Flames licked the night sky over the university district, black smoke billowing like the breath of some ancient beast awakened from slumber. Elara Voss watched from a distant rooftop, her suit soaked in rain and blood, the acrid scent of burning chemicals clinging to her like a shroud. Dr. Eclipse's lab was gone—reduced to a smoldering crater by the self-destruct sequence she had triggered in her escape. But the horror she had unleashed was far from contained.
The Bison Beast—Harlan Graves—had vanished into the sewers after crushing his creator's life from her body. Elara had let him go, her blade stayed by a rare flicker of pity. He was a victim, twisted by Eclipse's madness and King Crow's greed. But pity was a luxury in Ashfall, and now the city would pay for her hesitation.
Her comm buzzed—Alex's voice, urgent. "Elara, reports coming in. Rampage in the industrial sector. Massive humanoid—horns, fur. It's him. Casualties mounting."
Failure gnawed at her gut like acid. She had created this monster by sparing him. "Track his path. I'm en route."
Reed's voice cut in—patched through from The Nest. "Voss, what the hell happened down there? Eclipse dead?"
"By her own creation," Elara replied, grappling line firing as she swung toward the chaos. "The Beast is loose. Enhanced. Regenerating."
Reed cursed. "I'll rally what clean cops I can. But the brass is locking down. Vance is on the air now—blaming vigilantes for the fire."
Elara landed on a water tower, scanning the horizon. Sirens wailed in the distance, a gothic symphony of despair. Below, the industrial sector sprawled like a graveyard of machines—rusted factories, abandoned rail yards, shadows deep enough to hide nightmares.
She dropped into the fray.
The scene was horrifying: a freight train derailed, cars crumpled like tin cans, bodies scattered among the wreckage. The Beast stood amid the carnage, chest heaving, horns dripping blood. He had charged through a Flock convoy—trucks laden with smuggled arms—leaving twisted metal and mangled limbs in his wake. But innocents had suffered too: rail workers, night guards, caught in the crossfire.
"Harlan!" Elara called, voice amplified through her modulator. "Stop this!"
The Beast turned, eyes glowing feral red. "Pain… rage… must… crush…"
He charged.
Elara dodged, agility her only edge against his brute force. She glided left, cape snapping, hurling feather blades at his legs. They embedded deep, drawing roars, but he pulled them free, wounds knitting with sickening pops. Eclipse's serum had made him nearly unkillable.
The fight spilled into a warehouse—shelves toppling like dominoes, crates exploding in splinters. The Beast swung a massive fist; Elara rolled under, countering with a Jiu-Jitsu leg sweep. He stumbled, but his hoofed foot stomped down, cracking concrete inches from her head.
"You… bird… end you!" he bellowed, voice a horrifying mix of man and monster.
She vaulted onto his back, talon gloves digging into fur, blade poised at his neck. But he bucked, hurling her into a wall. Plaster crumbled; pain exploded in her ribs—cracked, maybe broken. Blood filled her mouth.
Failure loomed—she couldn't take him alone.
Gunfire erupted outside. Reed arrived with a handful of loyal officers—four men, firing tranq darts and live rounds. "Aim for the eyes! Subdue, don't kill!"
The Beast roared, charging the squad. One officer went down, gored by horns, intestines spilling in a steaming pile. Horrifying screams filled the air as the man clutched his gut, blood bubbling.
Elara surged forward, tackling the Beast from behind. "Not them!"
They grappled—her precision against his rage. She sliced hamstrings, drawing black ichor, but he regenerated, fists pounding her armor. A blow glanced her helmet, vision blurring.
Reed fired point-blank, bullets sinking into the Beast's hide. "Voss! Get clear!"
She rolled away as the Beast swatted Reed like a doll. The detective flew, crashing into crates, gun skittering away.
The remaining officers fell one by one—necks snapped, chests caved. Dark kills, efficient in their brutality. Blood painted the walls in gothic streaks.
Elara's rage ignited. She hurled her last feather blades—dual strikes to the eyes. The Beast howled, blinded temporarily, claws raking the air.
She closed in, mounting his chest, blade at his throat. "Harlan… remember who you were. Janitor. Father. Not this."
His massive hands closed around her waist, squeezing. Ribs cracked audibly; breath fled her lungs. Pain was a white-hot storm.
"Kill… me…" he rasped again, voice breaking through the serum's haze.
She drove the blade home—through jugular, twisting. Blood fountained, hot and thick, soaking her. The Beast staggered, grip loosening. He fell to his knees, eyes clearing one final time.
"Daughter… tell her… sorry…"
He collapsed, body shuddering, then still.
Elara gasped for air, wounds screaming. Success: the Beast dead, threat ended. But at what cost? Four officers gone, Reed injured—failure's bitter toll.
She staggered to Reed, who groaned, clutching a broken arm. "You… did it."
"Not without help." She helped him up. "We need to move. Flock reinforcements incoming."
As they fled into the rain, her burner rang—Mira.
"Elara? God, the news—rampage, bodies—"
"I'm alive," Elara whispered, voice raw. "But it's getting worse."
Mira's voice cracked. "Come to me. Please."
The safe house was a forgotten attic in the old quarter, dust motes dancing in moonlight through cracked windows. Mira waited, bandaging supplies ready. When Elara arrived—suit torn, bloodied—she pulled her inside, locking the door.
"You look like hell," Mira said, peeling off the cowl. Elara's face was bruised, scar stark against pale skin.
"Feel like it." Elara winced as Mira cleaned wounds.
They talked in hushed tones—Mira debating ethics, Elara defending necessity.
"This rage… it's consuming you," Mira said, fingers tracing Elara's ribs. "Reed called me. Said you saved him. But how many more die?"
"As many as it takes," Elara replied, darkness in her eyes. "King Crow's endgame—bombs, serums, control. I stop it."
Mira kissed her then—fierce, desperate. "I love you. But I fear for us."
In the aftermath, bodies entwined, Elara allowed vulnerability. "I fear too. But fear drives me."
Morning brought Elena Vance's broadcast—live from the rampage site. "The Black Raven strikes again—or is she the cause? Witnesses report a monstrous creature, now dead. But who unleashed it? Corruption in our midst, folks. Stay tuned."
In a bar nearby, patrons debated. "Raven's a hero—took down that thing!" one said.
"Nah, she's horror incarnate. Bodies everywhere."
Elara, in civilian guise, sipped coffee, listening. Success fueled whispers of hope; failure bred fear.
Reed met her in a park, arm in sling. "My men… gone. But we have the evidence. We leak it."
"Not yet," Elara said. "King Crow suspects. We need more."
A new ally emerged: Lena Ruiz—Shadowfox—contacted via Alex's hacks. Lena was twenty-seven, ex-cop, bi, with a fox-themed mask and gadgets. "Heard about the Beast. I'm in."
Their first meeting: tense, in The Nest. Lena debated tactics. "You're too lone wolf. Team up."
Elara hesitated—trust was failure's seed—but nodded. Long-term ally, perhaps.
King Crow watched from his tower, rage simmering. "The Beast failed. Send Razorbeak again. And accelerate the bombs."
The chapter closed on Elara sharpening blades, wounds aching, darkness deepening. The rage was hers now.
(End of Chapter 5)