The city had begun to breathe again — but the shadows beneath it never slept.
Three weeks after the Thorne vault was sealed, the first reports came in from the outer districts: hunters vanishing on routine patrols, their comms cutting out mid-sentence. No bodies. No blood. Just silence and abandoned gear. At first the Guardians assumed it was remnants of Darius Voss's cultists — stragglers trying to regroup. But the pattern didn't fit.
No one saw the enemy.
No one heard them.
They simply… weren't there anymore.
Malcolm felt the shift before the alerts even reached the Minaret Ward. The Cosmic Eater stirred — not with hunger, but with unease. A low, unfamiliar vibration in his chest, like a distant drumbeat made of absence.
That night, the first confirmed sighting came.
A joint patrol — two Spire defectors and three ward hunters — had been sweeping the abandoned mag-lev tunnels beneath Sector 12. Their body-cams captured six seconds of footage before going dark:
Static.
A corridor lit by flickering emergency strips.
Then the lights died.
In the infrared feed, six humanoid shapes stood motionless — tall, thin, limbs too long, faces smooth and featureless like polished obsidian.
No eyes. No mouths.
Just hollow black ovals where features should be.
The patrol's last audio: a single collective inhale — not fear, but recognition — before every voice cut off at once.
The footage ended.
Malcolm watched the clip three times in the war room, the team gathered around the holo-table. Safiya stood unseen at his shoulder in human form; Zahra in panther form and Naima in fox form waited in the shadows, invisible to everyone else.
Margarita: "They didn't fight. They didn't run. They just… stopped."
Kira: "Energy signature matches void corruption, but cleaner. No rage. No chaos. Like they're… harvesting."
Elara: (quiet) "Harvesting what?"
Malcolm stared at the frozen last frame — six hollow silhouettes.
Malcolm: "Souls. Or memories. Or both."
The Eater pulsed once — confirmation.
He gave a mental order.
Malcolm (to maids): Zahra, Naima — scout the tunnels. Stay hidden. Report only to me.
Zahra's panther form slipped away like smoke. Naima's fox shape darted after her.
The next night, they returned.
Zahra (human again, voice low): "They're multiplying. At least thirty now. Moving in perfect silence. They don't hunt — they wait. When someone passes close, they… reach. Not with hands. With absence. The victim freezes, eyes go blank, then collapses. No wound. No blood. Just empty."
Naima: "They avoid light. Noor repels them — briefly. But they adapt. Fast."
Malcolm nodded.
Malcolm: "We call them Hollow Ones."
The team launched the first counter-operation at dawn.
A mixed squad — Guardians, Spire elites, ward volunteers — swept the tunnels. Malcolm led point, Veil cloak active, Shadowfang drawn. Zahra prowled beside him in dire wolf form — unseen by the others — claws silent on stone. Naima darted ahead as shadow cat, scouting corners.
They found the first cluster in a collapsed station platform.
Ten Hollow Ones stood motionless — statues of black glass, featureless faces tilted as if listening to something far away.
The squad opened fire.
Bullets passed through them like smoke. Lightning arced harmlessly. Arrows dissolved mid-flight.
Then the Hollow Ones moved.
Not fast — deliberate. Each step erased light around them. Shadows stretched like fingers.
One reached toward a Spire soldier. The man froze — eyes glazing, mouth opening in silent scream. His body slumped. Empty.
Malcolm acted.
Blood Eclipse.
The domain snapped open — golden-black pocket swallowing the platform. Time slowed.
Zahra lunged — dire wolf jaws closing on a Hollow One's neck. The creature shattered like glass under her bite, fragments dissolving into light.
Naima darted between legs — fox claws slashing tendons that weren't there, but the disruption worked. Hollow Ones stumbled.
The team rallied inside the domain — Noor damage doubled, every strike burning.
Malcolm's Purifying Lash lashed out — golden veins threading through void flesh, unraveling them from the inside. One by one, the Hollow Ones cracked, screamed silently, and burst into harmless starlight.
The domain collapsed.
Ten down.
The squad stood breathing hard.
Margarita: "They're gone."
Malcolm: "For now."
But the Eater whispered — soft, certain.
More coming. Always more.
That night, on the rooftop, Malcolm sat alone — or so it appeared.
Zahra in panther form curled around his legs, warm bulk a living shield. Naima in fox form nestled in his lap, tail flicking. Safiya stood sentinel in human form, eyes scanning the dark.
He looked down at the city — lights stronger every day, but shadows longer too.
Malcolm (quiet): "We can't keep this secret forever."
Safiya: "You can for as long as you need."
He exhaled.
Malcolm: "I know."
Somewhere below, in the tunnels, another Hollow One stirred — waiting.
But Malcolm was no longer alone in the dark.
He had shadows of his own.
And they were hungry for light.
To be continued...