《Gunpowder & Spellfire》


 Chapter 1, The Job Gone Wrong

    The vault was burning.


    Not just burning, collapsing. Imploding. Unraveling in real-time as if the universe itself had decided this place was done existing.


    Flames licked at the steel walls, turning golden filigree to molten rivers, burning through what should have been fireproof enchantments. The vault had been cut deep into the ruins of the old world, hidden within layered defenses, forgotten tunnels, and magic-laced security protocols.


    All of which were now crumbling.


    Ciel ducked as a beam fell, the metal so overheated it glowed white-hot, slicing through the air where she¡¯d been standing just moments before. She rolled, pivoted, and came up fast, revolvers already drawn, golden-violet eyes wild and searching through the smoke.


    Somewhere behind her, alarms were still screaming, their shrill, archaic wails mixing with the deep groan of metal giving way. The whole place smelled like scorched earth and burning magic, the very air warped from the heat.


    And at the center of it all¡ª


    The artifact.


    Or what was left of it.


    It had been called The Crown of Vathis, an ancient relic from before the Fall, older than most recorded history. People whispered that it could rewrite fate, that it had been forged in the first age of magic, worn by kings and gods alike.


    And now¡­


    Ciel could only stare at the pile of glowing ash where it used to be.


    ¡°Shit,¡± she breathed, blinking against the heat. Her heartbeat was a hammer against her ribs.


    She had seen plenty of missions go sideways before. Had been in more bad situations than she could count. But this? This was fucking catastrophic.


    They hadn¡¯t even been stealing the artifact for themselves, this was for Grimm. This was supposed to be their big payday, the moment their crew proved they belonged at the highest level of the underworld.


    And now there was nothing left to steal.


    Ciel¡¯s mind raced, scanning for a solution, any solution. They could salvage something, maybe fake a recovery, find something else of value¡ª


    ¡°Ciel!¡±


    Raze¡¯s voice cut through the chaos, sharp, commanding, filled with something rare¡­ fear.


    Ciel spun toward him, her boots skidding against the tilting metal floor.


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    Raze stood near the vault entrance, his greatsword drawn, his storm-gray eyes locked on her with an expression that told her everything she needed to know.


    This wasn¡¯t recoverable.


    This wasn¡¯t fixable.


    This was get the fuck out or die.


    ¡°We have to go!¡± Raze shouted, barely dodging a shower of collapsing steel.


    ¡°I can still¡ª¡± Ciel started.


    ¡°No, you can¡¯t!¡± Raze¡¯s voice was sharp as a blade, cutting through her desperation like a cold, hard edge. ¡°We¡¯re leaving. Now.¡±


    Ciel clenched her teeth, but she knew, fuck, she knew.


    They had already lost.


    Across the vault, the rest of the crew was scrambling.


    Sylva was moving fast, her silver hair whipping around her, but somehow untouched by the flames, her crimson eyes flashing as she muttered arcane commands, keeping the collapsing ceiling from crushing them outright.


    Gorrug stood like an unmovable wall, his massive warhammer cracking into falling debris, knocking aside flaming wreckage like it was nothing. His golden eyes gleamed with battle hunger, but even he knew, this wasn¡¯t a fight they could win.


    Veyra was already at the exit, rifle slung over one shoulder, her expression tense, her usual cocky smirk long gone.


    Miri?


    Miri laughed, bright and unbothered, her black-and-silver eyes gleaming as she gestured toward the collapsing ruin.


    ¡°Well,¡± she mused, ¡°this is a hell of a way to go.¡±


    Ciel growled under her breath, holstered her guns, and ran.


    The heat pressed against her skin, her jacket singed at the edges as she sprinted across the vault, dodging debris, sliding beneath a half-collapsed archway, her boots barely finding traction against the tilting metal.


    She lunged forward, catching Sylva¡¯s outstretched hand, their fingers locking just long enough for Sylva to yank her up the last few feet toward the vault exit.


    Ciel barely had time to breathe before she felt the floor beneath them buckle.


    Fuck.


    ¡°Go, go, go!¡± Raze barked, and then they were running, really running, sprinting up the tunnel as the entire vault caved in behind them.


    The heat chased them, a hungry inferno swallowing everything, the explosion roaring like an enraged beast.


    Ciel pushed forward, heart in her throat, lungs burning, legs screaming, Sylva just ahead of her, Raze at her back, Gorrug barreling through the smoke, Veyra already at the end of the tunnel, shouting for them to move faster.


    Then¡ª


    The final detonation.


    The shockwave slammed into them, hurling them forward, sending Ciel sprawling across the metal floor, her head snapping back as the world flipped sideways.


    For a second, she couldn¡¯t hear anything but the ringing in her ears.


    Just heat. Smoke. The taste of metal and blood on her tongue.


    Then, Raze¡¯s hands were on her, dragging her up, forcing her forward.


    And somehow¡­ somehow, they made it.


    They stumbled out of the ruins, into the dead night air, smoke billowing behind them, the last remnants of the vault¡¯s destruction glowing like embers.


    Ciel staggered to a stop, bending over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.


    No one spoke.


    They just stood there, the reality of what had just happened sinking in.


    The artifact was gone.


    The job was ruined.


    Grimm was going to kill them.


    Ciel felt the weight of it settle like a stone in her chest.


    She had fucked up.


    She had gotten them caught. Had tripped the security measures, had made the wrong call.


    And now?


    Now they had nothing.


    Nothing but a smoking ruin behind them, and a death sentence waiting ahead.


    Raze ran a shaking hand through his hair, his voice rough as gravel.


    ¡°We¡¯re dead.¡±


    No one disagreed.


    Ciel exhaled, slow, measured.


    Then, she forced herself to grin, turning to face them all with a cocked hip and a lazy shrug.


    ¡°Well,¡± she said, voice rasping from the smoke, ¡°at least we¡¯re alive... uh, not sure for how long after all this though.¡±


    Sylva¡¯s crimson eyes burned into her.


    ¡°You are insufferable.¡±


    Ciel winked.


    And behind them, the vault burned.

 Chapter 2, The Rusted Halo

    The air in Lost Angeles smelled of spilled ale, cheap incense, and the distant scent of burning garbage. The city¡ªif it could even be called that¡ªwas a rotting corpse of the old world, draped in medieval pretensions and neon magic. Buildings stitched together with stone, salvaged steel, and forgotten technology loomed over cracked streets where torchlight flickered against the glow of repurposed holo-signs.


    Inside The Rusted Halo, one of the city¡¯s less fatal bars, the ceiling dripped with condensation, the walls were scarred by old knife fights, and the only thing keeping the floor together was sheer force of will. The place reeked of desperation and regret, perfect for a mercenary crew who had just thoroughly fucked up a job.


    Ciel leaned back in her chair, feet kicked up onto the table, golden-violet eyes half-lidded, spinning a worn playing card between her fingers. The deck in play was old-world relic nonsense, the kind of gambling set scavenged from an era long dead. They called it Ghost¡¯s Gambit, and no one really knew the rules, it changed from city to city, bar to bar. The deck itself was a mess of ancient tarot cards, numbered glyphs, and holographic images of things that no one remembered. Some said the game had once been played by the wealthy before the Collapse, others claimed it was a lingering spell disguised as a card game, warping fate in subtle ways.


    Didn¡¯t matter. Ciel just liked winning.


    Across from her, Raze scowled at his hand like it had personally offended him, his broad, scarred fingers tapping against the tabletop in a slow, considering rhythm. The ex-military bastard always acted like he could strategize his way through anything, but luck wasn¡¯t something he could fight his way out of. His storm-gray eyes flicked up to meet Ciel¡¯s, full of irritation and a reluctant respect.


    ¡°You¡¯re cheating.¡±


    Ciel gave him a slow, shit-eating grin, the kind that made people want to punch her and kiss her in equal measure.


    ¡°If I was cheating, you¡¯d already be dead,¡± she drawled, flicking her card onto the table.


    Gorrug let out a deep, rumbling laugh, the kind that made mugs shake on the wooden surface. The orc had been drinking straight from a barrel-sized tankard, and his massive green hands cradled the thing like it was a delicate teacup. Golden eyes gleamed with amusement, his huge tusks catching the dim candlelight.


    ¡°She¡¯s got you there, old man,¡± Gorrug boomed, downing another gulp before slamming the cup down with earthquake force. His moss-colored muscles flexed as he stretched, cracking his knuckles like thunder.


    Raze sighed, muttering something under his breath about "insufferable little brats" as he tossed another worn metal coin into the pot. They were gambling with scraps of different currencies, a mix of ancient-world dollars, enchanted tokens, and gold coins stamped with the faces of long-dead kings. In Lost Angeles, money was as fluid as history itself, it changed hands, changed value, changed meaning, but it was always owed to someone dangerous.


    Across the table, Sylva sat directly on it, cross-legged, completely unbothered by the game. She was barefoot as always, her dusky midnight-blue skin faintly illuminated by the flickering lanterns. A single silver braid rested over her shoulder, a contrast to the wild curtain of moonlit hair flowing down her back. She twirled a dagger in one hand, her crimson eyes half-lidded in boredom.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why we¡¯re wasting time,¡± she murmured, voice like velvet laced with poison. ¡°We should be figuring out how to tell our informant we botched his job instead of pretending any of you are good at cards.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not pretending,¡± Veyra cut in, already half-drunk, leaning lazily against the back of her chair. The half-elf sniper had a bottle in one hand, her other hand lazily shuffling her own deck, even as her emerald-green eyes gleamed with sharp amusement. Her dark auburn hair was an unruly mess, and her tanned skin was decorated with old scars and fresh bruises from their last job. ¡°We¡¯re just waiting until we¡¯re drunk enough to fight our way out of the mess we¡¯re in.¡±


    Miri giggled, swinging her pale legs beneath the table, the gothic little witch looking eerily pleased despite everything. Dark robes pooled around her chair, her violet hair framing pitch-black eyes swirling with silver mist. She rested her chin in her hands, mismatched skull earrings swaying with the motion.


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re definitely going to have to fight,¡± she chirped, voice sickly sweet. ¡°I bet he¡¯s already got people looking for us.¡±


    Raze groaned and ran a scarred hand down his face, clearly questioning all of his life decisions.


    ¡°We¡¯re probably the biggest fuck ups he¡¯s hired,¡± he muttered.


    Ciel tossed another card onto the table, utterly unfazed.


    ¡°Nah,¡± she said lazily. ¡°We¡¯re just the most fun.¡±


    Sylva rolled her eyes, finally glancing at her, the faintest ghost of a smirk on her lips. ¡°You have a death wish, you know that?¡±


    Ciel winked at her. ¡°You keep saying that, but I¡¯m still here.¡±


    For now.


    Raze sighed and took a long drag from his cigar, exhaling a slow, heavy cloud of smoke that curled lazily in the dim, flickering candlelight. His storm-gray eyes cut across the table, surveying his crew¡ªthe worst collection of idiots he¡¯d ever thrown in with¡ªand grunted.


    ¡°This was a mistake.¡±


    Veyra snorted, already halfway through another bottle, boots kicked up onto the edge of the table. ¡°That¡¯s rich, coming from you. Pretty sure we all thought we had this in the bag.¡± She winked, swirling her drink. ¡°Turns out, we just had our heads up our own asses.¡±


    Miri giggled in that unsettlingly cheerful, goth-witch way, propping her chin up on her hands. ¡°I knew things were going to go wrong,¡± she said, pitch-black eyes swirling with silver mist. ¡°I just didn¡¯t say anything because it was more fun to watch it happen.¡±


    Raze groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°I hate you all.¡±


    Ciel, utterly unbothered, shuffled the deck lazily between her fingers, golden-violet eyes glimmering with amusement. ¡°C¡¯mon, old man. It wasn¡¯t that bad.¡±


    ¡°It was a disaster.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re still alive, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°For now,¡± Sylva muttered from her spot on the table, legs tucked neatly under her, idly twirling a dagger between her fingers. Her crimson eyes flicked up, sharp and unimpressed. ¡°And only because we haven¡¯t actually told Grimm yet.¡±


    A tense silence settled over the table for a moment, the reality of their situation crashing over them like a slow-burning wildfire.


    Grimm.


    One of the biggest gang leaders in Lost Angeles. A man who owned a quarter of the underworld, held ties to every illegal deal that went down in the city, and had a reputation for only hiring professionals, people who could get the job done with perfection, no excuses, no failures.


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    And they?


    They had spent months building rapport to even get an offer from him. Months of dirty jobs, calculated risks, and proving they were worth the gamble. Getting a job directly from Grimm was a mark of trust, a high-risk, high-reward deal that only the best got invited to.


    Which made what had happened even worse.


    Ciel stretched, arching her back slightly, then threw down another card. ¡°So what if the job was a little fucked from the start?¡±


    Raze gritted his teeth. ¡°It was a vault job. Break in, steal the contents, get out. We spent months working toward that.¡± He leaned forward, voice dropping into a low growl. ¡°And not only do we have nothing to bring back to Grimm, the contents of the vault are gone.¡±


    Gorrug, who had been sipping from his enormous tankard, let out a deep-bellied laugh. ¡°It was a glorious battle!¡±


    Veyra groaned, tipping her head back. ¡°Oh for fuck¡¯s sake, Gorrug.¡±


    The orc grinned proudly, golden eyes burning with that all-too-familiar battle frenzy. ¡°You must admit! Once the alarms went off, the fighting was spectacular!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, because you wouldn¡¯t stop killing people, you giant idiot.¡± Sylva shot him an icy glare, her dagger spinning dangerously between her fingers. ¡°We were supposed to be in and out, unnoticed. Instead, you got trigger-happy the second we encountered resistance.¡±


    Gorrug huffed, crossing his massive arms over his broad chest. ¡°I was controlling myself!¡±


    Ciel smirked, tilting her head toward him. ¡°Oh yeah? Because I remember a certain orc roaring like a madman and nearly caving in the entire entranceway with his warhammer.¡±


    Gorrug frowned. ¡°That was an accident.¡±


    Veyra pointed at him with her drink. ¡°No, it was excitement. There¡¯s a difference.¡±


    ¡°Details,¡± Gorrug grumbled.


    Raze growled and took another long drag from his cigar. ¡°Ciel got us caught first, though.¡±


    The table turned to her, and Ciel raised her hands, mock-offended. ¡°Hey! That wasn¡¯t my fault. How was I supposed to know the place had fucking soul binding magic?¡±


    ¡°You were supposed to check!¡± Sylva hissed, glaring at her.


    Ciel¡¯s grin sharpened, her golden-violet gaze lazily dragging over Sylva¡¯s form in a way that was deliberate, teasing, and just enough to set her off. ¡°You know, you get even cuter when you¡¯re pissed off.¡±


    Sylva¡¯s crimson eyes darkened, her grip tightening on her dagger. ¡°Do you have a death wish from me as well?¡±


    Ciel winked. ¡°Always.¡±


    Raze massaged his temples like he was getting a headache.


    Veyra snorted into her drink. ¡°This is why we¡¯re going to die.¡±


    Miri sighed dreamily, playing with the silver chains wrapped around her wrists. ¡°I think it¡¯s romantic. A last stand against impossible odds.¡±


    Raze pointed at her. ¡°That. That right there. That¡¯s exactly why we¡¯re fucked.¡±


    The table went silent again, but this time, it was heavier.


    They knew it.


    They all knew it.


    There was no running from this. They couldn¡¯t hide from Grimm. If they tried, he¡¯d find them. He had eyes everywhere, influence stretching across Lost Angeles like a shadow no one could escape from.


    Which meant they had two choices.


    Walk in and face him head-on.


    Or go down fighting.


    The table remained still, save for the flickering of candlelight, the soft sound of a dagger spinning against the wood, and the distant murmur of the bar patrons around them.


    Ciel stretched her arms over her head, her cropped top riding just enough to show the toned curve of her waist, and exhaled like she had just woken up from a satisfying nap instead of committing career suicide. She threw a lazy grin at the table.


    ¡°Well, at least it won¡¯t be boring.¡±


    Sylva rolled her crimson eyes, flicking her silver braid over her shoulder as she slid gracefully off the table, her bare feet landing soundlessly on the warped wooden floor. ¡°That¡¯s your takeaway from this?¡±


    Ciel smirked. ¡°I like to focus on the positives.¡±


    Raze snorted as he stood, his broad shoulders cracking as he rolled them back. ¡°There aren¡¯t any positives.¡± He flicked what remained of his cigar into the ashtray, storm-gray eyes settling on the door. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡±


    Gorrug stretched, his massive arms flexing as he cracked his knuckles, his tusks catching the low glow of the lanterns. ¡°Grimm may be powerful, but he is still just a man.¡± His deep, rumbling voice carried the weight of an avalanche. ¡°If it comes to battle, we will crush him like the others.¡±


    Veyra slung her rifle over her shoulder, her emerald-green eyes gleaming as she lazily twirled a throwing knife between her fingers. ¡°Yeah, yeah, big guy. Let¡¯s just try and make it a fair fight this time. You know, before you bring half the fucking city down on us again.¡±


    Miri clapped her hands together, the silver chains wrapped around her wrists jingling like chimes. ¡°Ooooh, I do hope we get to fight! But if not, I can at least hex someone on the way out. Maybe turn them into a frog. That¡¯d be cute.¡±


    Raze groaned. ¡°I need a new line of work.¡±


    They stepped out of The Rusted Halo, and into the breathing, pulsing, chaotic veins of Lost Angeles.


    Lost Angeles wasn¡¯t like other cities. Hell, it barely deserved to be called one. It was a stitched-together corpse of the old world, built on the bones of a time no one remembered clearly. Towers of cracked stone and shattered glass loomed above streets made of scavenged metal and repurposed neon panels, flickering in colors that no longer had names.


    Magic and technology weren¡¯t just mixed here. They were tangled into a bastardized, chaotic mess.


    At street level, cobbled roads met rusted-out cars that had long since been converted into market stalls, their skeletons covered in tattered silks, neon runes, and old-world relics being sold as magical artifacts. Bridges made from repurposed steel beams and wooden planks stretched between crumbling high-rises, forming an entire second layer of city above the streets, where thieves and rooftop runners skittered like rats in a jungle of broken steel.


    Beneath them, storm drains glowed faintly with runoff from alchemical spills, and the sewers? No one went down there unless they wanted to find out how fast their bones could be picked clean.


    The people of Lost Angeles were just as mismatched as the city. Merchants in patchwork robes and cybernetic limbs peddled their wares to cloaked figures with glowing eyes. Bounty hunters leaned against crumbling brick walls, scanning the crowd for poor bastards with debt they couldn¡¯t pay. Mutants, mages, and mercenaries walked side by side, some armored in gleaming enchanted steel, others wrapped in robes marked with glyphs that pulsed like breathing embers.


    There were street preachers, shouting half-remembered fragments of dead religions and tech manuals like scripture. One of them¡ªan old woman with cybernetic eyes and a rusted mechanical halo screwed into her skull¡ªwas chanting about the Great Algorithm, the Divine Code that once ruled mankind before the Fall.


    Ciel strolled through it all like she owned the place, hands hooked into her belt loops, golden-violet eyes sweeping over the crowds with an easy, knowing smirk.


    Sylva, beside her, moved like a shadow, her feet silent against the pavement, her silver hair catching the neon glow.


    Raze stayed just behind them, shoulders tense, watching every alleyway with the sharp eyes of a man who knew how quickly a city like this could turn on you.


    Gorrug grinned as he walked, massive and unbothered, the crowd parting around him instinctively, some out of fear, others because he simply would not move for them.


    Veyra pulled her flask from her belt and took a swig, sighing as she tucked it away. ¡°You know,¡± she said, stretching. ¡°This might actually be the first time I go into a meeting mostly sober.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a terrible idea,¡± Ciel mused.


    ¡°I know,¡± Veyra sighed. ¡°But I ran out of booze back at the bar, so here we are.¡±


    Miri skipped slightly ahead, her dark robes fluttering like ink in water, her silver eyes glowing faintly. ¡°Does anyone else feel it?¡±


    ¡°Feel what?¡± Raze frowned.


    She turned back, smiling. ¡°The weight of fate pressing in.¡±


    Ciel snorted. ¡°That¡¯s just you being dramatic again.¡±


    ¡°Or,¡± Miri countered, ¡°it¡¯s the fact that Grimm¡¯s men are already watching us.¡±


    They all felt it at the same time¡ªthat prickle on the back of the neck, the shift in the air when you were being watched.


    At first, it was just figures in the shadows, a few too many people loitering on rooftops, the way some merchants seemed to be talking into whisper-stones embedded in their sleeves.


    Then, they saw them.


    Men in dark coats, adorned with Grimm¡¯s sigil¡ªa blackened fang wrapped in gold chains. They didn¡¯t stop the group, just watched from street corners, from doorways, from market stalls.


    Gorrug cracked his knuckles.


    Sylva sighed. ¡°Well, they know we¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°They probably knew before we even left the bar,¡± Raze muttered.


    Ciel grinned, tapping her fingers on her holster, excitement sparking beneath her skin. Anticipation. Chaos. Possibility.


    She loved this part. The moment before the storm hit, before words turned to weapons, before everything fell apart.


    She turned to her crew, eyes bright beneath the neon haze of Lost Angeles.


    ¡°So,¡± she said, smirking. ¡°We walking in with our heads high? Or are we about to make this interesting?¡±


    Sylva¡¯s crimson gaze lingered on her for a beat too long, before she exhaled and rolled her shoulders.


    ¡°Sometimes I don¡¯t know what do with you,¡± she muttered.


    Ciel grinned. ¡°And yet, you still put up with me.¡±


    Raze groaned. ¡°For now.¡±


    They moved forward, weaving through the glowing, rusting, breathing corpse of a city, toward Grimm¡¯s den¡ªwhere, one way or another, the night would end in blood or crippling debt.

 Chapter 3, A Grimm Future

    Ciel stopped mid-stride, boots scuffing against the cracked pavement, and turned to face her crew with a smirk playing at her lips. Her eyes glimmered under the neon haze, her fingers tapping idly against the grip of her revolver.


    ¡°So,¡± she drawled, tilting her head, ¡°are we fighting right off the bat, or what?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Gorrug didn¡¯t even hesitate. His massive tusked grin stretched wide, and his huge hands flexed, itching for violence.


    Raze, standing just beside him, exhaled sharply, his storm-gray eyes sharp and tired all at once.


    ¡°No.¡± He cut a glare toward the orc before turning back to Ciel. ¡°Let me do the talking. Maybe... maybe, we can get out of this without spilling our own guts all over Grimm¡¯s carpet.¡±


    Ciel raised an eyebrow, grin widening. ¡°You really think we can smooth-talk our way out of this?¡±


    Raze sighed, rubbing a scarred hand down his face. ¡°No. But at least pretend to let me try before you start shooting.¡± He let his hand fall and met her gaze with a quiet warning. ¡°That goes for all of you. Be ready to fight your way out, but don¡¯t start the damn fight if we don¡¯t have to.¡±


    The crew exchanged looks, but no one argued.


    And with that, they pressed on toward Grimm¡¯s den.


    Unlike most of Lost Angeles, Grimm¡¯s estate still held some trace of old-world refinement. The building loomed ahead, its blackened steel and reinforced stone walls rising like a fortress, seemingly untouched by the decay that plagued the rest of the city.


    Where the streets were usually cluttered and loud, this area was eerily quiet. No merchants. No loitering drunks. Just Grimm¡¯s men, sharp-dressed enforcers in dark coats marked with the gold-fanged sigil of their boss.


    Torches and salvaged electric lamps lined the entrance, casting a low, golden glow over the cobblestone path that led to a grand set of double doors, made from reinforced wood and iron, polished to a sinister sheen.


    A relic from a better time. A reminder that Grimm was different. He wasn¡¯t some street-level thug scraping by.


    He was the underworld¡¯s king.


    The moment they reached the entrance, two guards stepped forward. Armed. Tense.


    One of them, a lean half-orc with silvered tusks and a wicked scar across his cheek, glanced at them, then tipped his head toward Raze.


    ¡°The boss is waitin¡¯,¡± he said, voice low, knowing.


    No one said anything. No one needed to.


    They were expected.


    The doors groaned open, revealing a lavish interior that belonged in another world entirely.


    Velvet-lined walls, a grand chandelier cobbled together from old-world crystals and arcane-infused bulbs, a long table lined with fine liquor and golden trays of food that smelled far too good for a man who made a living bleeding people dry.


    They were quickly led to his office.


    And there, at the center of it all, seated behind a massive mahogany desk, was Grimm.


    A werewolf in a tailored black suit, his gray fur sleek, his sharp features refined and lethal. His piercing yellow eyes cut through the dim candlelight like knives, sizing them up in a single glance.


    He slowly leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the desk, and smiled just enough to show fangs.


    ¡°You got balls, walkin¡¯ in here like this.¡±


    Ciel grinned back. ¡°Well,¡± she said, golden eyes gleaming, ¡°I like to keep things interesting.¡±


    Grimm leaned back in his mahogany chair, his massive, clawed fingers unclasping and tapping lightly against the polished surface of his desk. His golden eyes gleamed with something between amusement and disappointment, the kind of look a predator gives when its prey doesn¡¯t die fast enough.


    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve seen a lot of failures in my time.¡± His voice was smooth, unhurried, rich with a distinct old-world accent¡ªa relic from a time when men like him controlled the world before it fell apart.


    Ciel slouched into a chair across from him, tossing one leg lazily over the armrest, making herself at home. ¡°Bet they weren¡¯t half as charming as us, though.¡±


    Raze, still standing, shot her a sharp look. ¡°Ciel.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± She smirked, golden-violet eyes gleaming. ¡°I¡¯m just saying. You can¡¯t stay mad at this face.¡±


    Grimm¡¯s lips curled back just slightly, flashing just enough fang to remind them all what he really was.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a joke, sweetheart.¡± He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders before fixing his piercing gaze on Raze instead. ¡°You¡­ you I expected better from.¡±


    Raze¡¯s jaw tightened, but he didn¡¯t break eye contact. ¡°The job went sideways.¡±


    ¡°Oh, did it?¡± Grimm tilted his head, mock surprise dripping from his tone. ¡°See, I figured you just woke up that morning and decided to waste months of my time. That must¡¯ve been it. Because I can¡¯t seem to wrap my head around the fact that a job I hand-picked for your crew, a simple vault job, ended with the contents of said vault gone.¡±


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    Ciel grinned, lifting a hand. ¡°In our defense, it was fucked from the beginning.¡±


    ¡°Ciel.¡± Raze¡¯s tone snapped sharp, but it was already too late.


    Grimm¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. He just turned back to her, slowly, like he was just now deciding how painful he wanted this conversation to be.


    She smiled wider.


    ¡°Explain,¡± Grimm said.


    Sylva sighed, muttering something in sharp elven under her breath.


    Raze rubbed a hand down his face. ¡°We¡ª¡±


    Ciel interrupted. ¡°So, funny thing. The vault had failsafes. And by failsafes, I mean it sort of... self-destructed.¡±


    Grimm went very still.


    Raze hissed through his teeth. ¡°There was a more complicated measure of security than we were warned about.¡±


    Grimm exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. ¡°Let me get this straight.¡± He leaned forward slightly, voice dripping with something dangerously close to amusement. ¡°You broke into the vault, tripped the failsafe, and lost the target? In one simple motion?¡±


    Ciel tapped her chin. ¡°When you say it like that, it makes us sound¡ª¡±


    Raze grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed, just enough to make her shut up.


    Grimm¡¯s clawed fingers tapped rhythmically against his desk again, the slow, steady click-click-click a warning in itself.


    ¡°What you owed me was worth more than your lives,¡± he murmured.


    Miri sighed dreamily from the far end of the room, where she was examining one of Grimm¡¯s expensive gold candelabras like she was already imagining how it¡¯d look in her collection. ¡°Ah, debt so large it becomes existential. What a tragic fate.¡±


    Veyra, leaning against the doorway with a hand on her hip, snorted softly. ¡°We are really good at pissing off powerful people.¡±


    Gorrug grinned, cracking his knuckles. ¡°Then we fight?¡±


    Raze¡¯s fingers twitched toward his blade. Sylva¡¯s hand drifted to the dagger at her hip.


    And then, just as the tension reached its peak, Grimm let out a low, dark chuckle.


    ¡°No.¡±


    They all stilled.


    Grimm leaned forward again, steepling his fingers together. ¡°You¡¯re not getting out of this debt. That much is certain.¡± His golden gaze burned into them, sharp as a knife¡¯s edge. ¡°But there¡¯s something you can do for me.¡±


    Ciel perked up, intrigued. ¡°Ooooh. Are we about to be sent on some deadly suicide mission? I love those.¡± Her voice was somewhere between mocking and legitimate.


    Grimm ignored her. ¡°There¡¯s a place. A ruin. A relic of the old world buried beneath this city. No one¡¯s cracked it open, no one¡¯s come back alive from trying. But inside¡­¡± His gaze flickered, voice dropping into something almost reverent. ¡°Inside is something worth more than all the vaults in Lost Angeles.¡±


    Raze¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°And you want us to steal it?¡±


    Grimm smirked. ¡°No. I want you to wake it up.¡±


    A pause.


    Ciel tilted her head. ¡°Wake what up?¡±


    Grimm leaned back, his feline, golden gaze sharp as ever.


    ¡°A god. A relic. A ghost of the past.¡± His voice was smooth as silk, heavy as iron.


    ¡°The Frozen One.¡±


    Silence.


    None of them spoke. Because none of them had ever heard of that before.


    Grimm leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes gleaming, the weight of his words settling thick and final in the air.


    ¡°Now, I assume you¡¯re all smart enough to realize there ain¡¯t a third option here.¡± He let that hang for a moment, his clawed fingers drumming lazily against the desk. ¡°You take this job. Or you die.¡±


    Gorrug cracked his knuckles with an audible pop, his massive shoulders squaring up as if he were already preparing for a fight. ¡°Now we fight.¡±


    Raze exhaled long and slow, barely turning his head toward the orc. ¡°Shut. Up.¡±


    Ciel grinned, clearly enjoying herself far too much. ¡°I don¡¯t know, old man. It¡¯s kinda fun watching him posture like that.¡±


    Raze gripped her wrist again, tighter this time.


    Grimm¡¯s smirk widened, just slightly. He wasn¡¯t even worried. Not even a little.


    ¡°You think you can take me, orc?¡± He tapped his chest once, casually. ¡°You think you can take all my men?¡± He gestured lazily to the guards that had begun to fill the room, melting in from the shadows like they had always been there.


    They weren¡¯t loud thugs or brutish enforcers, they were silent professionals, the kind that didn¡¯t need to make a show of force because everyone already knew what they were capable of.


    Gorrug¡¯s golden eyes flicked around the room, taking in the sheer number of them, the readiness in their stances.


    Then he grinned. "I like these odds."


    Raze, clearly on the verge of a stroke, hissed under his breath. ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, Gorrug.¡±


    Ciel, who was still lounging in her chair like they weren¡¯t seconds away from a massacre, glanced up at Grimm, tilting her head. ¡°So, hypothetically, what happens if we say no?¡±


    Grimm sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders as if the idea was exhausting. ¡°Well, sweetheart, first I¡¯d have to make an example outta you. You¡¯ve worked real hard to build a reputation, and I can¡¯t have people thinking you can just walk away from your debts.¡± He gestured lazily. ¡°Maybe I take your head and put it on a pike. Maybe I start with one of your crew instead. Tough choices.¡±


    Miri sighed dreamily, kicking her feet idly. ¡°Oh, I love a good public execution.¡±


    Sylva shot her a glare.


    Ciel let out a low whistle, stretching her arms over her head. ¡°Well, when you put it that way¡­¡±


    Raze didn¡¯t let her finish. ¡°We¡¯ll take the job.¡±


    Ciel turned, blinking at him. ¡°Wow. That was fast.¡±


    Raze tightened his jaw. ¡°Because we¡¯re not dying today.¡± He flicked his gaze back to Grimm. ¡°We¡¯ll take the job. But we¡¯re gonna need details.¡±


    Grimm¡¯s sharp, wolfish grin widened. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡±


    Grimm stood, brushing off his pristine black suit, and walked to the window overlooking his domain.


    ¡°You ever hear about what¡¯s beneath this city?¡± he mused, voice dripping with something too smooth to be casual. ¡°Most people don¡¯t think about it. They don¡¯t want to.¡±


    Ciel tilted her head, intrigued. ¡°You talking about the sewers? The tunnels?¡±


    Grimm chuckled. ¡°Those? Those are just scraps of the surface.¡± He turned, his golden eyes catching the candlelight. ¡°I¡¯m talking about the city beneath the city.¡±


    The air in the room shifted, something heavier settling in the conversation.


    Lost Angeles had its secrets, but there were rumors¡ªwhispers of entire districts lost beneath the rubble, buried not just in stone, but in time itself.


    Miri¡¯s black-silver eyes gleamed. ¡°The Sunken Quarter,¡± she murmured.


    Grimm nodded. ¡°Now you¡¯re getting it.¡±


    The Sunken Quarter. A myth, a warning, a legend. Some said it was where the old world truly ended, a place that had been swallowed up when the Collapse came. Others said it was where the powerful went to die, where ruins weren¡¯t just forgotten but erased.


    The few who had gone looking for it never came back.


    Raze crossed his arms, his expression grim. ¡°And you want us to go there?¡±


    Grimm nodded. ¡°Deep below the city, past the wreckage, past the old tunnels no one dares step foot in, there¡¯s a vault that¡¯s still sealed. The only one left.¡± He turned back to them, his presence filling the room.


    ¡°That¡¯s where the Frozen One is.¡±


    Silence.


    Veyra, who had been leaning against the wall looking vaguely bored, let out a slow whistle. ¡°So you¡¯re sending us to our deaths.¡±


    Grimm shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m giving you a chance to clear your debt.¡±


    Sylva¡¯s crimson eyes narrowed. ¡°No one has ever come back from the Sunken Quarter.¡±


    Grimm smirked. ¡°Then I guess you¡¯ll be the first.¡±


    Ciel, grinning wide, leaned forward. ¡°Oh, I like this.¡±


    Raze shot her a glare. ¡°You like everything that¡¯s a terrible idea.¡±


    Ciel winked. ¡°Exactly.¡±

 Chapter 4, Rumors of a City Under the City

    The streets of Lost Angeles were still alive with their usual chaos, but to the crew, it felt like the world had gone strangely quiet.


    They stood just outside Grimm¡¯s domain, beneath the flickering glow of arcane street lamps, the buzz of neon signs barely audible under the weight of what had just happened. The city stretched around them like a living corpse, its twisting alleyways and patchwork buildings a maze of forgotten eras smashed together, layered and rebuilt a hundred times over.


    Even at this late hour, the streets were filled with movement. Merchants still peddled worn-out relics of the old world, hawking fragments of long-dead technology as holy artifacts. Thieves slipped through crowds, disappearing into shadowy archways. And in the distance, from atop a makeshift pedestal of stacked hollowed-out engine blocks, a street preacher howled his gospel to whoever would listen.


    "And lo! The Great One ascended to the heavens, leaving behind his fleet of chariots!" The man¡¯s robes were stitched together from scavenged sports jerseys and torn military fatigues, his face smeared with rust-colored paint. "He promised deliverance! He swore we would one day follow, but our ancestors failed the launch! Their sins weighed them down, and so the rockets never took flight!"


    Ciel sighed, rubbing at her temple. ¡°Oh great, it¡¯s another Elonian Cultist.¡±


    Veyra snorted. ¡°This one¡¯s a bit creative. Last time, they were preaching about the sacred charge ports.¡±


    Raze wasn¡¯t listening. He was standing stiff, his jaw set so tight it looked like it might snap.


    "We are so fucked."


    Ciel finally let out a slow breath, leaning against the wall of a crumbling brick storefront, her usual smirk nowhere to be seen. ¡°Hey, look at it this way.¡± She spread her arms. ¡°We¡¯re not dead.¡±


    Raze turned, his gray eyes hard. ¡°Not yet.¡±


    Ciel frowned slightly, a rare moment where the mask slipped, if only for a second. ¡°Come on, Raze. We were standing in that room waiting to die. And then we walked out. We¡¯re breathing.¡± She tapped her chest lightly. ¡°That counts for something.¡±


    Raze ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. "Does it? Because I don¡¯t see the difference. Grimm sent us on a job that¡¯s never been done. We¡¯re walking into a place that swallows people whole, chasing a legend no one even talks about. We might as well have taken the bullet right then and there.¡±


    Miri, who had been watching the exchange with wide, delighted eyes, giggled. ¡°Ooooh. Dead men walking. I like it.¡±


    Ciel shot her a look. ¡°Not helping.¡±


    Gorrug crossed his arms, his massive frame blocking most of the streetlight. ¡°If we are to die, it shall be in glorious battle!¡±


    Veyra groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. ¡°Not this again.¡±


    But Sylva, who had been silent the entire walk, suddenly spoke.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± she said simply.


    The group turned toward her.


    She stood near the edge of the cracked pavement, her silver hair falling loosely around her bare shoulders, her crimson eyes narrowed in thought. The usual sharp bite to her tone wasn¡¯t there. Instead, there was something colder. Calculating.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have a choice,¡± she continued, voice quiet but cutting through the night like a knife. ¡°Grimm knows it. We know it.¡± She finally looked at Ciel, the glow of the neon signs casting soft shadows over her dark blue skin. ¡°This isn¡¯t a job we can half-ass. We either find this thing¡­ or we don¡¯t come back.¡±


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    Silence.


    Ciel let the weight of those words sink in.


    She knew Sylva was right. They all did.


    It wasn¡¯t like their usual jobs, the ones where they could cut and run if things got too hairy. This was different.


    For once, Ciel had nothing clever to say.


    She pushed off the wall, rolling her shoulders, and let out a slow breath. ¡°Well,¡± she finally muttered. ¡°If we¡¯re doing this, I¡¯m getting a drink first.¡±


    Veyra held up her empty flask and shook it mournfully. ¡°Now that¡¯s the first smart thing you¡¯ve said all night.¡±


    Raze still looked like he wanted to punch a wall, but he didn¡¯t argue.


    They started walking, the sound of the preacher¡¯s wild ramblings fading into the night behind them.


    "The Great One waits among the stars! His return will burn the sky! The launch will come again, and we must be ready! Cast aside your sins! Cast aside your weight! For only the worthy shall rise!"


    Ciel glanced back once, shaking her head.


    ¡°People are weird.¡±


    Ciel shook her head as they walked away, the cultist¡¯s voice still echoing behind them, his rambling sermon climbing toward some unseen climax.


    "The launch will come again! The worthy shall rise! The skies will burn with the light of ascension! Cast off your weight, or be left behind in the filth of the old world!"


    The words faded into the hum of the city as they walked, slipping back into the veins of Lost Angeles like ghosts vanishing into the alleys.


    For the first time that night, they moved in silence.


    Not just quiet¡ªtrue silence. No witty remarks. No teasing banter. Just the heavy weight of reality pressing in on them, each of them processing the mission ahead in their own way.


    The streets of Lost Angeles blurred past, the sputtering neon glow casting strange, elongated shadows on the cracked pavement. The sky overhead was a patchwork of artificial light and perpetual smog, the stars long since drowned out by the mess of salvaged technology and barely-functioning enchantments that held the city together.


    When they finally reached The Rusted Halo, the bar was quieter than usual. Late enough for the crowd to have thinned, early enough for the real drunks to still be conscious.


    They slipped into their usual corner, a battered wooden table near the back, surrounded by scarred walls lined with old-world posters and weapon racks. The bartender, recognizing them, wordlessly slid a bottle of something strong onto the table before walking away.


    Ciel exhaled, rolling her shoulders before grinning and grabbing the bottle.


    ¡°Well,¡± she said, pouring herself a glass, her usual bravado creeping back in, ¡°we¡¯re not dead. Let¡¯s drink to that.¡±


    Veyra grabbed the bottle next, filling her own cup to the brim. ¡°I¡¯ll drink to anything at this point.¡±


    Gorrug, who had been sitting unnervingly still since they entered, finally spoke. ¡°This Sunken Quarter. It is a realm?¡±


    The table turned to Miri, who had been idly tracing sigils in the condensation on her glass, her black-silver eyes swirling with eerie amusement.


    She smiled. ¡°Oh, now you¡¯re interested?¡±


    Sylva leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table, her crimson gaze sharp. ¡°What do you know?¡±


    Miri tilted her head, her dark violet hair slipping over one shoulder, before exhaling dramatically. ¡°The Sunken Quarter is more than just some old ruin. Some people say it¡¯s not even part of this world anymore.¡±


    Raze frowned, crossing his arms. ¡°Meaning?¡±


    Miri tapped a slender black-painted nail against her glass. ¡°Meaning,¡± she said slowly, ¡°there are rumors¡ªold ones. Whispers that the Quarter isn¡¯t just buried under the city, it¡¯s... detached. Like a piece of reality that got cut loose and left to rot.¡±


    Ciel raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s fun and all, but you¡¯re talking about it like it¡¯s some pocket dimension shit.¡±


    Miri¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Exactly.¡±


    That got their attention.


    Raze¡¯s expression darkened, his mind already racing through implications. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know,¡± Miri said brightly. ¡°But neither does the fact that it supposedly has its own sky.¡±


    Silence.


    Ciel blinked, her grin faltering. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    Miri swirled her drink lazily. ¡°That¡¯s what the stories say. A city lost beneath a city, where the sky still exists. No one knows why. No one knows how. And everyone who tries to find out? Never comes back.¡±


    Veyra let out a slow breath, staring at her drink. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s fucked.¡±


    Sylva had gone rigid, her brows furrowing. ¡°So if that¡¯s even remotely true... why the hell is Grimm sending us down there?¡±


    They all looked at each other, the weight of the question settling like a lead weight in the air. To die.


    And then Ciel, sitting back in her chair, exhaled and muttered the one thought they all had but didn¡¯t want to say aloud.


    ¡°What the fuck is down there?¡±

 Chapter 5, A Crew Forged From Chaos

    The Rusted Halo had gone quiet around them, the late-night hum of Lost Angeles leaking through the cracked windows in waves of distant sirens, the occasional burst of drunken laughter, and the ever-present hum of arcane streetlamps. The tavern¡¯s warmth was deceptive, a dim glow from hanging lanterns, the scent of old wood and spiced liquor, a brief illusion of safety in a city that never truly slept.


    Ciel let her fingers wrap around her glass, her golden-violet eyes scanning the crew around her, watching them as the silence settled like a thick fog.


    She had spent years with these people.


    Years of fights, of late-night drinking, of running from jobs gone wrong, of victories too stupid to be real. They were hers¡ªnot by blood, not by loyalty to some grand cause, but by the weight of shared chaos.


    And now they were walking into something none of them understood.


    She exhaled slowly, leaning back in her chair, her gaze drifting over them one by one.


    Raze "Ironfang" Darric. He sat with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his storm-gray eyes locked on the table as if he could force the world into making sense if he just stared hard enough.


    The dim candlelight flickered over the sharp planes of his face, casting shadows across the rugged lines of old battle scars. His salt-and-pepper hair was just as unkempt as always, a little more disheveled than usual, as if tonight had finally worn through his last layer of patience.


    His heavy military coat looked like it belonged to a different era¡ªreinforced plating stitched into the fabric, old-world insignias long since faded. The sleeveless combat vest beneath it was stained, torn, held together by sheer willpower and leather straps.


    The massive greatsword strapped to his back was older than most of them, its blade chipped, worn, and yet still deadly as ever. A relic from a past he rarely talked about.


    He took a slow drag from a cheap cigar, exhaling like a man carrying a weight too heavy for one set of shoulders.


    ¡°This is the worst idea we¡¯ve ever agreed to,¡± he muttered, voice low, rough from years of smoke and battle.


    Gorrug "The Wall" Bloodgrin. Gorrug was too large for the chair he sat in, his massive form draped across it like he was trying to make the furniture regret its existence.


    The golden hue of his eyes burned in the low light, excitement barely contained beneath thick, scarred skin. His moss-green muscles flexed absently, as if his body was restless, waiting for the moment someone gave him an excuse to fight.


    His thick black dreadlocks were pulled back lazily, tied with leather cords that looked like they had been ripped from some poor bastard¡¯s armor. One massive tusk curved slightly higher than the other, a reminder of an old battle he had never bothered to fix.


    His war-skirt of layered metal plates clinked softly as he adjusted his seating, the massive warhammer resting against the wall beside him looking like it could split a building in half.


    And yet, his fingers absently traced the beaded bracelets on his wrist, tiny pieces of color standing in contrast to the brutality of his frame.


    When he finally spoke, it was a deep, rumbling chuckle. ¡°I see no issue,¡± he said simply. ¡°We go. We fight. We survive.¡±


    Sylva scoffed. ¡°You always say that.¡±


    Sylva "Ash" Val¡¯Tarin. Sylva was unbothered by the weight of the moment, her bare feet tucked beneath her, perched lightly on the seat of her chair like she had been there all along, part of the shadows.


    Her dusky midnight-blue skin drank in the low light, the flickering glow of the candles catching on the intricate silver tattoos running down her arms. The arcane lines pulsed faintly, as if reacting to something unseen.


    Her long, silken silver hair cascaded down her back, strands braided with small obsidian rings that caught the dim glow of the bar. The faintest glow from her crimson eyes cut through the candlelight as she watched Ciel, expression unreadable.


    Her outfit¡ªlittle more than a series of enchanted leather straps that somehow passed as armor¡ªremained effortless, untouched by the dust and grime of the city. She was always like that, perfectly poised, like she could slip into the night at any moment and vanish.


    Finally, she spoke again, her voice smooth as a blade being drawn from its sheath. ¡°The only thing worse than a death sentence,¡± she murmured, ¡°is a death sentence wrapped in mystery.¡±


    Ciel arched a brow. ¡°Oh? You worried?¡±


    Sylva¡¯s lips curled slightly at the edge. ¡°No.¡± A pause. Then: ¡°But you should be.¡±


    Veyra "Deadeye" Thornwood. Veyra, an Half-elven woman, leaned back, tipping her chair dangerously, boots kicked up on the table like she was waiting for someone to challenge her about it.


    Her dark auburn hair was a mess, half-tied, mostly forgotten, strands falling over her freckled, sun-worn skin. Her emerald-green eyes were sharp, even if her body screamed exhaustion.


    A flask dangled from her fingers, half-empty, the dull metal etched with old runes that had lost meaning long ago.


    Her sniper rifle rested against her chair, a long, sleek thing carved with deep grooves and runic etchings, something that had been customized and rebuilt more times than she could count.


    She took another long drink, then sighed. ¡°We¡¯re gonna die down there,¡± she said flatly. ¡°At least let me get one last fuck in before we go.¡±


    Sylva rolled her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re disgusting.¡±


    Veyra winked. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Miri "Hex" Nightshade. Miri had been watching them all, her black-and-silver eyes swirling with something unreadable, her fingers drumming against the dark fabric of her layered robes.


    The dim candlelight flickered against her ghostly pale skin, casting strange shadows across the chains wrapped around her arms, glinting against the silver earrings shaped like tiny skulls.


    Her dark violet hair framed her face, her lips curled in a smile that was either amusement or something far more unsettling.


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    Ciel caught her staring. ¡°Miri,¡± she said slowly, ¡°why do you look like you know something we don¡¯t?¡±


    Miri tilted her head, almost innocently.


    ¡°Oh, nothing.¡± She exhaled, her breath faintly tinted with something unnatural, and her fingers traced the glowing sigils around her collarbone. ¡°It¡¯s just that... well...¡± She leaned forward slightly, her silver eyes locking onto Ciel¡¯s.


    ¡°The Sunken Quarter eats people,¡± she said lightly. ¡°I¡¯m just wondering how long we¡¯ll last.¡±


    Silence.


    Then, Gorrug laughed. Hard.


    Veyra groaned. ¡°This is the worst night of my life.¡±


    Ciel just sighed, rubbing her temple. ¡°Alright. Everyone shut up and drink.¡±


    And for the moment, they did.


    Because after this, there would be no more quiet nights.


    Eventually, the Rusted Halo had emptied out. Considerably, by the time the conversation wound down, the weight of their impending doom settling somewhere beneath the haze of alcohol and exhaustion.


    Raze had left first, muttering something about wanting one last night in a real bed before Grimm¡¯s suicide mission turned him into a corpse. Gorrug had followed soon after, grumbling about sharpening his weapons and meditating over the thrill of upcoming battle.


    Veyra had been the last to leave¡ªwell, technically, she hadn¡¯t left alone. She had slung an arm around two men¡ªmaybe mercs, maybe thieves, maybe just unlucky bastards caught in her gravitational pull¡ª and had winked over her shoulder before sauntering off, already halfway to her night¡¯s entertainment.


    Which left Ciel, Sylva, and Miri behind.


    The three of them were seated at the bar, the dim lighting casting flickering shadows over the wood grain, the last remnants of dying candles making everything seem softer, more unreal.


    Miri, perched on a stool with her dark robes draped elegantly around her, was idly swirling her drink, watching the two of them with her usual sharp-eyed amusement.


    Ciel, on the other hand, was very much not playing it cool.


    She was leaning¡ªtoo much, in fact, her elbow propped against the counter as she twirled a bullet between her fingers, grinning entirely too wide at Sylva.


    ¡°So,¡± Ciel drawled, her golden-violet eyes half-lidded, her wild chestnut hair spilling over one shoulder in loose waves, streaks of sun-bleached blonde catching in the candlelight. ¡°You ever think about how this might be our last night alive?¡±


    Sylva arched a perfectly sculpted dark brow, her crimson gaze flicking to Ciel like she was looking at a particularly dumb puzzle.


    ¡°No,¡± she said flatly. ¡°Because I don¡¯t plan on dying.¡±


    Ciel clicked her tongue, flicking the bullet into the air and catching it again, her fingerless gloves creasing as she moved.


    ¡°You sure? ¡®Cause I hear the Sunken Quarter eats people.¡± She leaned closer, letting her tattered leather jacket slip slightly off one shoulder, exposing the edge of an old scar curving along her collarbone.


    Sylva didn¡¯t blink. ¡°Then don¡¯t get eaten.¡±


    Miri, still swirling her drink, suppressed a giggle behind her cup.


    Ciel huffed, tilting her head. ¡°You¡¯re really no fun when you¡¯re sober.¡±


    Sylva, in the same measured, elegant way she did everything, reached out and took Ciel¡¯s glass straight from her hand, lifting it to her own lips.


    Ciel watched, eyes following the movement, suddenly not at all focused on the conversation anymore as Sylva took a slow sip.


    She set the glass down without breaking eye contact, exhaling softly.


    ¡°Better?¡± Sylva murmured.


    Ciel stared for half a second too long, then shook her head, grinning again like she hadn¡¯t just lost control of the moment.


    ¡°Oh, so that¡¯s how we¡¯re playing tonight?¡±


    Sylva smirked, just the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips.


    Miri sighed loudly, resting her chin in her hands. ¡°This is exhausting.¡±


    Ciel dragged her eyes away from Sylva long enough to shoot her a mock-offended look. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    Miri rolled her black-and-silver eyes, the tiny skull earrings dangling with the movement. ¡°You two act like this is new.¡± She took another slow sip. ¡°But we¡¯ve been watching this slow-burn disaster for years now.¡±


    Sylva scoffed. ¡°It¡¯s not a slow burn if there¡¯s nothing burning.¡±


    Miri smirked. ¡°Oh, sweetheart, the whole building¡¯s on fire.¡±


    Ciel let out a sharp laugh, tossing an arm casually over Sylva¡¯s chair.


    ¡°See? She gets it.¡±


    Sylva didn¡¯t push her away. She didn¡¯t move at all, actually, just let the weight of Ciel¡¯s heat settle against her.


    For a moment, the bar was quiet, the flickering light catching on the silver glow of Sylva¡¯s tattoos, the metallic glint of Ciel¡¯s bullet casing earrings, the way their shadows blended together against the old wooden counter.


    Miri sighed again, dramatically.


    ¡°Well,¡± she murmured, stretching, ¡°if you two are going to keep circling each other, I need another drink. And probably should head to bed.¡±


    Ciel¡¯s smirk widened as Sylva finally tilted her head just slightly toward her, crimson eyes glimmering like embers.


    ¡°Who says we¡¯re circling?¡± Ciel muttered.


    Sylva just hummed, the sound low and unimpressed.


    Miri grabbed the bottle from the counter with deliberate ease, her black-silver eyes twinkling with something unreadable as she slid off her stool. The candlelight caught the shimmering runes along her collarbone, pulsing faintly with some unnamed magic, her dark robes whispering against the wooden floor.


    She stretched her arms above her head, sighing dramatically before flashing them both a playful smirk.


    ¡°Honestly though, I¡¯ll see you both bright and early for our journey of death, destruction, and¡ªhopefully¡ªsome kind of poetic tragedy.¡± She took a lazy step toward the door, her bare feet soundless against the old wooden planks, her long robes barely brushing the floor.


    Then, over her shoulder, she tossed one last parting remark, voice light as air but weighted all the same.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t kill each other while I¡¯m gone.¡±


    She chuckled, a quiet, knowing sound, and then she was gone, slipping into the night like a shadow folding into itself.


    And just like that, Ciel and Sylva were alone.


    The silence stretched between them, longer than usual, heavier than usual.


    Ciel still had her arm slung lazily over the back of Sylva¡¯s chair, fingers idly tapping the worn wood. Her golden-violet gaze flicked to Sylva¡¯s profile, drinking in the way the candlelight caught on the smooth curves of her midnight-blue skin, how the glow traced along the silver tattoos coiling over her arms like old magic refusing to fade.


    Sylva hadn¡¯t moved. Hadn¡¯t pulled away.


    For a moment, just one single fragile moment, there was something else in the air, something between them, something unspoken but tangible.


    Ciel didn¡¯t look away.


    ¡°Syl,¡± she murmured, her voice lower now, softer.


    Sylva finally turned her head, just slightly, just enough, her crimson eyes flicking up to meet Ciel¡¯s.


    She didn¡¯t say anything, but she didn¡¯t need to.


    Because for once, she didn¡¯t look annoyed. She didn¡¯t look like she was about to throw out some sharp, cutting remark just to push Ciel away.


    She just¡­ looked at her.


    Ciel felt her chest tighten, her usual smirk faltering just slightly, just enough that Sylva would notice.


    And maybe, hopefully, Sylva was about to finally give in, finally stop pretending this wasn¡¯t something real.


    But then¡ª


    Sylva sighed.


    She pulled back, just enough to break whatever had been there, and downed the rest of her glass in one fluid motion.


    ¡°I should rest,¡± she murmured, setting the glass back onto the counter with a quiet clink.


    Ciel forced a grin, though it felt thinner this time. ¡°You getting soft on me?¡±


    Sylva slid gracefully from her seat, her own bare feet silent against the floor, her silver hair cascading over one shoulder as she turned away.


    ¡°Hardly,¡± she said. Then, without another word, she left.


    Ciel didn¡¯t move.


    Didn¡¯t speak.


    She just sat there, alone at the bar, the weight of everything settling over her like a vice.


    The mission. The job. The reason they were even in this mess in the first place.


    Her fault.


    She had fucked up.


    Sure, she had joked, blamed Gorrug, let the conversation spiral into their usual reckless chaos. But she knew.


    She knew.


    It was on her.


    She had gotten them caught, had tripped the failsafe, had put them all on this path toward certain death.


    She reached for the bottle, barely thinking, and poured herself another glass.


    The burn of alcohol hit her throat as she downed it in one go.


    She exhaled slowly, setting the empty cup down, her fingers resting loosely around it.


    Outside, Lost Angeles hummed and buzzed, the city as restless as ever, but inside, the bar was still.


    She didn¡¯t know when her eyes slipped shut, didn¡¯t notice when her head tilted forward slightly, her fingers loosening around the glass.


    And then, without thinking, without trying, without resisting, she slumped forward slightly, resting her forearm against the counter, her head following soon after.


    The exhaustion pulled her under fast, the flickering candlelight blurring at the edges of her vision as she let her eyes slide shut.


    She would get up soon.


    Just a few minutes.


    Just until morning.

 Chapter 6, Skrimp!

    Ciel felt the slap to the back of her head and shot up so fast she nearly knocked over her empty glass.


    She stretched her arms over her head, cracking her back, and mumbled, ¡°Alright, alright, but if I take my clothes off, you gotta do it too.¡± she grumbled, still half-asleep, blinking blearily as the world blurred and swam around her. Her brain was lagging behind, trying to process where she was, who hit her, and why the hell her face felt like it had been pressed against the bar counter for way too long.


    Silence.


    Then, Miri blinked at her. Then blinked again. Then slowly grinned, eyes alight with amusement.


    ¡°Oh, darling,¡± Miri sighed dramatically, pressing a delicate, cold palm to her chest, the silver chains wrapped around her wrists jingling softly. ¡°I¡¯ve never been into girls, but,¡± she gestured vaguely, ¡°since we¡¯re probably going to die soon, I suppose I can give it a try.¡±


    Ciel blinked hard.


    Miri¡¯s silver-and-black eyes twinkled with mischief, her lips curling into that sweet, unsettling smirk of hers.


    For a second, Ciel¡¯s tired brain tried to process that response.


    Then she shook herself awake, groaning, rubbing at her face with both hands before pushing herself off the stool, pointedly ignoring the witch.


    ¡°Nope,¡± she muttered, grabbing her revolvers from the counter and strapping them to her belt. ¡°Not dealing with that.¡± She had slept with them in her hands, as a warning to anyone getting too close.


    Miri just giggled, swinging her feet idly beneath her chair.


    Morning had come.


    And now, it was time to¡­ what?


    How the hell were they even supposed to start this?


    Ciel yawned, scratching at the back of her messy chestnut hair, the sun-bleached strands sticking out in places from where she had slept against the bar.


    The thought sat heavy in her mind as she turned toward the entrance.


    This wasn¡¯t like their usual jobs. They weren¡¯t breaking into a vault, tracking a bounty, or doing something that had clear steps.


    This was¡­ completely uncharted territory.


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    Did they need maps? Contacts? Someone who knew anything about the Sunken Quarter? Because all they had so far was Grimm¡¯s word that it existed and that something ancient was waiting for them.


    And that didn¡¯t exactly make for a good starting point.


    Before she could overthink it too much, the bar doors swung open.


    Raze and Gorrug stepped inside, looking like they¡¯d already been up for hours.


    Raze had a fresh cigar between his teeth, his grizzled face set in its usual mix of irritation and exhaustion. His military coat hung loosely off his broad frame, the plating catching the dim morning light filtering in from outside.


    Gorrug looked¡­ pleased. Too pleased. Like he had spent the last few hours doing something violent, or at least imagining it vividly.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Raze said gruffly, exhaling a cloud of smoke as his storm-gray eyes flicked around the room. ¡°Where¡¯s Sylva and Veyra?¡±


    Ciel shrugged, rolling her shoulders.


    ¡°Dunno,¡± she muttered. But that was probably about to become a problem.


    Ciel barely had time to process Raze¡¯s question about Sylva before Gorrug barreled toward her, his massive frame shaking the floorboards of the bar with every step.


    ¡°Ciel!¡± His deep, booming voice echoed with excitement, something that was rarely a good thing. ¡°Come! I must show you something!¡±


    Ciel blinked, still half-asleep, her brain lagging behind reality. ¡°Uh¡­ can it wait? Maybe until I¡¯ve had¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Gorrug cut her off, grinning wide, his massive tusks gleaming in the morning light. ¡°It is important!¡±


    That was Red Flag Number One.


    Then he grumbled under his breath, gesturing vaguely toward the bar. ¡°And this stupid place does not allow animals inside.¡±


    That was Red Flag Number Two.


    Ciel should have caught it.


    She really, really should have.


    But she was tired, and Gorrug was already marching toward the door, clearly expecting her to follow without question.


    So, against all better judgment, she followed.


    The moment they stepped outside, she paused.


    Because tied to a rickety wooden pole, secured with a thick rope knotted in a way that suggested the thing had already tried to escape once, was¡­


    Something.


    Ciel stared.


    It was about the size of a large cat, but wrong in every possible way.


    It had the round, stocky body of a pig, but its short fur was patchy, transitioning into thicker tufts of wiry fluff along its back, resembling a malformed mane.


    Its face was vaguely feline, but the snout was too flat, too broad, like someone had tried to smash a cat and a boar together into one unholy abomination. Its ears were huge and tufted, twitching at every sound, too sensitive for its own good.


    And then¡ªthe wings.


    Or at least, what could be generously called wings.


    Small, feathered appendages jutted from its back, utterly useless for flying but twitching every time it made a choking, warbling cooing sound, somewhere between a bird¡¯s trill and a piglet¡¯s snort.


    Its eyes were unsettlingly large, too glossy, too reflective, blinking slowly and out of sync, as if it were only halfway awake.


    The thing wheezed.


    Then it let out a sound that was somewhere between a squeal and a screech, flapping it¡¯s sad, useless wings, its stubby legs kicking up dust as it struggled against the rope.


    Gorrug beamed. ¡°His name is Skrimp!¡±


    Ciel slowly, painfully slowly, turned her head to look at him.


    The orc was grinning proudly, his massive arms crossed, clearly waiting for praise.


    Ciel, still staring, voice flat as the cracked pavement beneath them, finally spoke.


    ¡°And the team thinks I make bad choices.¡±

 Chapter 7, A Terrible Plan, Probably the Worst Ever

    Ciel did not take her golden-violet eyes off the horrific, wiggling, pig-cat-bird abomination tied to the pole, but she did slowly raise a hand and gesture toward it vaguely.


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± she started, still trying to process the creature¡¯s many, many unsettling features. ¡°What is it?¡±


    Gorrug, clearly pleased with himself, stepped forward and crouched beside the beast, giving it a firm, loving pat on the head. The thing snorted, its ears twitching wildly, its stubby legs shuffling in place like it couldn¡¯t decide whether it wanted to be afraid or attack.


    ¡°This,¡± Gorrug declared proudly, ¡°is Skrimp!¡±


    ¡°That is a name,¡± Ciel said, rubbing her temples. ¡°That is definitely a name. But what is it?¡±


    ¡°A companion,¡± Gorrug explained, grinning. ¡°For the journey! They are very strong. Good eaters. Fearsome when fully grown.¡±


    Ciel blinked. ¡°Good, uh, eaters?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°...That means?¡±


    Gorrug shrugged, as if it were obvious. ¡°They eat anything.¡±


    As if on cue, Skrimp let out a low, vibrating growl and latched onto the rope tying him to the pole, gnawing aggressively. The sound was deep and wet, teeth scraping against the fibers, and the rope visibly frayed within seconds.


    Ciel took a slow step back. ¡°That¡¯s a war beast, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Gorrug nodded eagerly. ¡°Yes! When fully grown, they were once used in orcish battles, sent to tear through enemy lines!¡± He gestured proudly. ¡°Look at the little warrior! Already strong.¡±


    Skrimp, clearly done with being restrained, ripped the remaining rope free with a last, savage bite and immediately flopped onto its side, snorting happily.


    Ciel stared.


    Gorrug sighed. ¡°He is still small.¡±


    Before she could even begin to argue about why the hell he thought bringing a half-grown murder beast was a good idea, the door behind them creaked open.


    ¡°Oh my gods, what is that?!¡±


    Miri materialized out of the bar, her black-and-silver eyes widening with sheer delight as she practically skipped forward, her bare feet silent against the cracked pavement. She dropped into a crouch in front of Skrimp, cooing softly as she reached out a delicate hand toward it.


    Skrimp sniffed at her fingers, then let out a horrible, rattling chitter, its feathered little wings flapping aggressively.


    Miri clapped her hands. ¡°It¡¯s disgusting! I love him.¡±


    Ciel groaned, running both hands down her face.


    The door creaked again, and this time, it was Raze, stepping out and immediately freezing at the sight before him.


    He took one long, slow drag from his cigar, staring at Skrimp, at Gorrug, then at Ciel.


    Finally, he exhaled, the smoke drifting lazily into the morning air.


    ¡°I see we¡¯re making responsible choices today.¡±


    Ciel gestured to the war beast pig-cat-bird. ¡°Yeah. Apparently, we needed this.¡±


    Raze didn¡¯t argue. He just stared at Skrimp, then back at Gorrug, then back at Skrimp, then took another drag, accepting that this was just reality now.


    Skrimp, for his part, sat there staring blankly into the void, his large, glossy eyes reflecting everything and nothing.


    Before Ciel could fully process her feelings about their new travel companion, the sharp click of boots against the pavement drew her attention toward the approaching figures.


    Sylva.


    And behind her, Veyra, looking as if she had only just rolled out of someone¡¯s bed, her cloak thrown lazily over her shoulders, her auburn hair a mess, the scent of alcohol still clinging to her like perfume.


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    Sylva, however, looked sharp, awake, and unimpressed.


    Her crimson gaze flicked from the crew to Skrimp, her silver braid swinging over one shoulder as she came to a slow stop.


    A long, heavy pause.


    Then, finally, she sighed.


    ¡°I was gone for seven hours.¡±


    She looked at Ciel. ¡°And you let this happen?¡±


    Ciel opened her mouth. Closed it. Then just threw up her hands.


    ¡°This one wasn¡¯t me.¡±


    <hr>


    Grimm stared at the people standing before him, and for the first time in a long time, he found himself genuinely baffled.


    Why wasn¡¯t he killing them?


    He should.


    By all reasonable logic, they had ruined far more than they were worth¡ªten times over. They had burned away a job that took months of careful planning, destroyed an artifact so valuable it defied estimation, and had the audacity to stand here alive, breathing, and somehow still getting in his way.


    And now?


    Now they stood here, a ragged, chaotic mess of a crew, waiting for him to hand them a death sentence disguised as an opportunity.


    Maybe that¡¯s why he wasn¡¯t killing them.


    Maybe¡­ this was fun.


    Because they weren¡¯t smart enough to run.


    Grimm exhaled slowly, the faint glow of the candlelit room catching on the sharp angles of his face, his golden eyes narrowing as he took them in, one by one.


    Then, his gaze finally settled on the orc.


    And the thing he was holding.


    Grimm¡¯s expression did not change, but something in his posture stiffened just slightly.


    ¡°What,¡± he said slowly, ¡°the fuck is that?¡±


    Gorrug, looking pleased as ever, lifted the horrible pig-cat-bird creature as if presenting a gift to a warlord.


    ¡°This,¡± he declared proudly, ¡°is Skrimp.¡±


    Skrimp, in return, let out a noise that should not have existed in this world. It was part screech, part snort, part gurgle, as if a dying bird was trying to impersonate a warthog.


    It also violently wriggled in Gorrug¡¯s grip, tiny useless wings flapping, attempting to escape whatever fate had befallen it.


    Grimm just¡­ stared.


    A long, dead stare.


    Then he closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and pinched the bridge of his nose.


    ¡°You know what?¡± he muttered. ¡°I don¡¯t even care. I don¡¯t even want to know.¡± He gestured vaguely toward the horrifying, struggling creature. ¡°If that thing turns out to be some ancient world-ending entity, just¡­ don¡¯t bring it back here.¡±


    Ciel, half-smirking, rocked back on her heels. ¡°No promises.¡±


    Grimm opened his eyes, slowly, fixing her with a flat, unreadable look.


    Then he sighed and leaned back against his desk, finally getting to the point.


    "The Sunken Quarter.¡± His voice was low, steady, weighted with something just shy of a warning. ¡°No one knows exactly where it starts. It¡¯s not a place you just¡­ walk into. It doesn¡¯t exist on a map. No one comes back. No one knows how deep it really goes.¡±


    He paused, scanning their faces.


    Then he smiled. Sharp. Amused. Like a wolf deciding how long to play with its food.


    ¡°But there is one way down. If you¡¯re stupid enough to take it.¡±


    Silence.


    Then, Raze, arms crossed, grunted. ¡°Figures.¡±


    Grimm continued, his voice calm, measured, like he was describing a funeral march.


    ¡°You¡¯ve heard of the sewers, obviously. People think they¡¯re just the city¡¯s underbelly, where the filth collects, where the dead get thrown, where old magic twists into things best left alone.¡±


    He let that linger.


    Then, leaning forward slightly, he murmured, ¡°They¡¯re wrong.¡±


    Miri, looking entirely too excited, tilted her head. ¡°Oh? What are they really?¡±


    Grimm¡¯s golden eyes gleamed.


    ¡°The first defense.¡±


    Silence.


    The air in the room shifted, something heavy settling between them.


    Ciel¡¯s brows furrowed slightly. ¡°A defense against what?¡±


    Grimm smirked. ¡°The first layers of the city.¡±


    He straightened, pushing off the desk, stepping toward them with slow, measured steps.


    ¡°Think of it like this. The Lost Angeles you know? It¡¯s built on ruins, like every city after the Collapse. But below us? There¡¯s another city. And beneath that? Another. And another.¡±


    He let them process that.


    Ciel¡¯s smirk faltered.


    Sylva¡¯s crimson gaze darkened.


    Miri murmured something in an old tongue, her silver eyes narrowing in quiet fascination.


    Grimm continued, circling them slowly.


    ¡°The deeper you go, the less real the rules become. History doesn¡¯t just rot down there. It festers. Grows into something else.¡±


    Veyra scoffed. ¡°Sounds like bullshit.¡±


    Grimm chuckled. ¡°Then don¡¯t go.¡±


    Veyra fell silent.


    Grimm came to a stop again, turning back to Ciel, gaze sharp.


    ¡°The sewers aren¡¯t there because of old magic. They aren¡¯t there because it¡¯s where the bodies are dumped. It¡¯s a living barrier. A defense meant to keep people out.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Which means, if you want to get to the Sunken Quarter, you have to get past it.¡±


    Raze exhaled sharply through his nose. ¡°And beyond that?¡±


    Grimm¡¯s smile turned cold.


    ¡°Beyond that?¡± He spread his hands. ¡°You¡¯re on your own.¡±


    Silence stretched, long and thin.


    Then Ciel sighed, tilting her head. ¡°Sounds like a terrible fucking plan.¡±


    Grimm chuckled. ¡°It is.¡±


    There was nothing more to say.


    They knew what they had to do.


    Grimm watched as they turned, heading for the door, already preparing for their descent into madness.


    Miri, naturally, was grinning. Gorrug had Skrimp hoisted under one arm like a wriggling sack of death. Raze looked like he was reconsidering his entire life.


    And Ciel?


    For the first time since stepping into his office, her usual smirk had faded slightly.


    Good.


    Grimm watched them leave, exhaling slowly, and for a brief moment, he actually regretted this.


    Not because he cared about them.


    But because¡­ this was cruel.


    They were going to die down there.


    Horribly. Painfully. Torn apart by things that weren¡¯t meant to be seen, let alone survived.


    Maybe¡­ maybe he should have just killed them here.


    Spared them the misery.


    He tapped a clawed finger against the desk, debating it, just for a moment.


    Then, finally, he smirked.


    ¡°Nah.¡±

 Chapter 8, Be Cute, Be Pure, Be Cleansed

    The streets of Lost Angeles were still waking up as the crew moved, the neon glow of the city flickering between the cracks of broken skylines. Steam hissed from rusted pipes, distant voices murmured in half-forgotten dialects, and the smell of fried rat skewers and arcane incense mingled in the air.


    Ciel and Raze walked at the front, leading the way toward the oldest subway station still intact. It had long since been abandoned, repurposed into something far stranger¡ªbecause, of course, it was built beneath the Church of the Blessed Pink Saint.


    Or as most people in the city knew it: The Church of Holy Meow.


    Ciel sighed loudly as they approached the massive, pastel-covered structure, its cracked pillars adorned with murals of a smiling, featureless feline face, its soulless black eyes gazing into the abyss like some kind of eldritch deity disguised as something adorable.


    The double doors were shaped like a giant cartoon head, its whiskers made of rusted pipes, and right above the entrance, a faded neon sign flickered¡ªthe words barely holding together:


    "BE CUTE. BE PURE. BE CLEANSED."


    Raze stopped next to her, exhaling through his nose. ¡°Every time I see this place, I want to set it on fire.¡±


    ¡°Same.¡± Ciel stared at the massive, unsettlingly friendly cat statue at the front of the entrance, which stood at least three stories tall, its paws outstretched as if waiting to embrace her. ¡°I don¡¯t know how it happened, but somehow, this is worse than the Electric Pope.¡±


    Sylva, adjusting the strap of her rations pack, sighed as she walked up behind them, her crimson eyes narrowed at the bizarre religious monument before them. ¡°So let me get this straight. People actually believe this thing is a saint?¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± Veyra drawled, leaning lazily against a cracked pillar, chewing on the edge of a ration bar. ¡°They think she was a child prophet who never spoke, only smiled. And when the world fell, she didn¡¯t cry, she just¡­¡±


    Veyra gestured vaguely at the horrifying, soulless cat face staring down at them.


    Sylva pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°That¡¯s a death cult.¡±


    Ciel clapped her hands together. ¡°Yup! And today, we¡¯re using it to get into the sewers!¡±


    Miri, absolutely delighted, spun in place, arms outstretched toward the pink and white horror of a building. ¡°I love the aesthetic! It¡¯s so¡­ unsettlingly pure. Like the mask of a killer who doesn¡¯t know she¡¯s killing.¡±


    Sylva stared at her. ¡°That is not a normal reaction.¡±


    Miri smiled. ¡°That¡¯s what makes it fun.¡±


    Ciel waved them forward, leading the way toward the church entrance. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get moving before we get stopped by one of the priests.¡±


    As they walked, Sylva finally brought up the other disaster of the day.


    ¡°By the way, I did an inventory check before we left.¡± She adjusted her satchel, the faintest glow of enchanted storage runes visible along the leather. ¡°We have exactly two weeks¡¯ worth of rations.¡±


    Ciel¡¯s steps slowed. ¡°¡­That¡¯s it?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°We spent every coin we had on two weeks of rations?¡±


    Sylva exhaled. ¡°More like we spent every coin we had on rations and literally nothing else.¡±


    Gorrug grunted, hauling Skrimp under one arm as the creature squirmed. ¡°At least we are well-fed.¡±


    Sylva shot him a deadpan look. ¡°That¡¯s not well-fed, that¡¯s barely surviving.¡±


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    Raze let out a slow breath, rubbing at his temples like this conversation was physically painful.


    ¡°So let me get this straight,¡± he muttered. ¡°We¡¯re dead broke. We didn¡¯t upgrade our gear. We didn¡¯t buy more ammunition. We didn¡¯t level up, we didn¡¯t do anything except buy enough food to delay our deaths by two weeks.¡±


    Sylva, stone-faced, nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    Raze took out his cigar, stared at it like he was debating lighting it, then just sighed.


    ¡°This is the dumbest mission I¡¯ve ever been on.¡±


    Ciel clapped him on the shoulder. ¡°Well, at least know what¡¯s waiting for us. Death.¡±


    Raze let out a low, exasperated groan.


    Veyra snorted. ¡°I mean, at least if things go south, we can just start eating Skrimp.¡±


    Gorrug hissed so violently it was borderline demonic.


    Skrimp, as if understanding, let out a horrible wheeze-screech and snapped his teeth at Veyra¡¯s ankles.


    Ciel rolled her eyes as they finally approached the hidden access point near the back of the church, a rusted metal grate leading into the forgotten subway tunnels, which would, in turn, lead them straight into the sewers.


    She reached up, gripping the iron bars, and took a deep breath.


    They were officially at the point of no return.


    If the sewers were really some kind of living defense, if the Sunken Quarter was as cursed as everyone said¡­


    Then in two weeks, they¡¯d either be dead or they¡¯d be legends.


    As they continued deeper, the subway station beneath the Church of Holy Meow was¡­ exactly as cursed as Ciel had expected.


    The flickering remnants of old-world advertisements were still plastered along the tiled walls, their once bright colors now washed out, cracked, and barely legible under layers of grime. Every so often, a glitching screen would come to life, its visuals skipping and looping, flashing out half-corrupted messages:


    ¡°BE PURE. BE CLEAN. BE CUTE.¡±


    ¡°DO NOT STRAY FROM THE PATH. THE BLESSED PINK ONE IS WATCHING.¡±


    One screen glitched particularly violently, the text breaking into nonsense symbols before resolving into a crude drawing of the soulless feline saint, its unblinking eyes staring directly at them.


    Ciel shivered.


    ¡°I hate it here,¡± she muttered, stepping over a pile of what might have once been offering candles, now just a mound of melted wax and questionable stains.


    The station itself had clearly been half-preserved, half-ritualized by the followers of the church. The old turnstiles were draped in tattered pink and white banners, scrawled with slogans and prayers written in a language that almost resembled English but was just slightly¡­ off.


    Sylva traced her fingers along the wall, her crimson eyes narrowing. "They''ve turned this place into a pilgrimage site."


    Raze grunted, stepping past a crude altar built entirely out of repurposed subway seats. "I''d say that¡¯s excessive, but then again, I¡¯ve seen people try to worship a vending machine before."


    Miri, absolutely delighted by everything, skipped ahead, her bare feet making no sound against the cracked tiles. She paused before a particularly ornate mural, tilting her head at it.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she murmured, smiling in that eerie way of hers. ¡°I think this one¡¯s a prophecy.¡±


    Ciel sighed, walking up beside her. ¡°Miri, if it¡¯s another ¡®holy ascension¡¯ thing, I don¡¯t wanna hear it.¡±


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s different.¡± Miri traced her fingers along the wall, her silver-black eyes gleaming in the dim light. ¡°Look¡ªthis one is about the Final Meal.¡±


    Ciel stared. ¡°The¡­ what?¡±


    Miri gestured grandly. "The Great Feast! The day the world ends, and the Blessed Pink Saint consumes all things in one final act of divine hunger."


    Silence.


    Veyra let out a slow whistle. ¡°You know, I was really hoping that wasn¡¯t the implication.¡±


    Gorrug, stroking his massive green chin thoughtfully, nodded. ¡°A warrior¡¯s death. I respect it.¡±


    Skrimp, still squirming in his arms, let out a wheezy honk.


    Ciel dragged a hand down her face. "Can we please just find the sewer entrance before I start questioning existence?"


    Sylva, ever efficient, was already ahead of them, pulling back a set of rusted maintenance doors that led down into the deepest, darkest tunnels of the old subway.


    The air shifted.


    The deeper they went, the less the Holy Meow nonsense lingered and the more they felt the weight of something else entirely.


    The walls became damp, slick with condensation and something faintly glowing. Old pipes lined the ceiling, some of them leaking, their fluids shimmering faintly with residual alchemical runoff.


    Raze stepped forward, kneeling to test the ground, his fingers dragging through a thin layer of sludge.


    ¡°We¡¯re close,¡± he muttered, standing.


    Ciel didn¡¯t need the confirmation¡ªshe could feel it.


    There was something wrong with the air down here.


    It was thick, like stepping into a place that hadn¡¯t been disturbed in centuries. The walls weren¡¯t just old¡ªthey felt like they were breathing, pulsing, shifting just beneath the surface.


    And then, finally¡ªthey reached the entrance.


    A massive, circular sewer gate, its rusted bars twisted and bent, like something had forced its way through from the other side. The metal itself was blackened, corroded, covered in deep claw marks.


    No one spoke.


    Because they all felt it now.


    That creeping, suffocating sensation of being watched.


    Raze gripped the handle of his greatsword, his stance shifting. "Weapons ready. We''re not getting through this without a fight."


    Ciel exhaled, spinning her revolvers. ¡°Figured as much.¡±


    Gorrug grinned wide, his tusks gleaming in the dark. ¡°Good.¡±


    Sylva flicked her wrist, her twin daggers gleaming as she muttered an incantation under her breath. "Let¡¯s move."


    And with that, they stepped into the darkness.

 Chapter 9, Gutter Junction

    The sewers of Lost Angeles weren¡¯t just a network of tunnels, they were a world beneath the world, an underground labyrinth stretching far beyond what anyone truly understood.


    And they had been walking through it for hours.


    The air was thick, humid, and heavy with rot, but it wasn¡¯t the smell of ordinary waste, no, this was something else. Something older. Deeper. The kind of decay that didn¡¯t come from just garbage and runoff, but from things that had been buried, forgotten, and left to fester.


    The walls were slick with moisture, covered in veins of bioluminescent moss that pulsed in faint blues and sickly greens, casting an eerie glow along the tunnel paths. The brickwork was ancient, clearly pre-Collapse construction, but warped, twisted in ways that defied logic. Pipes ran alongside them, hissing steam, dripping strange, viscous fluids, some of which shimmered with residual alchemical runoff.


    And yet, despite it all¡­ they hadn¡¯t run into anything.


    Yet.


    Which was almost worse.


    Ciel wasn¡¯t one to complain about a lack of monsters, but even she could feel it, the tension crawling up their spines, the air too still, too expectant.


    Something was watching them.


    Something had been watching them for hours.


    But it was waiting.


    Still, in true mercenary fashion, they handled the situation in the only way they knew how.


    With cocky bravado and poorly-timed jokes.


    Veyra stretched her arms behind her head, her voice carrying too loud in the oppressive silence. "So, anyone wanna place bets on what eats us first? I¡¯m thinking something with tentacles. Maybe a half-melted sewer beast."


    Miri, skipping ahead without a care in the world, grinned. ¡°Oh, I hope so. I¡¯ve always wanted to see one of the sewer sirens up close.¡±


    Sylva, who had been leading the group with dagger in hand, rolled her eyes. "Sewer sirens aren¡¯t real."


    Miri gasped dramatically. ¡°Oh, Syl, sweet summer child, you have no idea what¡¯s real down here.¡±


    Gorrug, carrying Skrimp under one arm like a squirming football, grunted. "If it tries to eat us, I shall eat it first."


    Ciel snorted, adjusting the goggles perched on her head. "Right, because I¡¯m sure sewer monsters taste delicious."


    Raze, who had been silent up until now, exhaled through his nose, his voice low and rough. "It¡¯s too quiet."


    Ciel turned toward him, smirking. ¡°Aw, big guy, you miss the sound of things screaming?¡±


    Raze¡¯s storm-gray eyes flicked to her, unimpressed. "No. I miss knowing where the enemy is."


    That sobered them slightly.


    Because he was right.


    This wasn¡¯t just an empty sewer system, there were things down here, things they hadn¡¯t seen yet, things that were letting them pass.


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    Which meant one thing.


    They weren¡¯t in the killing zone yet.


    Ciel rolled her shoulders, gripping her revolvers a little tighter. ¡°Well, I dunno about you guys, but I¡¯m kinda glad we haven¡¯t run into the whole ''living barrier'' part of this yet.¡±


    Sylva shot her a sharp look. "Don¡¯t say that."


    Ciel blinked. ¡°Say what?¡±


    Sylva turned back toward the path ahead. "You know exactly what."


    Miri giggled.


    And somewhere, in the distant, distant tunnels of the sewer ahead of them¡­


    Something shifted.


    The moment the sound shifted ahead of them, the air changed.


    Not in the obvious, tangible way of a breeze through an underground tunnel, no, this was something deeper, something invisible but suffocating.


    The sewers had been too quiet for too long.


    And now, as they turned a curve in the tunnel, the passage ahead of them widened into an open chamber.


    It was a drainage junction, an intersection where the tunnels merged, with crumbling platforms raised above the water, old pipes stretching like metal veins along the walls, and in the middle¡ª


    A heap of trash.


    It wasn¡¯t just any trash. This was deliberate. Built. Piles of discarded waste, old-world relics stacked into a mound, their forms barely recognizable under decades of grime and decay.


    A nest.


    And something was inside it.


    Something big.


    Ciel stopped in her tracks, gripping the handles of her revolvers, her golden-violet eyes locked on the heap.


    Raze, beside her, tensed, his greatsword shifting slightly on his back.


    Then, from within the rotting mountain of waste, something stirred.


    A growl. A gurgling, wet, deep sound, like laughter heard from the bottom of a swamp.


    Then, it spoke.


    "Who¡¯s stomping around my home?"


    The massive heap of garbage shifted, trembled, then rose.


    What emerged from it was not human.


    A hulking, grime-covered creature, its form barely distinguishable from the trash itself. Its skin was thick, leathery, covered in patches of moss and decay, as if it had been born from the filth itself.


    Its eyes¡ªyellow, glowing, sunken deep beneath a heavy, furrowed brow¡ª locked onto them with a slow, measured intelligence.


    Its mouth stretched into something resembling a grin, jagged teeth revealed beneath the thick layers of sludge and overgrown hair.


    ¡°Well, well, well. Fresh faces.¡± The creature¡¯s voice was gravelly, gurgling, thick with amusement.


    Sylva¡¯s crimson eyes sharpened, her daggers flicking to her hands. ¡°Uh¡­ It¡¯s talking.¡±


    Miri clapped her hands, delighted. ¡°Oh, how wonderful! A sewer guardian!¡±


    Ciel, slowly, holstered one of her revolvers, lifting a hand. ¡°Hey, big guy, we¡¯re just passing through¡ª¡±


    ¡°That so?¡± the beast rumbled, stepping fully from its nest.


    It was huge. At least eight feet tall, broad and hunched, its long clawed fingers twitching. There was something off about its proportions, something that suggested it had once been something else before the sewers changed it.


    Then¡ªanother sound.


    High-pitched. Chittering. Laughing.


    Ciel turned her head just in time to see movement from one of the pipes.


    Something red scurried out.


    It was smaller, wiry, but no less disturbing.


    A thin, lanky figure, covered in patches of bristling, crimson fur, its limbs just a little too long, its fingers tipped in ragged, curling claws. Its mouth stretched wide, its teeth small, sharp, meant for tearing.


    Its large, black eyes blinked once, twice¡ª


    Then it tilted its head, grinning with far too many teeth.


    ¡°Oh wow, wow, wow! New friends! New friends in the tunnels!¡± It scuttled forward, its movements jittery, unnatural, the way something moves when it hasn¡¯t quite figured out how a body should work.


    Ciel swallowed.


    Raze¡¯s fingers tightened around his weapon.


    Gorrug, staring at the trash beast and its jittery red companion, finally spoke.


    ¡°What in the dead gods¡¯ name am I looking at?¡±


    The bigger one chuckled, deep and gurgling.


    The smaller one tittered, voice high and shrill.


    ¡°I¡¯m the Collector,¡± the big one rumbled, gesturing a massive, clawed hand toward his filth-ridden domain. ¡°This is my home. And this here¡ª¡±


    He gestured to the smaller one, who immediately twitched excitedly.


    ¡°Oh! Oh! I introduce myself! Okay, okay, I do it now!¡± The thing bounced on its haunches, clicking its claws together.


    ¡°I¡¯m Red! I¡¯m Red and I love to play!¡±


    Miri beamed. ¡°I like them.¡±


    Veyra muttered, ¡°I fucking hate them.¡±


    Ciel, still processing, held up a finger.


    ¡°So just so I¡¯m clear¡ª¡±


    The Collector leaned forward, unblinking.


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna have to fight our way through you, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    The creatures grinned.


    The sewers shuddered.


    And then¡ªthe tunnels came alive.

 Chapter 10, The ABC鈥檚 of Sewer Fighting

    The moment the tunnels came alive, Ciel moved.


    The Collector and Red weren¡¯t just watching them anymore¡ªthey were moving, lunging, twisting through the sludge of their domain like predators playing with their food.


    Ciel¡¯s instincts kicked in before thought could¡ªshe 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¡ªbut 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¡ª


    And then, Red laughed.


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


    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.


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    The shot rang out, echoing in the chamber¡ª


    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¡ªhe 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¡ªnot 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¡ª


    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¡ªinjured, but still moving¡ªtried 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¡ª


    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.

 Chapter 11, Strings of a Puppet

    The sewer tunnels stretched on, twisting and sprawling like the veins of a dying beast, pulsing faintly with the dripping, hissing, and shifting of the underground. Time had become a sluggish, distorted thing, they had been walking for hours now, the weight of exhaustion creeping into their steps.


    Ciel, usually one to keep up the pace, found herself slowing, letting her boots scuff lazily against the damp stone floor as she fell into step beside Miri.


    The rest of the team moved ahead, their movements quiet but purposeful¡ªRaze and Sylva were leading, watching the tunnels, while Gorrug trudged forward like an unstoppable wall of muscle, Skrimp still nestled under one arm, twitching and making strange guttural noises every now and then.


    Veyra walked a little ahead of them, rifle resting on her shoulder, still humming some old-world tune off-key.


    Which left Ciel and Miri bringing up the rear.


    Miri didn¡¯t mind the slow pace.


    If anything, she seemed to enjoy it, her feet moving effortlessly over the damp, uneven ground as she twirled her fingers through the residual magic still clinging to the air.


    Ciel glanced at her, then tossed her gun between her hands idly, voice lighter than the damp air around them.


    ¡°So, Hex,¡± she mused, eyeing her with curiosity, ¡°you¡¯ve been carrying around a book full of dead things for as long as I¡¯ve known you. Where does that habit start?¡± Though she knew the answer, she wanted to fill the silence.


    Miri let out a soft, breathy laugh, twirling a strand of violet hair around her finger before tilting her black-silver gaze toward Ciel.


    ¡°Oh, darling, you make it sound so morbid.¡±


    Ciel arched a brow. ¡°That¡¯s because it is.¡±


    Miri grinned, not at all offended, and hugged her grimoire closer to her chest.


    ¡°Well,¡± she mused, ¡°I suppose I¡¯ve always been a collector of sorts. Even before I learned magic, I liked¡­ keeping things.¡±


    Ciel smirked. ¡°Oh, so you were one of those creepy kids who kept dead birds and weird bones in jars?¡±


    Miri blinked. ¡°You say that like it¡¯s a bad thing.¡±


    Ciel laughed. ¡°It absolutely is.¡±


    Miri pouted, but it was theatrical, playful, and she held up a slender hand, palm up, letting a small wisp of shadow magic curl from her fingertips like smoke.


    ¡°When I was younger,¡± she continued, her tone shifting, becoming more absent, thoughtful, ¡°I wasn¡¯t allowed to practice magic. My family thought it was¡­ unseemly.¡±


    Ciel glanced at her, picking up on the faint edge in her voice.


    ¡°Your family didn¡¯t want you to be a witch?¡±


    Miri huffed, giving a mock offense scoff. ¡°They didn¡¯t want me to be anything. Too fragile, they said. Too delicate.¡±


    Her fingers twitched, and the shadow wisp in her palm briefly flickered into the shape of a small, dark butterfly before dissolving back into nothingness.


    ¡°Of course,¡± she added, a little too sweetly, ¡°they¡¯re dead now.¡±


    Silence stretched between them for a second too long.


    Ciel blinked. ¡°Uh¡­ should I ask?¡±


    Miri giggled, giving her a sly look. ¡°No, darling. It¡¯s more fun if you guess.¡±


    Ciel snorted, rolling her eyes. ¡°Figures.¡±


    Miri stretched, her robe flowing lightly around her, chains jingling softly. ¡°Regardless, I learned magic anyway. Found a teacher¡ªan old warlock who lived in the ruins of a library. He taught me all sorts of things. How to collect essence, how to weave shadows into spells¡­ how to make the dead whisper if you listen carefully enough.¡±


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    Ciel tilted her head. ¡°And now you use it to heal us and store creepy sewer monster souls in your diary?¡±


    Miri grinned, biting her lip playfully. ¡°Everyone needs a hobby. Mine just so happens to store souls in books¡­ or eat them.¡±


    Ciel chuckled, shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯re weird.¡± Ciel had seen Miri eat the undead before, she was particularly good at eating¡­ ghosts for some reason.


    Miri nudged her, bumping shoulders lightly. ¡°And yet, you like me.¡±


    Ciel smirked. ¡°I tolerate you.¡±


    Miri just hummed, her expression unreadable, knowing.


    They walked in silence for a while, the air growing heavier, the tunnels narrowing, the distant sounds of dripping water and shifting stone becoming more pronounced.


    Ciel finally exhaled, stretching her arms above her head.


    ¡°Well, that was depressing. Any happy stories in that spooky little book of yours?¡±


    Miri laughed softly, but there was a weight behind it this time.


    ¡°Oh, Ciel,¡± she sighed, ¡°happy stories don¡¯t end up in books like this.¡±


    Ciel paused at that.


    Then, before she could respond, Sylva¡¯s sharp voice called from ahead.


    ¡°We¡¯re coming up on something.¡±


    Instantly, their banter faded.


    Ciel¡¯s hands drifted toward her revolvers.


    Miri¡¯s fingers flexed, dark magic curling at her fingertips, ready to be unleashed.


    Ciel didn¡¯t hesitate.


    She moved to the front, slipping past Raze and Sylva, spinning one revolver between her fingers as she walked ahead. The tunnels had narrowed here, the walls slick with something thick and old, the air buzzing with an eerie, unnatural energy.


    Then she saw it.


    Them.


    At first, they were just shapes, half-hidden in the murky, flickering light of the tunnel.


    Humanoid. Unmoving. Standing in formation like eerie mannequins.


    Then one of them twitched.


    Ciel froze, her breath hitching as her eyes adjusted to the dim glow of Miri¡¯s magic.


    The figures became clearer.


    Dolls.


    Horrible, human-sized dolls.


    Each one was porcelain-skinned, with exaggerated, too-perfect features, wide, empty glassy eyes, frozen plastic smiles that didn¡¯t quite match their unnatural, jointed limbs. Their hands were delicate, fingers carved to look dainty, elegant, yet¡­ too long, too sharp at the tips.


    Their dresses were gaudy, frilled, and stitched together from various fabrics, clearly torn from things that did not belong in this time.


    Ciel recognized the twisted remnants of an old-world aesthetic, but it was wrong. A warped parody of something once considered beautiful.


    And then¡ªthey moved.


    Their joints cracked, bending at unnatural angles, heads tilting in eerie unison.


    Sylva stepped up beside Ciel, eyes narrowing.


    ¡°What the fuck.¡±


    Before anyone could react further, the dolls lunged.


    They moved like marionettes without strings, their legs and arms snapping unnaturally, heads twisting too far back, grins never faltering.


    Ciel fired instinctively, the first shot shattering the porcelain face of the nearest one.


    The head snapped back with a horrible, crunching crack.


    But it kept coming.


    Ciel cursed, dodging sideways, rolling into a crouch as one of them lunged toward her, clawed hands swiping for her throat.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s bullshit!¡± she snarled, pulling both revolvers, firing off rapid shots.


    The bullets hit, shattering limbs, but the dolls didn¡¯t stop.


    Raze let out a low growl, swinging his greatsword in a brutal arc, cleaving through three at once, but as the limbs hit the ground, they twitched and writhed, trying to move on their own.


    Gorrug roared, swinging his warhammer, sending one of the dolls flying into the tunnel wall, shattering it into pieces of ceramic and cloth.


    Veyra, perched atop a broken pipe, fired off precise headshots, cursing under her breath when the dolls refused to stay down.


    Miri hummed, weaving her fingers in the air, a wave of violet-black magic surging forward, wrapping around one of the dolls¡ª


    And then she flinched.


    Something cut through her spell.


    A presence.


    Something worse.


    And then¡­ the laughter started.


    It was a strange, wooden sound, hollow and clicking, like something was knocking against the inside of a hollow frame.


    The dolls froze mid-motion, their bodies still twisting, still shuddering¡ªbut they stopped attacking.


    Because something else was coming.


    The tunnel ahead of them darkened, the flickering bioluminescence dimming, retreating as if the very walls were recoiling.


    Then¡ªhe stepped forward.


    A silhouette, tall and wiry, his limbs made of warped, blackened wood, his joints clicking unnaturally with every movement.


    His face was carved, but crude, exaggerated, too humanoid yet utterly unnatural. The wood grain stretched like veins across his cheeks, his hollowed-out eye sockets filled with nothing but swirling darkness.


    And his grin was carved into his face.


    Deep. Too wide. Too sharp at the edges.


    A marionette.


    But not just any marionette.


    A corrupted Pinocchio. One of the few legendary beasts of the sewers.


    He took a mocking bow, his wooden limbs bending unnaturally, his body jerking like it was being moved by unseen strings.


    Then, his head twitched toward them, his carved mouth moving far too smoothly for something that shouldn¡¯t be alive.


    ¡°I hate liars.¡±


    His voice was not human.


    It was a series of layered, unnatural tones, echoing as if coming from a dozen unseen mouths at once.


    Ciel exhaled, steadying her grip on her revolvers.


    ¡°Yeah? Well, I hate haunted fucking puppets, so we¡¯re even.¡±


    His head twitched, snapping to the side in a broken movement.


    And then, with one sharp, jerking motion, he lifted a hand.


    The dolls surged forward again.


    But now, they weren¡¯t just attacking.


    They were speaking.


    Their voices blended into one, a warped, childish singsong.


    ¡°Tell the truth, and you¡¯ll be free~¡±


    ¡°Tell a lie, and you¡¯ll belong to me~¡±


    Ciel¡¯s blood ran cold.

 Chapter 12, Cosmic Sin

    The fight erupted into chaos, the air thick with the sharp cracks of gunfire, the shattering of porcelain, and the sickening creak of wooden limbs bending at unnatural angles.


    Ciel moved first, faster than thought, twin revolvers snapping up, firing shot after shot, the sound deafening in the enclosed tunnel.


    Bang. Bang. Bang.


    Each bullet tore through a mannequin, exploding heads, splintering limbs, sending plastic and ceramic shards flying, but they didn¡¯t stop.


    Even headless, armless, their legs twitched, their fingers still grasped at the air.


    ¡°What the fuck are these things?!¡± she growled, ducking under a wild swipe, rolling to the side, firing again.


    A doll lunged for her, its jaw unhinging like a snake, revealing rows of jagged ceramic teeth¡ª


    She shot it point-blank in the face.


    Its head popped like a glass ornament.


    But they just kept coming.


    Sylva was a blur of movement, her daggers flashing, her dark magic surging through the air like living shadows.


    She danced between the mannequins, twisting, cutting, moving with deadly grace¡ª but for every one she cut down, two more replaced it.


    Raze held the front, his greatsword carving through the horde like a war engine, his face set in a grimace of concentration.


    A doll latched onto him, clawing at his chestplate¡ªhe grunted, twisted, grabbed it by the face and crushed it with his bare hands.


    Miri sighed dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. ¡°I hate enemies that don¡¯t bleed!¡±


    But even as she complained, her fingers snapped outward, lashing the air with blackened hexes, her voice a low, whispering song of curses.


    Gorrug, true to his nature, was laughing.


    ¡°YES! COME, LITTLE WARRIORS! I WILL BREAK YOU ALL!¡±


    His warhammer smashed into the ground, sending a shockwave through the horde, sending mannequins flying, shattering against the walls like broken dolls.


    Skrimp, still clutched under his arm, let out a screeching honk and bit part the head off a downed mannequin.


    But then came the real problem.


    Pinocchio moved through them like a phantom, his wooden body twisting, jerking unnaturally, always just out of reach.


    ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡±


    His voice crawled through the air, not coming from one place, but all around them, layered, broken, distorted.


    Ciel fired at him, three shots straight at his head.


    He tilted. Just slightly. Just enough.


    The bullets missed by inches.


    His carved wooden face split into a wide grin.


    ¡°You¡¯re trying to go deeper, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Veyra, perched on a broken ledge, snapped her rifle up, took aim, fired.


    Pinocchio twitched out of the way, faster than he should have been.


    ¡°You¡¯re liars.¡±


    His limbs snapped outward, faster than thought, long fingers grabbing Raze by the wrist.


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    Raze snarled, twisting away, but not before those wooden claws dug in deep, too deep.


    The wound festered instantly, dark splinters burrowing into his flesh, spreading like veins beneath his skin.


    Ciel saw red.


    She moved on instinct, closing the distance between them, bringing her revolvers up¡ª


    Pinocchio grinned.


    ¡°Go on, liar. Tell me another one.¡±


    Ciel fired.


    This time, she hit him square in the chest.


    The wood splintered, cracked, split open.


    For the first time, Pinocchio staggered back.


    Sylva was already on him, her daggers sinking deep into his side, dark magic spreading like rot through the wood.


    Miri, with a sharp twist of her wrist, whispered something in an old tongue, the air around them hummed, vibrated¡ª


    And then, with a sickening CRACK, Pinocchio¡¯s body snapped in half.


    The lower half collapsed to the ground, twitching uselessly.


    His upper body hit the floor hard, his carved face frozen in something that might have been shock.


    The mannequins stopped moving.


    Ciel exhaled, panting, keeping her guns trained on him.


    Veyra tilted her head, rifle still raised. ¡°That it?¡±


    Miri eyed the remains, humming thoughtfully. ¡°Seems too easy.¡±


    Then¡ª


    The wooden mouth twitched.


    And then it grinned again.


    The voice that followed was sharper now, more distant.


    ¡°Oh, you thought that was me?¡±


    The air chilled.


    The mannequin bodies around them twitched, shuddered¡ª


    One lifted its head.


    The voice came from it now.


    ¡°No, no, no, my toys.¡±


    The mannequin stood, head tilting unnaturally, that same carved grin stretching wider and wider.


    ¡°I just moved.¡±


    Ciel¡¯s blood ran cold.


    Pinocchio¡¯s original body cracked apart, lifeless now. Just discarded.


    The new one lifted its arms, fingers flexing.


    ¡°You did well, liars. I was almost impressed.¡±


    The mannequin body took one step back. Another.


    Ciel raised her gun. ¡°You¡¯re not leaving.¡±


    Pinocchio laughed.


    ¡°Oh, but I am.¡±


    And then, he was gone.


    The mannequin collapsed, lifeless again.


    But his laughter still echoed.


    His voice crawled along the tunnel walls.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back. And next time, I¡¯ll make you my puppets.¡±


    Silence.


    Long. Heavy. Suffocating.


    Ciel finally let out a slow breath, holstering her revolvers. ¡°I hate this place.¡±


    They didn¡¯t travel far. Not after that fight.


    The remains of the mannequins were still sprawled across the tunnel behind them, their twisted limbs frozen in unnatural angles, their glass eyes dull and lifeless now. Pinocchio had fled, but his presence lingered, a suffocating, unseen pressure in the air.


    It was clear that they needed to stop, to breathe, to recover.


    So, they did.


    They found a wider alcove along the sewer path, an old maintenance chamber, barely intact, half-collapsed with rusted pipes hissing low steam from the ceiling. The stench was still awful, the humidity thick, the damp stone pressing into their bones, but at the very least, it was a place to sit. To rest.


    They needed that.


    Miri was the first to sink to the ground, letting out an exhausted sigh as she leaned against the cool stone wall. Her normally ethereal presence seemed dimmed, her shoulders tense, her hands trembling slightly from exertion.


    Sylva, ever efficient, began distributing rations, carefully pulling small portions from her enchanted satchel.


    ¡°Eat slow,¡± she instructed, voice quiet but firm. ¡°We don¡¯t know how long we¡¯ll be down here, and we¡¯re not exactly swimming in supplies.¡±


    Raze, wincing as he peeled back his sleeve to assess the splintered wounds Pinocchio left on his arm, muttered, ¡°Great. Love rationing. Almost as much as I love getting cursed by haunted puppets.¡±


    Miri chuckled weakly, shaking out her hands before shifting forward, settling onto her knees beside him.


    ¡°Oh, hush, you big grump.¡± Her fingers ghosted over his wound, whispering an incantation as a soft, silver-black glow pulsed from her palms.


    Raze grunted, jaw tight, but said nothing as the splinters of dark wood slowly receded from his veins, pushed out by Miri¡¯s magic.


    Ciel flopped down against the stone wall across from them, kicking her boots off lazily, exhaling.


    ¡°Well, gotta say,¡± she stretched her arms over her head, smirking, ¡°this hasn¡¯t been nearly as bad as I expected.¡±


    The group collectively froze.


    Sylva, mid-bite into her ration bar, stopped chewing.


    Veyra, who had been tending to her rifle, slowly turned her head.


    Raze actually closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling through his nose like he was physically restraining himself.


    Even Miri, who was still pale and visibly drained, blinked at Ciel as if she had just personally committed a cosmic sin.


    Gorrug, on the other hand, actually perked up.


    ¡°Yes! It could be worse! More fighting! More battle! More carnage!¡± His golden eyes gleamed, and he grinned, his massive tusks bared. ¡°This is good warm-up.¡±


    The group continued to stare at Ciel.


    Veyra dropped her head into her hands.


    ¡°You. Walking. Talking. Jinx.¡±


    Ciel blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    Sylva sighed, shaking her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.


    Raze muttered, ¡°We¡¯re all gonna die.¡±


    Miri, despite her exhaustion, giggled.


    Ciel raised an eyebrow, looking around. ¡°What? You all really thought it was going to be never-ending fighting?¡±


    Veyra, still muffled in her hands, groaned. ¡°YES. AND NOW IT WILL BE. BECAUSE YOU SAID IT WOULDN¡¯T BE.¡±


    Ciel snorted.


    ¡°Okay, okay, fine. My bad. If we all get eaten by some eldritch horror down here, I¡¯ll take full responsibility.¡±


    Gorrug nodded sagely. ¡°Yes. That is only fair.¡±


    Ciel laughed, stretching out on the cold stone floor, letting her eyes drift up to the corroded ceiling.


    Despite the injuries, the exhaustion, the undeniable truth that they were in a complete nightmare of a situation¡­


    They were still here. Alive.

 Chapter 13, Things Better Left Unsaid

    Ciel stared up at the corroded ceiling, the glow of bioluminescent moss casting strange, flickering shadows across the stone. The sewer was quiet now, save for the distant dripping of water and the occasional shuffle of movement deeper in the tunnels.


    Gorrug pushed himself up with a grunt, rolling his shoulders before grabbing his hammer and hoisting Skrimp under one arm. The war beast let out a soft, wheezing honk, its feathered wings twitching as it curled up against the orc¡¯s massive chest.


    ¡°I will take first watch,¡± Gorrug said simply, his deep voice carrying through the chamber like a distant drum. No one argued.


    Miri, having healed the last of their injuries as best she could, sighed as she slumped against the wall, her usual smile faded from sheer exhaustion. Without mana inhalers, without stim packs or enchanted health restoratives, all they had was rations and sheer grit.


    Which meant they were pretty fucked.


    Veyra, already sprawled out on her makeshift bedding, was snoring within minutes, one arm thrown over her face, her rifle still tucked within reach.


    Raze, having lit a fresh cigar, sat against the opposite wall, his storm-gray eyes half-lidded, not asleep but somewhere between meditation and quiet contemplation.


    Ciel exhaled, sitting up, her limbs still heavy with exhaustion.


    She let her gaze drift over to Sylva, who sat a short distance away, her slender fingers idly tracing a pattern into the dirt with the tip of a dagger.


    Something in Ciel shifted.


    Without thinking, she pushed herself up and crossed the short distance, dropping down beside her.


    Sylva didn¡¯t look up, but Ciel caught the faint twitch of her mouth, the smallest sign of acknowledgment.


    For a long moment, neither of them spoke.


    Then Ciel, ever unable to sit in silence for too long, leaned back against the wall, tilting her head toward her.


    ¡°So, that was fun.¡±


    Sylva let out a soft snort, eyes still on the dirt she was idly carving into. ¡°Oh yes. Getting mauled by sewer puppets? Just another fantastic night with you.¡±


    Ciel smirked. ¡°I do throw the best parties.¡±


    Sylva finally looked at her then, her crimson gaze flicking up, unreadable in the dim light. ¡°You¡¯ve always had a habit of walking into nightmares like they¡¯re invitations.¡±


    Ciel shrugged. ¡°And you always follow.¡±


    Sylva went back to tracing her dagger against the ground. ¡°Someone has to be there when it all goes to shit.¡±


    Ciel tilted her head slightly, watching her.


    ¡°That why you¡¯re still here?¡± she asked, softer this time.


    Sylva¡¯s dagger paused against the dirt.


    For a second, she didn¡¯t respond. Then, slowly, she sheathed the dagger, her hands now resting on her knees.


    She turned to face Ciel fully now, her expression carefully neutral, but her eyes giving away something else.


    ¡°I could¡¯ve left years ago.¡±


    Ciel didn¡¯t know why, but that hit her harder than expected.


    The two of them had been like this for so long¡­ flirting, fighting, pushing and pulling, testing limits but never crossing them.


    And yet¡­ Sylva stayed.


    Through the worst of it. Through jobs gone wrong, through reckless plans and stupid risks, through watching Ciel throw herself headfirst into danger like she had nothing to lose.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Through all of it, Sylva had been there.


    Ciel felt her throat tighten slightly, but she played it off with a smirk, nudging Sylva¡¯s knee with her own.


    ¡°Guess I must be real fun to be around, huh?¡±


    Sylva sighed, but it wasn¡¯t annoyance, not really.


    ¡°You¡¯re a pain in the ass.¡±


    Ciel grinned. ¡°And yet.¡±


    Sylva met her gaze again.


    For once, there was no teasing smirk, no sarcastic retort.


    Just a quiet, heavy moment.


    A lot had been left unsaid between them over the years.


    And maybe they weren¡¯t ready to say it.


    But¡­ Maybe they were.


    The silence stretched between them, thick, heavy, and unspoken.


    Then, finally, Sylva broke it.


    ¡°You remember the first time we met?¡±


    Ciel blinked, caught off guard. Her lips twitched in amusement, but she didn¡¯t quite smile. ¡°Vaguely. Was too busy trying not to get stabbed.¡±


    Sylva let out a soft snort, shaking her head. ¡°You deserved it. You ruined my job.¡±


    Ciel raised a brow. ¡°You ruined mine first.¡±


    Sylva exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes. ¡°We were working different jobs at the time. Didn¡¯t even know each other. But then you came barreling in like a lunatic, guns blazing, and suddenly, I was dodging bullets meant for me.¡±


    Ciel smirked. ¡°You threw a knife at my head first, sweetheart.¡±


    Sylva shrugged. ¡°You were in the way.¡±


    They both paused, letting the memory settle between them.


    The two of them had been on opposite sides of a job, unknowingly caught in each other¡¯s paths. It had been a bloodbath, double-crosses, betrayals, a complete shitstorm that neither of them had walked away from unscathed.


    And yet, when things went south¡­ when both their jobs fell apart, when the real threat turned against them¡ª


    They had fought together.


    Not because they had to.


    Not because they liked each other.


    But because, in that moment, it was the only way either of them were getting out alive.


    Ciel sighed, resting her head back against the cold stone wall. ¡°So, what you¡¯re saying is, this has been doomed from the start.¡±


    Sylva glanced at her, smirking slightly. ¡°Oh, absolutely.¡±


    A beat.


    Then Sylva¡¯s smirk faded, replaced by something more tired, more real.


    ¡°You¡¯re too reckless, Ciel.¡±


    Ciel didn¡¯t move, but she felt the words sink in like lead in her chest.


    Sylva¡¯s fingers tightened against her knee, as if holding back frustration.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think before you go into action. You just shoot first, figure the rest out later.¡± She gestured vaguely to the sewer around them, to the situation they were in. ¡°And that¡¯s why we¡¯re here.¡±


    Ciel¡¯s jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line.


    She couldn¡¯t argue that.


    She didn¡¯t have a defense.


    She knew it was true.


    Their last job¡ªthe one that put them in Grimm¡¯s debt, the one that had led them down here¡ªit was because of her.


    Because she had acted on instinct, because she had charged in thinking she could fix it.


    And she hadn¡¯t.


    She had fucked it up.


    And now, they were marching toward what was probably their deaths.


    She bit her lip, looking away, her mind drifting¡ªlike it always did¡ªpushing the weight of it all to the back of her thoughts, burying it like every other bad decision in her life.


    But Sylva wasn¡¯t done.


    Her voice softened.


    ¡°But it wasn¡¯t just you.¡±


    Ciel glanced at her again, brows furrowing slightly.


    Sylva exhaled, her fingers rubbing absently against the leather straps on her thigh.


    ¡°We¡¯re a team, Ciel. That means when one of us screws up, it¡¯s on all of us. You didn¡¯t destroy the job alone. We all did. We all failed.¡±


    Ciel felt her throat tighten at that, but she didn¡¯t say anything.


    Sylva hesitated, then finally added, her voice quieter¡ªmore vulnerable than she probably wanted it to be:


    ¡°And I should¡¯ve said that before now.¡±


    Ciel studied her, watching the way Sylva¡¯s crimson gaze flickered in the dim light, the way she wasn¡¯t quite looking at her, but wasn¡¯t looking away either.


    And then, Sylva shifted.


    Something in her posture changed, in her expression, in the way her fingers twitched slightly like she wanted to reach out but couldn¡¯t.


    Sylva, for all her sharp edges, her bluntness, her sarcasm, had never struggled with words before.


    But now?


    Now, she looked like she was warring with herself.


    And that¡¯s when it hit Ciel.


    Sylva was scared.


    Not of the job.


    Not of death.


    But of something else entirely.


    Then, finally, she spoke.


    ¡°I want to.¡±


    Ciel¡¯s brows furrowed slightly. ¡°Want to what?¡±


    Sylva inhaled. Slow. Careful.


    Then she turned to her fully, her crimson eyes locking onto Ciel¡¯s, unwavering despite the hesitation in her voice.


    ¡°I want to.¡± Sylva repeated, softer this time. ¡°I just¡ª¡±


    She stopped, her jaw tightening, her hands curling into fists at her sides.


    And that was it.


    That was everything.


    Ciel felt something in her chest clench, something sharp and real.


    Because she knew.


    Sylva had always known what she wanted.


    But this¡ªthis was different.


    This was her choosing not to want.


    Because Ciel was a walking corpse. A dead woman gambling with borrowed time.


    And Sylva wasn¡¯t ready to commit to that.


    Neither of them said anything for a long time.


    Then, slowly, Ciel forced herself to breathe, to let the moment settle like an ache beneath her skin.


    She gave Sylva a small, crooked smile, something tired but still teasing, because that¡¯s all she had left to give.


    ¡°You know, we could die tomorrow.¡±


    Sylva scoffed, shaking her head, but her smirk was faint. Bitter.


    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s the problem.¡±


    Ciel¡¯s smirk faded slightly.


    Then she turned away, staring at the dim glow of the tunnel ahead.


    And for once, she didn¡¯t have a joke.