Kael stepped out into the Brinewatch night, the forge’s heat still clinging to his back like sweat. Smoke curled from Garrick’s chimney, the door thunking shut behind him—sealing the deal and the danger in equal measure. The Gold Mark in his pocket was heavy, but not heavier than the knowledge that everything was about to change.
He turned toward home, toward the shack—no, their last night in that shack—and found the streets unusually quiet for the hour. A few vendors were packing up under the dim orange flicker of lanterns. The brine-soaked grit under his boots crunched as he passed Taryn’s Goods.
He paused.
The lantern over Lira’s shop was still lit, swaying in the breeze. For a moment, he debated walking in. He wanted to tell her. About the place in the Grays. About the deal with Garrick. About the Gold Mark and how things were finally turning. He imagined her reaction—raised eyebrow, dry smirk, maybe even a rare “good job.”
His hand lifted toward the door.
That’s when it hit.
A sharp, warbling howl tore across the district.
Kael froze. His blood iced.
The alarm.
A second cry followed, this one deeper—more mechanical, rising into a warbling crescendo. It echoed off the shanties and metal walkways, a sound every slum rat knew: the disaster siren. It could mean a beast tide. A structural collapse. A firestorm if the pressure valves blew. Or worse.
A rampaging beast.
Kael's heart leapt into his throat. “Mom. Sera.”
He ran. Lira had her father to protect her. Though he was a drunk, he was known to be a high rank talent holder. That's why no one messed with them in Brinewatch. But he had to protect his family.
His boots pounded against the uneven ground, dodging crates, trash bins, and startled children who’d been playing too close to the alleys. Already, people were shouting—some yelling for loved ones, others screaming warnings.
“Beast’s loose in Sector Three!”
“No, TWO—it’s headin’ west!”
“I saw it tear through the South Walk! Ain’t no one stoppin’ it!”
Kael shoved past a stumbling drunk, then leapt over a broken pipe spewing steam. Explosions cracked in the distance—sharp pops followed by the shuddering boom of falling debris. He saw a rooftop flare erupt, painting the fog in red.
His lungs burned. He didn’t care. Home wasn’t far. He just had to—
WHAM.
Something struck him like a freight tram.
He didn't see it coming—just a blur of motion, a flash of heat—and then he was airborne, tumbling sideways through the air. His world twisted. Sky. Ground. Sky again.
Then impact.
Kael slammed into a crumbling stone wall, the breath blasted from his lungs. A crack snapped through his spine like a branch underfoot. Pain shot up from his tailbone, blooming like fire, but then—nothing.
His legs… weren’t moving.
He tried to stand, to roll. Nothing.
He dragged in air through clenched teeth, blinking through stars. Dust choked his mouth, blood trickled into his eye. His back screamed—but worse than pain was the absence.
No feeling in his lower body. Not numb. Gone.
He looked down. His legs were still there. But they were dead weight.
Voices erupted ahead. Half-masked men—gangsters—rushed past him, weapons drawn. A few braver ones fired salvaged pistols and electrified spears. Others wielded clubs, improvised axes. Kael strained to lift his head.
Then he saw it. The thing that had hit him.
A feral beast. The size of a horse, but hunched low like a predator. Its body was corded with muscle, hide rippling like tar stretched over bone. Black fur, oily and patchy, bristled with crackling veins of orange light. Its snout ended in blunt fangs too large for its skull. Its claws gleamed with mana residue, serrated and curved like meat hooks.
It looked like a honey badger fed on toxic waste—an apex freak spawned by the slum’s own sickness. Its eyes locked onto him, red and burning, intelligent in the worst possible way.
The gang members screamed. Two rushed forward with shock-rods. The beast lunged—a blur of muscle and madness.
Carnage.
Kael watched, helpless, as one was gutted instantly, blood spraying across the wall behind him. The second didn’t even get to scream—just vanished beneath a crushing pounce and a sickening crunch. Two more fired into it, but their shots ricocheted or sizzled into its hide. It moved like smoke and thunder, ripping the last man in half with a twist of its jaws.
Silence fell.
Then it turned toward Kael.
It padded over the corpses, steaming breath flaring in the cold night. Its lips curled back, blood still dripping from its muzzle.
Kael’s arms braced against the dirt, trying to crawl backward. He couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t budge. The ground scraped his palms raw. His body screamed. His talent—why wasn’t it activating?!
Panic flooded him. This was it. This was how it ended.
The beast loomed. Its jaw opened wide.
Kael closed his eyes. And screamed.
