A sharp jolt yanked Neon from unconsciousness like a hook behind the sternum. Electric claws raked through his nerves, sharp and sudden—his body seized, locked in place for a breath too long.
His groan rasped out, raw and sluggish. His skull throbbed with a dull, pulsing ache, each heartbeat a hammer behind his eyes. His eyelids felt like they'd been soldered shut—heavy, hot, unwilling.
Something small and frantic pounded against his chest—a jittery tremor, erratic and sharp like the buzz of a trapped insect. A static crackle sizzled over his skin, leaving behind the ghost of a shock, the kind that threatened to strike again at any moment.
Mechanical servos whined and clicked, a staccato rhythm of panic: click-chk-click whrrr, click-chk-click.
Neon forced his eyes open.
The dim glow of the basement was fractured and weak—slits of flickering amber light bleeding through cracked brickwork, casting fractured shadows that skittered like ghosts.
S.A.B.R.E. scrambled over his chest, metal legs pinching his jacket and tapping against his ribs in rapid urgency. Its optic lens pulsed a frantic crimson, flickering with every movement.
"Ugh… what?" Neon rasped, throat dry as scorched paper.
The bot jerked at the hem of his coat again, legs jittering. Its mechanical limbs scratched against his skin through the fabric—urgent, clawing, insect-quick.
A sound fractured the air.
KRACK—
A violent, bone-snapping crash above, like a tree torn in half or a stone wall buckling under something monstrous.
Then, a shriek.
Not human.
Long. Piercing. Wet.
It split the silence like shrapnel, so sharp Neon swore it cut into his bones.
Dust rained down in fine sheets from the wooden beams overhead. It caught the dim light like ashes suspended mid-air, the scent of the room changing in an instant.
The air grew heavy. Bitter.
Cold and electric, like the breath of a storm coiled just beneath the skin.
The coppery sting of blood and ozone crept into his nostrils—alongside the deeper, earthy stench of wet stone, mildew, and something else… burning metal, scorched soil, wrongness.
Heart hammering, Neon pushed himself up. His limbs felt foreign—deadweight and pins-and-needles, like waking from a nightmare that still clung to his muscles.
He staggered toward the door, bare feet slapping the cold stone floor.
The thick, iron-lined basement door groaned as he cracked it open.
A narrow slit of the outside world revealed chaos painted in lightning.
The street beyond was drenched in sheets of rain so dense they looked like falling chains, clattering against stone with relentless fury.
The sky above was a fractured, boiling bruise—black clouds pulsing with veins of purple lightning, illuminating silhouettes that should not exist.
A sound rose again.
A chorus of warped shrieks, layered over each other like broken records playing at different speeds—some shrill, some guttural, all inhuman.
They scraped at the inside of his skull, jarring his nerves like nails down glass.
Through the shattered stained glass above, a hulking shadow twisted and slithered, its mass shifting in a way that defied shape.
It dragged itself across the ruined plaza—limbs like tendrils, trailing wet stone with a sound like sloshing meat.
The very air bent around it, heatless and distorted, like the ripple of desert mirage.
S.A.B.R.E. huddled against Neon's leg now, its body trembling—tiny whimpers of servo strain rising like a whine.
Its legs wrapped tight, holding on, like even the machine knew this wasn't a thing meant to be seen.
Neon's breath caught in his throat.
"What the…"
His voice barely left his lips—a whisper drowned beneath the storm and the thing that rode it.
---
Neon's breath fogged in the cold, brittle air—each exhale a pale ghost vanishing into the void.
The atmosphere was wrong. Not just cold—hollow.
Too still. Too sharp.
Like the world itself had drawn in a breath and refused to let it go.
His hand trembled as he pushed himself fully upright, the ache of tension crawling through his joints like frostbite.
Each inhale was shallow, ragged—dragging in the coppery tang of fear, the taste bitter and metallic on his tongue, like licking the edge of a knife.
"...Something's out there," he whispered, voice barely a thread of sound—thin, fraying, nearly drowned beneath the thunder outside and the pounding in his ears.
His fingers found the concealed switch on the heavy mask resting at his throat.
It clicked.
With a hush of smooth mechanics, dark plates unfurled and shifted into place—a seamless ritual of defense, the segmented pieces curling up and around his face like petals of a deadly bloom.
Each section locked in with a muted chk, metal brushing against skin, sealing him in.
The final piece snapped into place with a whisper-sharp click, and his goggles flared to life.
Two glowing orbs of amber light blazed outward, cutting through the gloom with fierce intensity.
The cracked stone floor and shattered relics lit up in stuttering gold as the light cast fractured, prismatic shadows—ribbons of flame across rubble and ruin.
Neon's fingers sparked.
A flicker, small and uncertain—like a struck match catching against wind.
The flame hesitated, then steadied. A thin, dancing ember hovered above his skin, twitching in the stale air as if sensing something foul.
The ember swelled as he stepped forward, his boots crunching softly over broken glass and debris.
With each heartbeat, the fire pulsed—a living thing.
It grew in his palm, unfolding into a small orb of gold and orange that shimmered with veins of blue. It cast jagged shadows that crawled across the cathedral's leaning stone columns, warping with every flicker. Dust spiraled in slow-motion coils, illuminated like ash in moonlight.
The silence deepened unnaturally.
Beyond the cathedral's broken glass, the storm screamed.
Not just thunder and wind—but something intelligent. Enraged. Watching.
Then—a sound.
Creak.
Low, drawn out, like rotting wood bowing beneath a weight that didn't belong.
Neon stilled.
He didn't breathe.
The flame in his hand flared bright and fierce, reacting to something unseen. The hairs on his neck stood on end.
From the black, something took shape and began to emerge—writhing, shifting, refusing to settle into anything familiar.
It slithered inward, limbs multiplying and folding in ways that defied logic. They bent backwards, twisted sideways, dragged against the walls and floor like wet ropes made of bone. The air around it rippled, as though reality itself was sickened by its presence.
A low hum rose—not a sound, but a pressure. A vibration in the lungs. A crawling behind the teeth. The flame in Neon's palm cracked and spat sparks, feeding hungrily on the fear rising in his chest.
He turned slowly. His muscles screamed with tension. His eyes locked onto the mass now fully revealed—a monstrous tangle of sinew and oozing, blackened muscle, twitching and quivering like it hadn't yet finished becoming.
It pulsed with life—wet, angry, incomplete.
Eyes blinked open across its body. Dozens. Hundreds.
Lidless, glassy, unnatural.
No symmetry. No face.
Only wide, gaping mouths that stretched open and gasped—but instead of air, they breathed noise.
Not words. Not screams.
Just sound. Pure, weaponized wrongness.
Neon's pulse thundered in his ears.
His grip tightened.
The shadow lunged.
It moved too fast—a blur of glistening limbs and glutted motion.
But Neon didn't flinch.
He hurled the flame forward.
It surged, transforming mid-flight into a roaring comet, the light howling against the dark.
The heat seared the air, trailing streaks of orange and blue behind it like the tail of a dying star.
WHOOMPH!
The orb collided with the creature's chest—
A flash.
Then fire.
Light exploded outward in a ring of pure, searing energy, consuming the monster's center.
The shockwave rocked the cathedral, scattering ash and debris in all directions.
Stone cracked. Dust erupted.
The creature reeled back, its form splintering and unraveling, letting out a screech so unnatural, it sounded like a cathedral pipe warping under pressure—
metal bending, glass shattering, nerves breaking.
The scream shook the walls.
Shook Neon.
Shook something deeper than either.
And the silence that followed was even worse.
---
The fireball struck with a deafening roar—
a sun igniting at point-blank range.
Heat and light slammed into the creature and cathedral alike, a violent bloom of flame that cracked the air open like thunder.
For a breathless instant, everything burned.
The broken walls were drenched in searing orange, molten gold licking across their surfaces.
Flames flailed wildly, casting shadows that twisted and thrashed like trapped spirits, clawing across the ancient stone columns.
The pillars themselves groaned—heat-warped and humming, like they might shatter from the strain.
The air thickened, choking.
Acrid smoke clawed its way down Neon's throat, ash stinging his eyes beneath the mask's filter.
Burnt wood, scorched flesh, smoldering fabric—the stench soaked into the cathedral's bones.
And the creature screamed.
A raw, alien shriek—like rusted iron being dragged across brittle glass—rattled the very air.
Its twisted flesh split and burst into fire, limbs thrashing violently, snapping in directions bones were never meant to bend.
Charred chunks of sinew and dripping muscle splattered across the stone, steam hissing up from where they struck.
But the fire wasn't satisfied.
Embers floated free—restless, glowing cinders caught in the dust and decay.
Sparks darted like fireflies made of malice, catching on every dry surface.
Piles of debris smoldered. Crumbling plaster flared to life.
The cathedral itself began to groan.
Stone trembled. Support beams cracked. The old bones of the building buckled under heat and strain.
Neon didn't hesitate.
His pulse thundered, a war drum in his chest.
Adrenaline surged like wildfire through his limbs.
He turned sharply, boots grinding against rubble.
His arms swept outward—
Three blazing arcs sliced from his fingertips, cutting through smoke with a hiss, fire licking the air like blades made of wrath.
They struck true—searing into the beast's midsection, cleaving burning furrows through its churning mass.
But it wasn't enough.
The creature shattered—only to pull itself back together, fluid and fast.
Its charred flesh liquefied midair, droplets swirling back in on themselves like reverse blood spatter in slow motion.
It reformed like shadow sucked into a vacuum, smoke crawling back into a body that refused to die.
Neon staggered back.
His breath rasped, raw and harsh in the confined space of the mask.
Chest burning. Muscles trembling. Mind racing.
It's reforming… like mist. Like it never died.
If I keep fighting it here, this place will collapse around me.
I need space.
I can use rain at my advantage.
Let the sky burn it instead.
He didn't wait.
He bolted—feet slamming against fractured stone, crashing through dust and smoke and flickering flame.
S.A.B.R.E. was already with him—
the clicking staccato of its eight mechanical legs like frantic drumbeats, the red glow of its optic core bobbing beside him through the smoke.
Behind them:
A rising roar. A hungry, wet, crawling rage.
Neon hit the ancient cathedral side doors at full speed.
BOOM—
They exploded outward in a cloud of splinters and rusted hinges.
Cold night air rushed in like a scream.
He burst into the storm.
Rain slammed into him—icy, violent, drenching his clothes in an instant.
It soaked through the seams, plastering his coat to his skin, cold slicing across his body like knives made of water.
The world was chaos.
Lightning cracked the sky apart—jagged claws of white tearing through roiling clouds.
The earth shuddered beneath him.
Thunder crashed so loud it shook the breath from his lungs and made the broken stones beneath his boots tremble.
Wind roared, snarling through the cathedral's remains, tearing ash and ember into the night.
Neon stumbled forward, boots slipping on the slick stone.
The mask hissed and flickered as droplets struck its warm surface.
His fingers flared again—flame struggling to live in the rain, but burning nonetheless.
Behind him, the cathedral screamed—
Stone shattered. Wood splintered. Something massive and monstrous surged forward with a howl like a furnace being torn open.
He didn't look back.
---
Neon skidded across the soaked ground, boots slipping in thick, clinging mud that sucked at his every step.
But the fire failed him.
The moment the spark flickered to life, the relentless rain devoured it—
PSSSHHHT!
Steam hissed from his fingertips, rising like a dying breath, lost in the storm's roar.
He exhaled hard, watching the reaction. Not fire—never fire. This was a test, a calculation. The storm was ravenous, swallowing the heat in an instant. That meant the air was primed, thick with energy. Perfect for lightning.
A slow smile curled beneath his mask. The storm thought it was relentless, merciless. Good. That meant it was ready to be wielded.
Rain dripped from the edges of his armored mask, mixing with sweat and grime. His glowing orange goggles sliced through the haze, twin embers in the downpour.
The cold metal of his helm gleamed slick with rain—it clung to him like a second skin, unmoving, unyielding. A shell forged by fire, ready now to command the storm.
Behind him, the Netherling's roar shattered the night.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Its limbs pounded wet stone, a nightmare gaining speed.
Neon didn't run.
He planted his feet, bracing against the wind, the cold, the chaos.
His breath slowed. His mind sharpened.
And around him—the rain stuttered.
Droplets froze midair, fluttering like caught moths—then stopped entirely.
Hundreds of glimmering crystals suspended around him, held in place by invisible strands of elemental will.
The temperature plunged.
Cold gnawed through his armor. Frost bled from his respirator in ragged clouds, each breath a battle.
His fingers flexed.
And the droplets obeyed.
They hardened—each one twisting into a razor-edged shard, glinting with unnatural precision.
Below, a delicate crust of ice crept along the ground, turning mud to brittle white.
Then—
The Netherling lunged.
Its mouths tore open in a silent scream, limbs spidering outward—dozens of clawed appendages grasping for him through the frozen air.
Neon whispered a word—quiet, but sharp.
And then he unleashed hell.
CRACK—CRACK—CRACK!
A storm of ice burst from his palms, shrieking through the rain like glass daggers fired from a cannon.
They hit hard.
Chest. Shoulders. Legs.
The beast slammed backward—nailed to a gnarled old tree, the bark cracking beneath the force.
It writhed—limbs flailing, mouths screeching, black ichor mixing with rain as it poured down the wood like tar.
Neon took a step forward.
His whole body trembled—muscles aflame, breath ragged beneath the steaming plates of his armor.
Lightning ripped the sky behind him, throwing his silhouette into sharp relief:
Glowing goggles. Ice-streaked metal. A lone figure standing defiant in the downpour.
He stared down the thrashing creature.
Voice low.
Gravel-slick.
"Not done yet, ugly…"
A spark danced in his eyes—anticipation. The kind that came before something devastating, something dazzling. He wasn't just ready. He was eager.
---
Neon's eyes narrowed behind the glowing goggles.
Within the orange-tinted lenses, arcane sigils rippled like liquid script, scanning for residual heat, micro-movements, and the pulsing mana filth leaking from the creature's half-pinned, heaving frame.
Above, the storm loomed—no longer thrashing blindly, but watching.
Waiting.
Its swirling mass of cloud and fury tightened, like a clenched fist around the battlefield. The storm had found its conduit.
Neon felt it—every atom around him charged and restless.
His breath hitched—sharp and cold, inhaled through clenched teeth behind the mask.
The air tasted of ozone and iron, thick with damp rot and scorched mana.
Arcane static crawled across his skin, not painful, but insistent—like a thousand invisible insects prickling along his arms. Sparks trailed up his gauntlets, flickering in and out of phase with reality, leaving behind a faint scent of burned copper.
Near the creature, heat warped the air in oily ripples—slick and unnatural—pressing against the curling tendrils of frost that had crept up its limbs.
The clash of elements thickened the atmosphere, drawing tight around Neon's ribs like a vice.
Frost hissed as it met heat. Mist rose in wisps, clinging to his legs like breathless ghosts.
Neon stepped forward.
Each bootfall squelched into the mud, sinking slightly before lifting with a soft suction pop.
The ground stank—wet leaves, black earth, the metallic tang of spilled blood—and something else. Something wrong.
Even through the filtered vents of his mask, the stench hit him—burnt void, thick and oily, like smoldering plastic and spoiled mana. It clawed past the seal, slithering into his lungs with every breath, acrid and wrong. Rain pattered off his shoulders and helm, but slower now—the droplets lagged in the air, trembling as if uncertain.
Neon's will bent time in tiny fractures. Water hovered, stuttered, froze midfall—each bead a suspended shard of reality.
He raised his arms, gauntlets humming.
Veins of raw energy coiled around his fingers, gold-threaded with violet, as if lightning had been braided into silk.
His breath steamed from his mouth in thick gusts, drifting into the cold like the sighs of exhausted spirits.
Ahead, the Netherling thrashed—limbs jerking, joints cracking with sick, wet sounds. Its dozens of mouths gaped in voiceless defiance, teeth glistening like shards of obsidian, tongues writhing.
Neon's heartbeat matched the storm—slow, thunderous, relentless.
The clouds pulsed with each beat.
Then—
ZAAKKOOM!
A jagged bolt tore down—not falling, drawn, tethered by will and wrath.
It struck with a sound like worlds cracking.
Energy surged through Neon's spine.
His hair stood on end. Even S.A.B.R.E. shrieked—metal legs scraping mud as it ducked away from the surge.
Neon didn't flinch.
He moved.
A single, lethal step.
And with grim finality—slammed his palm against the creature's chest.
CRACK—THOOM!
Lightning detonated through the Netherling, exploding outward in a white-hot burst.
The tree behind it shattered from the impact—wood exploding in jagged splinters.
The pinned flesh boiled, burned, and cracked in pulses of blinding light.
All around them, ice crystals exploded like shrapnel, and steam erupted outward in a howling wave, hissing like a dying furnace.
The air turned white. Sound was swallowed by the sheer force of the impact.
The scream that followed was unnatural—not just pain, but defiance, a guttural, intelligent rage, as if something inside the creature understood what was being done to it.
And then—
Silence.
Utter and terrifying.
Neon dropped to his knees, breath ragged.
His limbs trembled under the weight of expended mana, adrenaline, and the raw aftermath of channeling celestial force.
Every joint ached—bone-deep pain that throbbed with each heartbeat.
The rain returned, gentler now, falling in slow, rhythmic taps against his armor.
Like a lullaby after war.
Steam curled from his shoulders, his gauntlets, the scorched earth beneath him. The mud sucked at his legs as if trying to keep him rooted, but he stayed upright—barely.
He looked up.
Where the Netherling had been was only a crater of churned soil, shattered bark, and lingering shadow—not smoke, not mist, but something darker.
It clung to the broken ground like a memory refusing to fade.
Behind him—clink. click. whirr.
S.A.B.R.E. emerged slowly from the fog, its sleek limbs twitching in cautious, stuttered motion. Its metal body dripped with water and grime.
It stopped a few feet from Neon—hesitant. unsure.
Then, it pressed against his side—tentative, like a dog afraid of being scolded.
Like it didn't recognize him for a moment.
Neon didn't speak.
Didn't move.
He only stared.
At the fading glow.
At the shadows that refused to die.
---
The storm was fading, but the world beneath still hissed with smoldering pain.
Steam bled from the scorched ground in pale, ghostlike tendrils, coiling through the shredded trunks and broken stone like mourning spirits. It clung to Neon's legs as he stood amid the wreckage, the mud sucking at his boots with every tremble of movement. The acrid stench of burnt wood, scorched flesh, and ozone curdled in the air—thick enough to taste, even through the filtration vents of his helmet.
Sparks crackled across his armor in lazy bursts, the fading echo of borrowed lightning snapping one final time before guttering out. Cold rain slapped against his plating, hissing softly as it met the hot metal. Tiny arcs of residual energy sizzled and died along his gauntlets, leaving only silence.
He stood hunched, chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven bursts. Each breath rasped through clenched teeth, catching in the rebreather like a wounded animal's growl. His back shuddered with the effort to stay upright. The faint orange glow of his visor flickered uncertainly—warning sigils pulsing across the interior display.
OVERCLOCKED. MANA RESERVES AT 2%. EXTERNAL STRUCTURE COMPROMISED.
Beneath the shell of armor and circuitry, his skin was slick with sweat, blood, and rain. Muscles spasmed with overuse. Every nerve screamed. His entire body felt like it had been chewed up and spit out by the storm itself.
Then he spoke—barely a whisper through the modulator, warped by static and fatigue.
"…Why…"
His voice crackled like a dying radio transmission. Then, raw, furious—
"WHY WON'T YOU DIE?"
Across the clearing, the creature moved.
Twitches. Jerks.
Its blackened limbs spasmed, dragging against the soaked earth with a wet, squelching sound. One arm—twisted backwards at an unnatural angle—snapped into place with a sharp, crrkk! that echoed like breaking timber. Chunks of charred meat sloughed off, revealing fresh, glistening sinew beneath—regenerating in clumps, like mold growing in fast-forward.
It wasn't healing like a beast.
It was rewriting itself—blindly, grotesquely—like a memory too warped to forget what form it was supposed to take.
Neon's knees buckled.
His right gauntlet dimmed, then flickered out entirely. Arcane glyphs etched along its surface faded into lifeless scratches. He glanced down—blinking hard as his HUD fractured into static. The readings bled red across the display, like veins bursting behind glass.
He lifted his hand again, but it twitched uselessly—fingers trembling like brittle wires.
"…I'm out of mana," he whispered, barely audible to himself.
A sharp, metallic tang filled his mouth.
Blood.
Warm and coppery, it dribbled from his gums, pooling behind the mask's filtration vents before sliding down his throat. His vision doubled. A thin whine rose in his ears, spiraling higher until it popped violently—then silence.
Static pulsed in his goggles.
Crimson lines.
Horizontal tears.
Bleeding.
Every part of him wanted to drop. To fall into the mud and let the night take him. But through the downpour… the creature stirred again.
It rose.
The steam peeled from its form like skin being shed—unraveling its outline in ghastly wisps. Limbs flexed unnaturally, like joints bent the wrong way but still moving forward. The blackened mass twitched, half-formed, half-forgotten. It shimmered, translucent—shifting between forms, shapes, things Neon didn't recognize.
Its very existence clawed at the edges of reason.
Unkillable.
Unrelenting.
Neon turned his head, slow and stiff.
Beyond the twisted trees and shattered rocks, faint lights shimmered in the distance. Artificial. Constant. A row of towers, half-shrouded in rain—marking the edge of the industrial zone. The city.
Home.
Safety.
Civilians.
His breath caught. Not in fear—but in clarity.
The fight had changed.
This wasn't about killing the monster anymore.
It was about keeping it away from everything else.
The mission snapped into focus like a final piece locking into place.
Neon dug one foot into the soaked ground behind him.
Rain streamed off his helmet in narrow rivulets.
His goggles burned dim orange—one last pulse.
The creature shuddered, pulling free of the tree.
Neon turned.
And ran.
Mud splashed beneath each step, suctioning at his boots. His legs felt like steel rods—burning, heavy—but they moved, faster with each stride. The ruined forest blurred past in streaks of black and grey, his heartbeat hammering in his ears louder than the storm ever had.
Behind him, the Netherling howled.
A chorus of mouths. A single, alien scream.
The hunt had begun again.
But this time, he wasn't fighting to win.
He was running to warn.
To save.
To make it mean something.
---
Neon and S.A.B.R.E tore down the slick, winding path—boots crashing into the mud with heavy, sucking shlurks. The ground had become a graveyard of waterlogged roots and half-buried stones, the rain transforming every step into a gamble. Cold muck clung to Neon's legs like the grip of the dead, dragging him back with every labored stride.
He stumbled—one foot catching on a hidden root beneath the brackish sludge. A wet splat! followed as mud splattered high up his thigh. His breath hitched in his throat, sharp and shallow behind the rasping filters of his mask. Heart hammering like a war drum, he forced his center of gravity forward, boots skidding before regaining purchase on the treacherous slope.
Behind them, the Netherling advanced.
It didn't run. It didn't need to.
Its limbs—bent at the wrong angles—dragged wetly through the mire with a rhythmic slap… slap… slap, like the sound of meat thrown onto stone. Twisted appendages curled and convulsed, each grotesque movement defying logic. Every few steps, it twitched—resetting a shattered limb with a sickening crack that echoed through the ravine like bone splintering in a silent room.
Its pace was slow.
Its purpose wasn't.
They crested a jagged ridge—a slant of broken stone jutting from the forest floor like a fractured spine—and Neon skidded to a halt, knees buckling slightly from momentum. His chest heaved. His breath was fire. He could taste blood and copper inside the helmet, the air inside thick with sweat and recycled panic.
Below them, the city burned.
Cairnhelm sprawled beneath a bruised sky, swollen clouds flashing with distant lightning. Smoke rose in great choking columns, curling skyward like the hands of the damned. Flames licked through broken rooftops, swallowing entire blocks in crimson and gold. Explosions bloomed like twisted flowers—brief, bright flashes followed by deafening silence.
And then the screams.
Thin and far away.
But unmistakably human.
A child. A mother. A crowd.
Each cry floated up the cliff face, piercing and panicked—voices that cut through the storm louder than thunder.
Neon's throat seized.
"…No."
The word barely escaped, choked and hollow.
He took a step back, visor fogging with heat and fear. The internal lights in his helmet flickered, refracting his wide eyes in fractured orange. His pulse pounded in his ears, louder now than the wind.
Beside him, S.A.B.R.E. skittered to a stop—its eight segmented legs clicking against the rain-slick rock. Tiny claws scrambled for traction, the bot's glowing eye-panels flashing rapid diagnostics. It chirped softly, confused, overwhelmed by the storm of input.
Behind them, the sound came again.
Shlorp. Snap. Slap.
The Netherling.
It dragged its broken body up the incline, clawing across the wet stone with strength it shouldn't have. Its limbs made grotesque contact with the rock, bones bending and skin stretching like tar. Steam hissed from its back. Its torso writhed as if trying to shed its own shape.
The nightmare was catching up.
Neon pivoted too fast—his boots slipped.
His knees crashed into the mud with a wet squelch and pain flared up his side. He slammed his gloved hands into the sludge to keep from collapsing, fingernails scraping stone under the muck. He gasped. Shivered.
Then instinct took over.
He flung a fistful of the sticky, blackened earth over his shoulder. The mud hit the creature with a dull splatch, splattering across its shimmering form. For a second, the surface of its body stuttered—glitching like a corrupted image on a broken screen.
It paused.
Then growled.
A guttural, multi-throated snarl—vibrating with hunger and fury.
Neon turned, every inch of him shaking. His gaze darted from the inferno below to the horror above. He didn't know which direction was death anymore.
"We have to get out of here," he whispered.
The words fogged the inside of his helmet, a tremble in his voice that not even the modulator could hide. His fingers clenched, forcing his body to obey as he rose, legs screaming in protest. His vision swam. His heart thudded so loud it drowned out the rain.
But still—he ran.
Boots tore through the muck, S.A.B.R.E. clicking beside him in perfect rhythm. The wind howled through the trees like the voices of the damned, rain slashing sideways, stinging against armor. The Netherling's growls chased them like a second heartbeat—ragged, wet, getting closer.
Neon didn't look back.
He didn't have to.
The nightmare was coming.
And the city was already burning.
---
Night poured down in sheets.
Rain lashed the jagged cliffside, running in rivulets over scorched rock and shattered roots. Neon collapsed beside S.A.B.R.E, his whole body slamming into the mud with a heavy, wet thud. His breath rasped through the helmet's cracked modulator, harsh and uneven, fogging the inside of his visor with every gasp.
His HUD flickered violently. Ghost-orange warnings scrolled across the cracked glass:
mana reserves depleted…core temperature critical…"visual systems compromised."
He blinked, trying to clear the blur—but static danced across the visor like frostbite.
Everything inside the helmet pulsed with dim chaos—icons flickering, feedback hissing through his earpiece, breath clawing against the heat and fog.
He couldn't see.
Neon's gauntleted hand reached up—fumbling toward the manual override.
Click.
A hiss of decompression.
Then, with a mechanical whirr, the segmented helmet began to unfold—cracking along hidden seams, petals of reinforced alloy retracting like a dying bloom. Rain struck his bare face for the first time in hours—icy needles against burning skin. Dried blood crusted around his eyes, nose, and ears, dark and cracked in the grime. As the rain intensified, thin streams of water traced over the stains, washing away the dried blood, mingling with fresh tears and sweat, and carrying the pain down his cheeks. Steam rose off his skin, mixing with the cold rain.His vision cleared, but only just. Smoke, flame, and rain blurred the cliffside into a hellscape of firelight and shadow.
Beside him, S.A.B.R.E twitched violently. Sparks sprayed from exposed joints, its damaged limbs scrabbling at the mud. Its eyes dimmed—but then flared again, burning bright.
And behind them…
The Netherling lumbered forward.
Its body pulsed grotesquely, flesh knotting over shattered bone like muscle re-stitched by hatred. It moved without rhythm or reason, every step a deliberate defiance of death.
Neon stretched out his arm.
A faint spark flickered—then died.
Nothing. Empty. No mana.
The Netherling shrieked—a screech like splitting metal—and S.A.B.R.E launched.
One last desperate strike.
SNAP!
Metal jaws clamped down.
CRACK—CRUNCH.
The creature reared back with a roar as one of its massive teeth tore free—ripped out mid-snarl. The jagged shard spun through the stormy air, trailing dark ichor. It fell. Tumbling like a cursed star.
The tooth slammed into the mud below, bounced once, then vanished beneath a shallow puddle near the twisted roots.
Neon tried to rise—his knees buckled. Alarms screamed in the back of his mind, phantom signals now that the HUD had died. He dropped to all fours, coughing violently. Blood splattered the inside of the now-open helmet. His left arm hung dead at his side. Numb.
The creature screamed again—closer now.
Neon's trembling fingers clawed through the mud, dragging his broken body forward inch by inch. Every breath was fire in his lungs. Every movement screamed with pain.
Mud sloshed against his chest. His hand slipped—then found purchase. A buried root.
He dragged again. One meter. Two.
Then he saw it.
Through the rain and ruin—the tooth. Still half-submerged, glinting black beneath the surface.
But a deep snarl rolled behind him. The Netherling was almost on them.
S.A.B.R.E hurled itself once more onto the beast's face, screeching—a suicide leap to buy him seconds.
Neon lunged.
His gauntlet punched into the cold muck, fingers closing around something sharp, dense, wrong.
Contact.
And then—
Everything stopped.
Inside the broken helmet, the world fell silent. Rain dulled to a whisper. Smoke seemed to hang in midair. Even the pulsing light from the fires below slowed.
The glyphs came.
Cerulean. Flickering. Faint at first—then stronger. Symbols not from a spellbook, but something deeper. Older. Built into the world like veins beneath skin.
His pulse slowed, syncing with something ancient. Something buried deep within the shard of bone.
Not arcane. Not divine.
Alchemy.
One glyph surfaced—clear and absolute. He didn't know how he knew it. But he did. Not taught. Not remembered. Resonant.
His broken body trembled, but his hand moved with certainty.
The HUD was gone. There was no audience. No interface.
Only him.
Only the glyph.
He traced it into the black ichor-slick surface of the tooth with his gauntlet's finger. A simple shape. A line. Then a curve.
The glyph ignited.
A single searing streak of azure—then another. Veins of light spread like cracks in obsidian, carving across the shard's surface with living fire. The bone quivered—folding, reforming, reshaping itself.
A dagger.
Elegant. Brutal. Real.
Forged not from magic, but from meaning. From transformation.
He rose slowly, staggeringly, like a revenant from the grave.
His armor hissed. Joints groaned. Hydraulics fought to lift his weight.
The glyph pulsed along the dagger's edge—silent, steady, alive.
No spells. No charges. No HUD. No help.
Just the blade.
And one last chance to end the nightmare.
---
The Netherling charged, roaring like thunder tearing through the storm. Jagged teeth snapped in a grotesque snarl, claws gouging deep furrows into the soaked earth with every savage stride.
Neon braced.
Rain hammered down his bare face—icy needles against burning skin. Streams washed dried blood from his eyes, nose, and ears, mingling with sweat and rain, slipping down his cheeks and neck, cleansing him in the storm's relentless downpour.
His breath came harsh and ragged, misting in the cold air. His muscles screamed—soaked, trembling, weighed down by armor heavy with blood and mud.
He gripped the alchemical dagger tightly. The glyph along its curved edge pulsed with faint blue light—soft and uneven, like a heartbeat struggling to keep pace. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't balanced. But it was real. Alive.
"Please work..." he whispered to the storm around him.
The creature was nearly upon him now—towering, malformed, dragging its broken frame forward with terrifying speed. Bones cracked as its limbs bent and snapped, reshaping mid-sprint. Its hollow, soulless eyes locked onto him like death itself.
Neon's boots slipped in the mud. Sidestep—just barely.
The creature's claw slashed past his face by mere inches.
He spun, armor grinding, heart pounding in rhythm with the storm. Then plunged the dagger deep into its chest.
THUNK.
The blade met resistance—thick, unnatural flesh pushing back like iron. For a breathless moment, nothing happened.
Then—
FLASH.
The glyph ignited.
Cerulean fire erupted, engulfing the blade and flesh in a brilliant blaze. Lines of searing energy snaked outward like veins of living light, carving through the monster's ribcage with surgical precision—sinew and bone cleaving apart in a shower of sparks.
A guttural, inhuman moan spilled from the Netherling's throat—building, rising, then breaking into a scream of pure agony as the glyph detonated within.
BOOM.
A shockwave blasted outward.
Black ichor sprayed across Neon, sizzling like acid on hot steel. The creature's torso twisted and collapsed, consumed by the blazing alchemical fire. Its limbs convulsed spasmodically. Its eyes melted into pools of molten shadow.
And then—
It vanished.
No body. No bones.
Only smoke, steam, and the harsh stench of scorched rot lingering in the rain.
Silence fell.
Only the rain remained—hissing softly as it struck the scorched earth.
Neon stumbled back, boots squelching in the mud. The dagger clattered from his trembling hand to the soaked ground. His chest rose and fell heavily in the cold air. Fingers twitched.
Behind him, S.A.B.R.E crawled forward on sparking limbs, its lone good eye pulsing dim blue. It chirped—a glitchy, half-warning, half-relief sound.
Neon didn't move.
He stared at the spot where the monster had stood, waiting. Waiting for the nightmare to rise again.
But it didn't.
A soft tremor passed through him. Then another. His arms dropped, the dagger slipping from his grasp.
Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, mingling with rain and blood. His voice came, barely audible:
"...It's dead."
A breathless pause.
Then:
"We actually did it."
A small, exhausted laugh broke through the cold storm air. Somewhere beneath the battered armor, a boy who had no business surviving let himself believe—for just a moment—that the nightmare was over.
Neon and S.A.B.R.E stood side by side in the rain, silhouetted against the shattered cliff.
Below them, the city burned.
Flames roared from shattered rooftops. Smoke billowed through alleys like ghosts. Distant screams carried faintly over the thunder.
And in the far streets, more Netherlings prowled through the flames—shapeless shadows feeding on the chaos.
This was not the end.
Not yet.
But tonight, in the heart of the storm, one nightmare had died.