"Bait." The word hung in the stale air like a death sentence. Rhett's throat felt raw just thinking it. "Not concerning at all."
As his captor had promised, they waited for the sun to drag its weak, anemic light across the grim skeletal remains of Brookside. Not that Rhett had anything better to do—still bound tight enough to cut circulation, ribs grinding like broken glass with every breath. He could only lie there and let the planet spin beneath him, watching that sickly yellow star crawl into view through the jagged window frames.
The sun brought more than light.
With the first pale rays came the sounds—disturbing, wet shrieks that bounced off empty buildings like dying prayers. Animal cries, but wrong somehow. Vengeful and tortured, like that drowning wolf's screech but multiplied, echoing from a dozen different throats scattered throughout the dead streets.
Goosebumps crawled up Rhett's arms with every passing second. His blood turned to ice water in his veins. Whatever was down there in those shadow-choked alleys, he didn't want to meet it. Much less serve as Henrik's walking dinner bell.
Pain he could handle—when it was his choice. When it served his goals. But suffering for someone else's twisted agenda? That was a different kind of hell entirely.
My own goal. The thought cut through his rising panic like a blade. Through all the adrenaline and terror of fighting the Iron Knight, he'd almost forgotten why he'd run into that death-trap mall in the first place.
He twisted his neck painfully to look behind him, muscles screaming in protest. The abandoned mall's broken walls were still visible, a monument to his failure. That's where he'd hoped to find Casey, following intel from that mercenary soldier he'd barely survived from.
Some rescue mission. Can't even rescue myself.
The city sprawled before him like a diseased organism—wide, dangerous, crawling with things that shouldn't exist. Could he really save anyone on his own?
Hell, could he even save himself from this situation?
Henrik's voice broke the silence with a low grunt. "It's time to move."
Rhett barely registered the words before Henrik's hand clamped around his neck like a steel collar. The pressure jolted him from his half-conscious despair, rough fingers digging into his throat.
"Down we go," Henrik muttered, dragging Rhett toward the building's gutted interior.
The descent was a nightmare of broken concrete and twisted metal. Each step down the ruined stairwell sent shockwaves through Rhett's damaged ribs. The building creaked around them like a dying giant, wind howling through shattered windows with a sound like screaming. Debris crunched under their feet—glass, plaster, things Rhett didn't want to identify in the dim light.
Henrik moved with practiced efficiency, navigating the destruction like he'd done this before. His grip never loosened, never wavered, even when they had to duck under collapsed beams or step over gaping holes in the floor. The guy was stronger than he looked—a lot stronger.
By the time they reached the ground floor, Rhett's vision was swimming with pain and exhaustion.
"Hey, bastard," he grunted, spitting blood from where he'd bitten his tongue. "At least tell me your fucking name! Kind of tired of being dragged around with only the word 'Captor' attached to your identity!"
Henrik paused at the building's entrance, scanning the empty street with those sharp brown eyes. "Even when there's no way for you to escape, you haven't lost that bite in you yet."
They moved into the streets proper, and immediately the sounds of screaming grew louder. Wetter. More desperate and monstrous, like wounded animals trying to sing lullabies.
"I try to keep my sunny personality wherever I go," Rhett spat through gritted teeth. Every breath felt like sandpaper grinding against his cracked ribs. "So? What do I call you when you're feeding me to whatever nightmare lives in this place?"
Henrik's grip tightened momentarily, and through the contact Rhett could feel the kid's tension. Because that's what he was—a kid. Late teens at most, with thin but firm hands that spoke of someone who'd grown up too fast. Maybe in a fair fight, without the ropes and injuries, Rhett could take him.
Maybe.
Henrik's face softened slightly, as if he was actually considering the question. "They used to call me the Merger. Hero name. Didn't stick."
"Merger?" Rhett couldn't help but laugh, which sent fresh pain lancing through his chest. "That's supposed to strike fear into the hearts of evil? Because it's not doing the job."
"Just call me Henrik." The boy's voice carried an edge of old hurt, like a wound that had never properly healed. "Not like names matter out here anymore."
"Henrik." The name felt strange on Rhett's tongue, too normal for someone dragging him toward certain doom. "And you're supposed to be a hero? If you're a hero, that makes me the fucking savior of humanity."
"Keep your voice down!" Henrik's knuckles connected with the back of Rhett's skull in a devastating blow that sent stars exploding across his vision. Rhett tried to retaliate, but the ropes held firm, leaving him helpless.
They ducked into a narrow alleyway, past a toppled billboard that read "Brookside: A City of Tomorrow" with half the letters burned out and the rest streaked with something that looked suspiciously like dried blood. The irony wasn't lost on him.
As they moved deeper into the maze of abandoned buildings, Rhett noticed something odd about Henrik's footsteps. For someone who looked so thin and gaunt, he moved heavy—each step hitting the ground with surprising weight despite his obvious attempts at stealth. Like he was carrying more than just his own body weight.
The alley narrowed, pressing close around them with walls of crumbling brick and broken glass. The morning light barely penetrated here, leaving everything in a sickly twilight that made shadows dance at the edges of Rhett's vision.
"So what's your name?" Henrik finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll need it when the baiting starts."
The question hung between them like a loaded gun. The sounds of screaming were getting closer now, echoing off the narrow walls until it felt like they were surrounded. One voice rose above the others—higher, more desperate, more hungry.
Rhett's mind raced. If he played along, maybe Henrik would let him go once his twisted plan was complete. But if Henrik never finished using him, if this became some endless cycle of being bait for monsters...
Casey. The name hit him like a physical blow. His sister in everything but blood, the girl who'd fought his battles when he was too small and weak to fight them himself. Bullies, angry foster parents, the whole fucked-up system that had tried to grind them both down. She'd been his shield, his protector, his anchor to something better.
Until they took her away.
He hadn't seen her since. Had no way of knowing where she was, especially since his mall tip had turned into a spectacular bust. So what was he supposed to do now? Let Henrik use him as monster chow while Casey was out there somewhere, probably thinking he'd forgotten about her?
The sound of something wet and strangled bounced off the alley walls, closer now. Much closer.
"I'm Rhett," he finally admitted, the words tasting like surrender.
"Good to know." Henrik's voice carried a note of grim satisfaction.
Henrik crouched low near the corner where the alley opened onto a wider street. He hoisted Rhett up with surprising ease, carrying him toward a dead fire escape that clung to the building's side like a metal skeleton. The rust flaked off under their weight as they climbed to the first landing.
Henrik pulled a black tarp from somewhere in his coat and began pinning it to the railings with quick, efficient movements. The makeshift blind blocked them from view while providing Henrik with a clear line of sight to the street below. It was clever, tactical—like something a sniper would use.
Or someone who's done this before.
Rhett could only squirm helplessly against the nylon ropes, testing their strength for the hundredth time. Still impossible to break. His regeneration might make him hard to kill, but it didn't make him stronger. He was still just a thin teenager with delusions of heroism.
Some hero. Can't even save himself, let alone anyone else.
A sound broke through his thoughts—wet, clicking, distinctly wrong. The morning sun was casting long shadows across the street, painting everything in shades of amber and gold that should have been beautiful but only made the emptiness more obvious.
Something was moving in those shadows.
Henrik's breathing changed beside him, becoming shallow and controlled. The kid was excited, Rhett realized. This was what he'd been waiting for.
The sound came again. Closer. Like joints popping under wet skin, accompanied by the soft scrape of something dragging across asphalt.
Rhett's heart hammered against his ribs as the thing began to emerge from the deeper shadows between buildings. At first, he could only make out a shape—roughly dog-sized, but moving wrong. Too fluid. Too purposeful.
It stepped into the light.
A dog. But no dog that had ever existed in nature.
The front limbs were long and segmented like insect legs, bright red and glistening wet. They clicked against the pavement with each step, joints bending in directions that made Rhett's stomach lurch. The creature's head swayed as it moved, sniffing the air with obvious hunger.
Then it looked directly at him.
Not with normal eyes, but with a scissor-jaw that opened and closed in a parody of excitement. Where a tongue should have been, a thick purple tentacle emerged, lined with suckers the size of silver dollars. Each sucker pulsed with its own rhythm, like tiny hearts beating in anticipation.
The thing's real eyes were huge—lime-sized orbs with pupils that seemed to drink in light. They fixed on Rhett with unmistakable intelligence and hunger.
This is what I get for chasing shadows in a dead city. Fucking brilliant.
The creature approached slowly, savoring the moment. Saliva dripped from its mandibles as they spread wide, revealing rows of serrated edges designed for shredding rather than biting.
A soft sigh came from the fire escape above. Henrik had made his choice.
A small stone arced through the air, landing near Rhett's feet with a soft click. The sound drew the monster's attention like a beacon.
Henrik's gonna keep pulling strings until I'm nothing but a bleeding puppet.
"Fuck you, Henrik!" The words died in Rhett's throat as the creature fixed its full attention on him. Terror froze his vocal cords, leaving him gasping like a fish out of water.
The nightmare approached with predatory grace, its scissor-jaws clicking in a rhythm that might have been excitement or hunger. Probably both.
When it reached him, the mandibles pressed against his forearm with surprising gentleness—a lover's caress before the bite. He could feel the serrated edges beginning to break his skin, drawing the first drops of blood.
Is this how it ends? Fed to monsters while Henrik watches from the shadows?
But then Lucille's face blazed across his vision—not a memory this time, but something more real. Her oversized hand-me-down clothes, patched skirt, bone-white hair catching sunlight like spun silver. Her angular but soft features, pink lips curved in that half-smile she wore when she was trying not to laugh at his jokes.
She wasn't just a memory. She was out there, somewhere in this broken world, probably wondering if he'd forgotten about her too.
Like hell.
"I won't stop," he growled as the creature's mandibles sank deeper into his flesh. The pain was incredible, but he pushed through it, focusing on Lucille's face, on Casey's fierce determination, on everyone he'd sworn to protect. "I promised I'll be with you, Lucille. And when I make promises, not even fucking death can stop me!"
The gunshot cracked through the morning air like thunder.
Blood sprayed across Rhett's face as the creature's head exploded in a shower of bone and brain matter. The body collapsed on top of him, twitching once before going still.
For a moment, the alley was silent except for the sound of Rhett's ragged breathing and the slow drip of blood from the fire escape above.
Then Henrik dropped down beside him, hiding the smoking barrel behind his cloak, and hauled him to his feet with casual ease.
"Let's get a move on," Henrik said, his voice carrying a note of anticipation that made Rhett's skin crawl. "We have a lot more work to do."
As they moved deeper into the shadowed maze of the alley system, Rhett caught sight of Henrik's face in profile. The kid was smiling—not with pleasure, but with the grim satisfaction of a job well done.
The morning sun climbed higher, but the shadows around them only seemed to grow deeper.