Amitesh reached the edge of the road just as the night itself seemed to shatter.
A sound tore through the air—low at first, then rising into something that clawed at the skull. Not a roar. Not a scream.
A vibration.
It passed through bone before it reached the ears.
Amitesh staggered, hands flying to his head. His vision blurred, the world tilting violently. Somewhere ahead, the truck lights flickered once… then died.
"Sound-type," Gauri's voice rang out through the distortion. "Cover your ears—don't let it resonate!"
Too late.
Mahaveer was already moving.
He charged forward, teeth clenched, swinging his metal rod toward the source of the noise. The mushroom head stood upright on two legs, its swollen cap pulsing rhythmically, rings of distorted air rippling outward like invisible waves.
Mahaveer brought the rod down.
The moment it struck—
The sound changed.
The vibration sharpened, focused. The air compressed violently around Mahaveer's chest.
He was thrown backward like a rag doll.
He hit the ground hard, sliding several feet before coming to a stop. He didn't get up.
"Mahaveer!" Zoey shouted.
Before anyone could reach him, something else moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
A shadow streaked across the road on all fours, claws scraping sparks from the asphalt. Its mushroom growth was leaner, tighter, fused into muscle instead of bulk. Its eyes locked onto Zoey.
Predatory.
It lunged.
Zoey barely rolled aside as the creature slammed into the truck, denting the metal with terrifying force. She scrambled up, breathing hard, weapon raised.
"Gauri—left!" she yelled.
The quadruped didn't give them time.
It rebounded instantly, legs coiling, then launched again—this time toward Gauri.
Gauri met it head-on.
Energy flared around her as she struck downward, her blow cracking the ground where the creature had been an instant earlier. It had already moved, skidding behind her, claws raking the air inches from her spine.
Too close.
The sound-type mushroom head pulsed again.
The vibration slammed into Gauri mid-motion.
Her knees buckled.
Blood trickled from her nose as she forced herself upright, vision shaking.
"Don't let it synchronize!" she shouted.
"If the sound locks with its movement—"
The quadruped struck again.
This time, Mahaveer tried to rise.
He failed.
His arm gave out beneath him, his body refusing to respond. He dragged himself forward anyway, teeth bared in fury, reaching for Zoey—
Another wave hit.
Mahaveer screamed.
Not loudly.
Just once.
Then he collapsed.
Something inside Amitesh snapped.
"No," he whispered.
The word didn't come from his mouth alone.
You are late, a familiar voice murmured in his mind.
Again.
Raktbeej.
Amitesh's heart hammered. "I need power."
Borrowing has a cost, Raktbeej replied calmly. Are you willing to bleed later for strength now?
Amitesh didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Something ancient and heavy stirred within him.
Heat flooded his veins—not warmth, but pressure. Like liquid iron being forced through narrow channels. His breath hitched as crimson patterns briefly flickered across his skin, then vanished.
His eyes lifted.
The sound-type mushroom head turned toward him.
It felt the change.
The vibration shifted, tuning itself toward Amitesh.
He stepped forward anyway.
The sound hit him full force.
The world screamed.
Amitesh staggered—but did not fall.
Raktbeej laughed softly inside his skull.
Good. You can endure.
Amitesh picked up the burning branch still smoldering at its end.
"Zoey," he called out, voice steady despite the chaos. "Fire slows the fast one. Gauri—break the rhythm."
The quadruped lunged at him.
Amitesh didn't dodge.
He stepped into it.
The burning branch slammed into its head.
The creature recoiled instantly, screeching as the fungal growth shriveled back from the flame. It skidded across the road, momentum broken.
Gauri moved.
Ignoring the pain, she slammed her palm into the ground, sending a shock through the earth. The sound-type creature's pulse stuttered for half a second.
That was enough.
Amitesh hurled the burning branch.
It struck the sound-type's cap.
The vibration collapsed into chaos.
The night went silent.
For one terrible breath—
Then the quadruped screamed and charged again, faster, desperate.
Mahaveer tried to rise once more.
His body failed him.
But his eyes didn't.
He grabbed Zoey's ankle weakly. "Don't… let it past…"
Zoey looked down at him—then turned, fury blazing in her eyes.
"Not tonight."
She stepped forward.
Together, they faced the dark.
And Amitesh felt Raktbeej tighten around his soul.
This is only the beginning, the voice whispered.
Amitesh rolled his shoulders once.
Then tilted his head sharply to the side.
Crack.
The sound was small, personal—like a lock finally giving way. Something in his spine realigned, and with it came a rush of cold clarity. The pain in his veins dulled to background static. The night smelled of burnt fungus, blood, and wet asphalt.
He looked left.
A smaller mushroom head had crept closer during the chaos—bipedal, cap half-cracked from earlier shockwaves, spores drifting lazily from the fissures. It froze when it met his eyes.
Too late.
Amitesh lunged.
His hand clamped around its throat—not gently. Fingers dug through soft fungal flesh like it was wet clay. The creature gurgled, cap pulsing in panic, trying to emit one last vibration.
He didn't let it.
Amitesh yanked the thing forward, slammed its body against the cracked road, then dropped his full weight.
Knees pinned its arms. The mushroom head thrashed, legs kicking uselessly.
He lowered his face.
Teeth found the edge of the swollen cap—right where the flesh met the stem-like neck. The texture was wrong: spongy, warm, tasting of iron and damp earth and something sickly sweet, like rotting fruit left in the sun.
He bit down.
Hard.
The cap tore free with a wet rip, fibers snapping like over-stretched tendons. Spores exploded into his mouth, bitter and choking. He didn't spit.
He chewed.
Slowly at first—testing—then faster, grinding the fungal meat between molars. Warm fluid ran down his chin, mixing with his own blood from split lips.
The taste bloomed: copper, decay, and underneath it… power. Thin threads of heat snaked back into his bloodstream, knitting torn muscle, sharpening his senses.
Raktbeej's voice purred, intimate as a lover's whisper against the inside of his skull.
Now that's a treat.
Amitesh swallowed.
The quadruped sensed the shift. It abandoned Zoey mid-leap, redirecting toward him with desperate speed—claws gouging trenches in the road.
Amitesh stood.
The sound-type tried to pulse again, desperate to re-sync with its faster kin.
He didn't give it time.
He snatched the smoldering branch from the ground—flames weaker now, but still alive—and hurled it like a spear. It buried into the sound-type's cap with a wet thunk. The vibration warped, turned inward; the creature convulsed, rings of distorted air collapsing into a choking implosion.
Gauri seized the opening.
She drove both palms into the asphalt. A ripple shot outward—earth cracking in jagged lines. The quadruped's claws slipped on the fractured ground; its lunge turned into a skid.
Zoey was already moving.
She vaulted over the hood of the ruined truck, makeshift blade flashing. She landed on the quadruped's back, drove the point down through the fungal plating between its shoulders. It shrieked—high and animal—legs buckling.
Amitesh stepped forward.
The smaller mushroom head still twitched at his feet, half-decapitated.
He stomped once—cap bursting under his boot like an overripe melon. Spores clouded the air.
The quadruped reared, throwing Zoey off. It spun, eyes wild, charging him directly.
Amitesh met it halfway.
He caught its foreleg mid-swipe—muscle and claw and fungal armor—and twisted. Bone (or whatever passed for it) snapped. The creature howled.
He didn't stop.
Hand shot to its throat. Fingers punched through the softer flesh under the jaw. He ripped downward, tearing a strip of fungal muscle free. Blood—black and viscous—sprayed across his chest.
The quadruped staggered.
Amitesh shoved the torn piece into his mouth without looking. Chewed once. Swallowed.
More heat flooded him. Crimson flickered under his skin again, brighter this time, veins glowing faintly before fading.
Raktbeej chuckled.
You're learning to hunger properly.
The sound-type finally collapsed, cap deflating like a punctured balloon, silent at last.
The quadruped tried one final lunge—clumsy now, leaking.
Amitesh sidestepped.
Grabbed its head from behind.
Twisted.
Snap.
It dropped.
Silence returned—true silence, broken only by ragged breathing.
Zoey wiped blood from her face, staring at him.
Gauri pushed to her feet, hand pressed to her side where claws had grazed.
Mahaveer lay still, but his chest rose—shallow, stubborn.
Amitesh stood over the corpses, mouth still stained, chest heaving.
He felt it: the cost arriving.
A sharp, tearing pain bloomed behind his ribs—like something inside was clawing to get out. Blood trickled from his nose, then his ears.
He wiped it away with the back of his hand.
Looked at his team.
"Get Mahaveer to the truck," he said, voice rougher than before. "We move. Now."
Zoey hesitated. "Amitesh… what the hell was that?"
He met her eyes.
For a second, something ancient looked back through them.
Then it was gone.
"Just surviving," he said.
Raktbeej whispered one last time, amused.
For now.
He turned away before they could ask more.
The night watched.
And somewhere deeper in the dark, more shapes began to stir.
The mushroom head let out a final, piercing scream—high and jagged, like metal scraping bone. The sound drilled into Amitesh's skull, rattling his thoughts, shaking the edges of his vision until the world blurred into streaks of shadow and flame.
He clapped his hands over his ears, but it was too late. The vibration burrowed deeper, pulsing behind his eyes.
Still, he forced one step forward. Then another.
The quadruped was already recovering—claws gouging fresh furrows in the asphalt, fungal plates flexing as it coiled for another lunge. Its eyes, small and fever-bright, locked onto him.
Amitesh's stomach lurched.
No.
He spun on his heel and bolted back toward the truck.
"Start the engine!" he shouted, voice cracking over the ringing in his head.
"Now—let's go!"
Zoey blinked, half-risen from where she'd been bracing against the hood. "Huh?"
Gauri, still on one knee, blood streaking her chin, stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "What?"
Amitesh didn't answer. He vaulted over the tailgate, landed hard in the bed of the truck amid scattered tools and empty cans, and scrambled toward the cab.
"Move!" he barked.
Zoey hesitated only a heartbeat longer—then slammed the driver's door shut behind her and twisted the key. The engine coughed once, caught, roared to life.
Tires spun, spitting gravel. The truck lurched forward, headlights slicing through the dark as they accelerated down the cracked road.
Zoey glanced in the rearview mirror, then shot Amitesh a look that was half incredulous, half amused. "Wow. You were out there acting like a damn hero for about ten seconds—just to turn tail and run?"
Amitesh slumped against the back of the cab, chest heaving, tasting blood and burnt spores on his tongue. "Who the hell ever said I was a hero?"
He wiped sweat and grime from his face with a shaking hand.
"The smartest way to win a fight," he muttered, "is to avoid it altogether."
Zoey snorted, eyes flicking back to the mirror. "Yeah? Then how exactly are you planning to avoid that one?"
Amitesh twisted to look out the rear window.
The quadruped was still there.
It galloped after them on all fours, lean fungal body stretched low to the ground, claws flashing with every stride. The truck was pushing full throttle—engine screaming, speedometer climbing—but the creature kept pace, closing the gap inch by relentless inch. Its mushroom cap pulsed faintly, shedding spores that glittered in the taillights like dying fireflies.
Amitesh's gaze darted around the truck bed. Ropes. A crowbar. A couple of rusted fuel cans.
And then—half a dozen glass bottles rolling lazily with the motion of the vehicle. Clear liquid sloshed inside, the sharp smell of cheap alcohol cutting through the fungal rot that clung to everything.
A slow grin tugged at his mouth.
"Huh," he said. "Got it."
He snatched the first bottle by the neck, hefted its weight, then another. The truck bounced over a pothole; he steadied himself against the side panel
"Keep her steady!" he called to Zoey.
She didn't argue.
Amitesh reared back and hurled the first bottle.
It arced through the night, glinting once in the red taillight glow—then shattered against the quadruped's cap with a satisfying crack. Alcohol splashed across the fungal growth; the creature flinched, stumbling for a stride.
He threw the second.
This one hit dead center. Glass exploded. Liquid drenched the pulsing cap, soaking into the spongy flesh. The mushroom head recoiled violently, legs tangling as it rolled sideways across the asphalt in a tangle of limbs and spores.
The truck pulled ahead.
Amitesh exhaled, long and ragged, watching the creature shrink in the distance—still twitching, still trying to rise, but slower now, disoriented.
"Now we're safe," he said, more to himself than anyone else.
Gauri leaned out the passenger window, wind whipping her hair. She glanced at the broken glass glittering on the road behind them, then back at him.
"You really are against alcohol, aren't you?" she said, a faint, tired smile breaking through the exhaustion.
Amitesh shrugged, leaning his head back against the cab. "We might be."
From the bed beside him, Mahaveer let out a weak, rasping laugh. He was propped against the side, one arm cradled against his ribs, but his eyes were bright with pain and amusement.
"Nice shot, kid," he managed.
Zoey kept her foot on the gas, the truck barreling down the empty highway. "I'm not stopping until we hit the rescue camp, got it? And Mahaveer—you're taking the wheel after we get some distance. You need to rest, not bleed out back there."
Mahaveer gave a small nod, wincing. "Okay."
The engine's roar filled the silence that followed. The night stretched out ahead, dark and endless, but for the first time in hours, the immediate terror had receded—just a little.
Amitesh stared at the receding shape of the quadruped until it vanished into the gloom.
Raktbeej's voice stirred faintly in the back of his mind, soft and amused.
Clever, it murmured. But clever only buys time.
Amitesh closed his eyes for a moment, letting the vibration of the truck settle into his bones.
Time, he thought, was all they had left to buy.
He'd take it.
The truck rattled down the cracked highway, engine growling like it was personally offended by the night. Inside the cab, the air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled alcohol, and the faint, lingering rot of mushroom spores that clung to everyone's clothes.
Zoey gripped the wheel with white knuckles, eyes flicking between the dark road and the rearview mirror. She waited exactly three seconds after the quadruped had finally fallen too far behind to be seen before she opened her mouth.
"Alright, let's do a quick roll call of tonight's absolute legends," she said, voice dripping with mock sweetness.
"First up: Mahaveer. Big guy, big rod, bigger ego. Swings like a hero in a bad action movie, gets yeeted into next week like a crash-test dummy. Ten out of ten for commitment to the bit, zero out of ten for actually staying upright."
Mahaveer, sprawled in the truck bed with his back against the cab wall, let out a low, pained chuckle that turned into a cough. "Keep talking, princess. I'll drive next shift and make you sit in the back with the empty bottles."
Zoey ignored him, glancing sideways at Gauri in the passenger seat. "And you, Miss Ground-Pound. Very impressive earthquake impression—until the sound-type made you bleed from the nose like a budget horror extra. What was the plan there? Vibrate the apocalypse into submission with sheer attitude?"
Gauri wiped a lingering smear of blood from under her nostril and gave Zoey a flat look. "At least I hit something. You spent most of the fight rolling around like a scared hamster."
Zoey gasped theatrically, one hand flying to her chest. "Excuse me? I was tactical repositioning. There's a difference between 'rolling' and 'strategic evasion.' You wouldn't understand—you're too busy trying to fist-fight geology."
Then she twisted to look through the open sliding window into the bed, where Amitesh sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the receding darkness like it owed him money.
"And our star of the show," Zoey continued, grin widening. "Amitesh. Our brave, mushroom-munching, bottle-throwing, suddenly-very-athletic coward. You went full berserker for like twelve seconds—ripping caps off with your teeth, glowing like a budget Christmas light—then sprinted back to the truck screaming 'Drive! Drive!' like a kid who just saw the principal. Hero arc canceled. We're back to 'designated getaway driver bait.'"
Amitesh didn't look at her right away. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out a small shard of broken glass from one of the bottles he'd thrown, and twirled it slowly between his fingers like he was considering something deeply philosophical.
Mahaveer laughed again—louder this time, wheezing through bruised ribs. "She's got you there, kid. You did kind of blue-ball the dramatic moment."
Amitesh finally lifted his head. His eyes met Zoey's in the mirror. Calm. Almost bored.
"You done?" he asked quietly.
Zoey smirked. "Not even close. I've got material for days. You literally ate a mushroom head like it was street food and then ran away. That's not bravery, that's a cry for help. Next time maybe chew with your mouth closed so we don't have to see the spores in your teeth."
Gauri snorted despite herself.
Amitesh leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the sliding window so his face was closer to Zoey's reflection.
"Alright," he said, voice low and even.
"Since we're doing roasts… let's talk about you, Zoey."
Zoey raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "Oh, this I gotta hear."
Amitesh tilted his head. "You talk the biggest game in the group. Always got a quip, always got the last word. But every time shit gets real, you're the first one yelling for someone else to do something. 'Gauri—left!' 'Mahaveer—hit it!' You're basically a very loud cheerleader with a knife."
Zoey opened her mouth.
Amitesh didn't let her.
"And tonight? You vaulted onto that thing's back like you were gonna end it single-handed… then got thrown off in under three seconds. You landed on your ass so hard I thought the truck was gonna get a flat from the impact.
Tactical repositioning, my foot. You just yeeted yourself."
Mahaveer barked a laugh so loud it echoed off the metal walls. "Oh damn—kid's got receipts!"
Gauri turned in her seat, eyes lighting up with rare mischief. She leaned toward the window to join in.
"Actually," Gauri said, voice smooth and pointed, "she does this every fight. Big entrance, dramatic flip, then immediately needs rescuing. It's almost performance art at this point."
Zoey's grin faltered for half a second.
"Excuse me? Traitor."
Gauri shrugged, completely unrepentant. "You called me a budget horror extra. Fair's fair."
Amitesh pressed on, now fully committed. "And let's not forget the alcohol bottles. I had to throw them because you were too busy monologuing about how 'we're not stopping till camp.' Meanwhile, the fast one is gaining on us like it's personal. If I hadn't turned your precious getaway ride into a Molotov cocktail station, we'd all be fungal fertilizer right now."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"So yeah," he finished, deadpan. "Keep roasting. But next time you want to play action hero, maybe actually stay on the monster longer than a TikTok trend."
Silence for two full heartbeats.
Then Mahaveer lost it—full, wheezing, ribs-be-damned laughter that shook the whole truck bed.
Zoey stared straight ahead at the road, lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment it looked like she might actually stay quiet.
Then she exhaled through her nose, slow and dramatic.
"Fine," she said. "Point to you, mushroom boy. But only because I'm driving and can't turn around to strangle you properly."
Amitesh leaned back, satisfied. "That's all I wanted."
Gauri smirked and settled back into her seat. "You two should take this on the road. Call it 'Apocalypse Roast Battle.'"
Mahaveer, still chuckling weakly, raised a hand from the bed. "I'll buy tickets. Front row."
Zoey flicked on the high beams, illuminating the endless black ribbon of road ahead.
"Laugh it up," she muttered. "But when we hit camp, I'm telling everyone you ate a mushroom head like it was paan. With sound effects."
Amitesh closed his eyes, a tiny, tired smile tugging at his mouth.
"Bring it," he said.
The truck rolled on into the night, filled—for the first time in hours—with something that almost sounded like hope.
Or at least, the next best thing: people still able to laugh at each other.
***
It's 5 a.m. The sky is still dark, the world quiet except for the low rumble of the truck's engine.
Mahaveer slides into the driver's seat with calm confidence. I settle into the passenger seat beside him, still half-awake, trying to absorb the basics of driving just by watching. In the back, Gauri and Zoey are curled up under blankets, sleeping peacefully, their soft breathing the only sound breaking the stillness.
Mahaveer glances at the rear-view mirror and calls out gently but firmly:
"Wake up, girls. Our destination is close."
The truck rolls forward slowly. As we move deeper into the area, I notice the surroundings changing. Tall metal wire fences—chain-link topped with razor wire—stretch out on both sides, glinting faintly in the truck's headlights. It feels like we're entering a fortified zone.
Mahaveer speaks again, his voice low and matter-of-fact:
"Back then we were just surviving inside the camp, living like rats in a cage. But over time we pushed outward. Eventually we secured a five-kilometer radius around the original site."
A few minutes later, shapes appear ahead—small groups of people patrolling in formation, rifles slung across their chests. As our headlights catch them, they raise their weapons in one smooth motion, barrels swinging toward us.
My heart jumps. Mahaveer doesn't flinch. He slows the truck to a crawl and rolls down his window.
The lead patroller steps forward, flashlight beam sweeping across our faces. Recognition flickers in his eyes. He gives a quick nod to Mahaveer—a familiar salute, almost casual—then lowers his weapon and waves us through.
The others step aside, and the truck rumbles past them into the protected zone beyond.
The truck rumbles past the checkpoint, tires crunching over gravel mixed with patches of cracked asphalt. The patrols lower their rifles slowly, one of them—a stocky guy with a scarred cheek—nods at Mahaveer like they're old drinking buddies. No words, just that quick salute of recognition. The gate, a heavy chain-link thing reinforced with scrap metal, swings shut behind us with a metallic clang that echoes in the pre-dawn quiet.
Mahaveer rolls the window back up, exhales through his nose. "They know me from the old runs. Brought medicine twice last month. That's why they didn't turn us into target practice." He glances sideways at me, eyes flicking to where my hands are gripping the door handle a little too tight. "Relax, learner. You drive like that when it's your turn, we'll be fine."
Behind us, Gauri stirs first. She sits up, rubbing her eyes, hair a mess from the back seat. "Are we there yet?" Her voice is groggy but sharp, like she's already scanning for threats.
Zoey just groans and pulls the blanket over her head. "Five more minutes, world. Five more."
The landscape opens up as we push deeper into the 5 km radius Mahaveer mentioned. What used to be farmland or suburbs is now patchwork—makeshift greenhouses under netting, solar panels scavenged from who-knows-where, watchtowers built from shipping containers. People move in the half-light: some hauling water, others sharpening blades or checking fences. No one looks surprised to see a new truck. They just watch.
Mahaveer slows as we approach what looks like the heart of it all—a cluster of buildings ringed by more wire, but this time with spotlights and a proper gatehouse. A faded sign half-hanging reads something like "Camp Resilience" or maybe "New Horizon"—hard to tell in the dimness.
He kills the engine. Silence rushes in, broken only by distant generators and the low murmur of voices.
"End of the line for now," he says,
turning to me. "You did good just sitting there without puking. First lesson: don't flinch when guns come up. They smell fear like dogs."
Gauri leans forward between the seats. "What's the play here, Mahaveer? We trading, resting, or running?"
He smiles thinly. "All three, maybe. But first... we talk to the council. They don't like surprises, and a truck with fresh faces is definitely a surprise."
Zoey finally sits up, blinking. "Great. More politics. I just wanted sleep."
I look out at the wire perimeter stretching into the shadows, the way the patrols patrol in tight groups, the faint glow of fires inside. This place expanded from a rat-hole hideout to something that controls territory. That doesn't happen without blood, deals, and probably a few bodies buried under the foundations.
Mahaveer opens his door. "Come on, Amitesh. Time to meet the people who decide if we stay... or if we keep driving till the fuel runs dry."
He steps out, boots hitting dirt. I follow, heart hammering louder than the engine ever did
As Mahaveer and I stepped out of the truck, a ragged crowd materialized from the dust and shadows, closing in like wolves scenting blood. Their clothes were filthy patches held together by spite, eyes hollow with hunger and something darker.
Mahaveer's voice dropped low, urgent. "Stay behind me. And for once in your life, don't speak."
I blinked. "Why?"
He let out a long, suffering exhale, the kind reserved for particularly dense children. "Sometimes, Amitesh, you really do make an Olympic-level effort at being stupid."
He scanned the approaching group. "They're outcasts—criminals the camp won't let inside. So they squat out here, rob anyone traveling alone, or charge 'taxes' to pass. But they know better than to touch us. If they swing first, they'll regret it. We just need to walk through."
Mahaveer started forward, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other hovering near the pistol at his hip, posture loose but coiled.
Then a warm palm settled on my shoulder.
Gauri.
"Don't worry too much," she murmured. "If things turn ugly, I've got it."
I glanced at the bandages peeking from under her torn sleeve, the slight hitch in her stance. "You're still injured. Stop acting like you've secretly chugged a healing potion."
She gave me that faint, crooked smile—the one that said she'd heard worse and still planned to ignore it—then stepped past me to join Mahaveer at the front.
The two of them planted themselves like a wall between us and the mob.
The man who seemed to be in charge sauntered forward. He looked roughly Mahaveer's age, but time had been crueler: hair greasy enough to fry eggs on, face carved with sleepless nights and bad decisions. When he grinned, his teeth came out uneven, like a badly shuffled deck.
Mahaveer didn't waste breath on pleasantries. "What the hell are you even saying? Do you have any idea what happens if you don't let us through?"
The man's smile stretched wider. "Mahaveer, my man… don't you get it? Inside the camp you're already ghosts. They left you behind. If you die out here, who's even gonna notice?"
His gaze slid sideways to Gauri. Slow. Appreciative. Predatory.
"My, my. The mighty Gauri herself. Strongest human we've got… now looking like a kicked puppy with that injury."
Gauri didn't flinch. "Keep talking big. Even half-dead I can still wipe the floor with your entire fan club."
His grin turned gleeful. "Low mana, low ki—girl, I can smell it from here. You swing at your worst today and you're still not walking away."
He lifted a grimy hand toward her face, fingers inches from her cheek.
The next instant something small and brutally fast cracked against the side of his skull.
A fist-sized stone.
He dropped like a sack of wet laundry, blood already sheeting down his temple.
The mob froze. Then erupted.
"Who the fuck did that?!"
"Who threw it?!"
Every head snapped toward the source.
Zoey.
She had one arm hooked around my waist, the other clamped on my wrist, actively trying to drag me backward while I leaned forward like an overeager puppy on a leash.
"Stop it!" she hissed, yanking harder. "You're literally causing more trouble!"
I twisted, refusing to budge. "Let—go—I didn't crawl out of that mushroom-infested hellhole, hand over half our supplies, help you decapitate like twenty fungal freaks, just to stand here and watch this greasy idiot put his nasty paws on Gauri!"
Zoey's grip tightened, voice dropping to a frantic, exasperated whisper-shout. "You're going to kill them!"
I gave her my most innocent look. "I'll decide that after I see whether any of them actually die. Fair trial by stone, right?"
She stared at me, horrified and—despite herself—fighting a laugh. "You absolute menace. We are not starting a one-man genocide arc right now."
I shrugged—or tried to, given her death-grip. "Hey, I'm just quality-controlling my projectiles. Physics is unbiased."
Behind us, the mob was still shouting, but no one had moved closer. Mahaveer had already drawn his pistol halfway; Gauri's hand rested on her knife hilt, injury or no injury.
Zoey finally loosened her hold, just enough to jab a finger into my chest. "Next time you yeet a rock at someone's head, warn me first so I can at least pretend I tried to stop you."
I grinned. "Deal. But only if you admit my aim is getting suspiciously good."
She rolled her eyes so hard I was worried they'd get stuck. "Keep dreaming, rock star."
The tension hung thick for another heartbeat—then the crowd parted, sullen and silent, stepping aside.
We walked through.
No more stones necessary.
Yet.