  Like it knew.

  Like it heard the shot before it happened.

  “Ahhh, fuck.” Veyra hissed, lowering her rifle. “It’s precog.”

  Sylva cursed under her breath. “That explains why it’s so fast.”

  Ciel, still locked in a standoff with the twitchy red bastard, narrowed her eyes.

  Precog. It was reacting to their movements before they made them.

  Which meant they had to fight without thinking.

  “Raze,” she called, and the grizzled warrior turned his storm-gray gaze toward her.

  She grinned. “Think you can give me a little chaos?”

  Raze exhaled, cracked his knuckles, and then drew his greatsword.

  “I don’t think.” His implication clear.

  Then—he moved.

  And everything broke loose.

  Raze charged the Collector head-on, forcing it to focus on him, his greatsword slashing through the thick, putrid flesh, breaking it apart, exposing the raw core underneath.

  Ciel, meanwhile, moved fast, unpredictable, her revolvers spinning in her hands as she fired wild, erratic shots—not at Red, but at the walls, the pipes, the debris around them.

  The sound bounced off the chamber, distorted.

  And for one brief second, Red hesitated.

  Because it didn’t know what she was doing.

  Ciel grinned wickedly.

  And then she moved faster than thought, flipping over Red, twisting midair, aiming down—

  Bang.

  The bullet took off half its head.

  It screeched, its movements turning erratic, confused, struggling to process what had just happened.

  Sylva was already on it, daggers flashing, slicing across exposed tendons, cutting deep into whatever passed for its body.

  And in the final moment, as the Collector—injured, but still moving—tried to retreat into the sludge, Gorrug stepped forward, his warhammer raised high.

  With one last, monstrous swing, he brought it down.

  The Collector crumpled.

  The tunnels fell silent.

  For a long moment, no one spoke.

  Then, finally, Veyra broke the silence.

  “So, we all agree that was the most disgusting thing we’ve ever fought, yeah?”

  Ciel, still panting, flicked the blood and grime off her revolvers and holstered them.

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  Sylva wiped her dagger against her thigh, sighing. “And it was only the first thing down here.”

  Miri laughed, the sound soft, airy, but dripping with amusement, as if she had just watched a delightful stage play instead of a viscous, nightmarish sewer battle.

  “Well. That was theatrical.” She tilted her head, looking down at the remains of the two monstrous creatures, their twisted, unnatural bodies twitching with the last remnants of life. “Honestly, I’ve never fought anything quite so... puppet-like. The way they moved, the way they talked.” She tapped a finger to her chin, deep in thought. “It was like their strings were being pulled from somewhere else.”

  Sylva, still catching her breath, turned slightly, raising a brow. “You’re saying something was controlling them?”

  Miri shrugged, nonchalant. “I’m saying, what if we just fought the puppets, and the puppeteer is still waiting?”

  Silence.

  A faint drip of water echoed from somewhere deeper in the tunnels.

  Then Raze let out a long, suffering exhale, rubbing at his temples like this was all one big headache. “Great. Love that. More nightmare fuel.”

  “I thrive on nightmare fuel, dear,” Miri hummed, then raised a hand, her fingers tracing delicate shapes in the air.

  A low whisper spilled from her lips, ancient, dark, and tinged with something almost too sweet, too melodic to be comforting. The air rippled faintly, a soft black mist curling around her hands, drifting outward, wrapping itself around the team like silken threads.

  The warmth of restoration settled into their bones. Wounds stitched together, bruises eased, the deep aches of battle dampened like the fading remnants of a bad dream.

  Ciel felt her muscles unknot, the sting of her scraped-up thigh fading as Miri’s healing magic wove through her body. She let out a slow sigh, rolling her shoulders. “You’re freaky, but damn if you’re not useful.”

  Miri grinned. “Oh, but that’s not all.”

  With a graceful flick of her wrist, her grimoire snapped open, pages flipping wildly, their edges pulsing with a soft, violet glow. The two lifeless creatures twitched once, their final remnants of corrupted energy leaking outward—

  And then Miri dragged the very essence of them into the pages.

  The book shuddered.

  The writing twisted, reshaping itself into something new.

  Miri sighed, pleased. “Lovely. A pair of discarded souls, collected and stored. I’ll play with them later.”

  Sylva shot her a sideways look, unimpressed. “You just added those things to your spellbook?”

  Miri beamed, entirely unbothered. “Of course. Waste not, want not.”

  Ciel, exhaling sharply, shook her head, then turned her gaze toward Veyra.

  The sniper was still perched on the crumbling pipe, picking at her nails, her emerald-green eyes lazy but sharp.

  “You saw that thing was precog before any of us did, yeah?” Ciel asked.

  Veyra smirked. “What, expecting me to start reading palms next?”

  Ciel snorted, but there was weight behind her next words.

  “Seriously. We needed that.”

  Veyra just shrugged, but her usual cocky grin softened, just slightly. “Hey, someone’s gotta keep you trigger-happy lunatics alive. Might as well be me.”

  Ciel nodded, satisfied, then turned toward the rest of the team, just in time to catch Sylva kneeling beside Gorrug, checking his armor.

  The orc had taken the brunt of the Collector’s grip, his massive pauldron warped, edges corroded, layers of metal eaten away by whatever rotting filth that thing had for skin.

  Gorrug, naturally, looked completely unbothered.

  Sylva, on the other hand, was not.

  Her sharp fingers traced over the damaged metal, her crimson gaze narrowing as she muttered something under her breath, a low whisper in a language older than most ruins.

  Skrimp, still held under Gorrug’s arm, let out a wheezing honk and attempted to chew on the damaged pauldron.

  Sylva swatted him away absently.

  Ciel watched them for a beat longer than she should have.

  Sylva, focused, precise, checking over Gorrug’s injuries like it was second nature.

  Sylva, barefoot in a ruined sewer, her silver hair catching the faint glow of Miri’s residual magic, her small hands moving over the deep grooves in the orc’s armor with surprising care.

  Something tightened in Ciel’s chest.

  She shoved it aside.

  Instead, she turned away, twirling her revolvers, and nodded toward the dark tunnel ahead.

  “Alright,” she exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “Let’s keep moving before something worse crawls out of the walls.”

  Raze grunted, taking the lead. “It’s the sewers. Something worse is going to crawl out of the walls.”

  Veyra, smirking, nudged Ciel as they walked. “Still regretting this job?”

  Ciel laughed. “Oh, absolutely. But it’s gonna make one hell of a story.” Pausing. “Also, not like we a had a choice.” She shrugged.

  And with that, the team pressed forward, deeper into the sewers, where the darkness waited patiently.