The myutant snapped its gaze toward Diamantis, its bloodshot eyes locking onto the karambit lodged in his throat.
Ansel hovered over him, breath shaky, blood splattered across his coat.
Now came the question—what would happen next? Would the myutant collapse into a lifeless heap of flesh and blood? Or would it spiral out of control, unshackled by Diamantis' command?
The answer came swift and brutal.
With a piercing snarl, the myutant lunged, its fingers straightened into a blade-like edge, palm open, aiming for the kill.
Ansel struggled to rise, his body sluggish, exhaustion chaining him down. The ground trembled beneath the monster's charge, loose stone and debris scattering with each step.
It was coming to kill.
Its arm cut through the rain, swinging down toward Ansel's head, ready to tear through him like paper—
The tip of a blade intercepted the strike.
Metal screamed against flesh, the force sending a tremor up Quem's arms as she barely held her stance.
The myutant turned, its head twitching violently. Quem stood before it, swaying, breath uneven, half-conscious. She moved not on strength, but on sheer determination.
It lunged again, an unrelenting beast.
Quem pulled back her polearm, shifting her stance. As the monster's fist came down, she swung the base of her weapon into its forearm, redirecting the blow. The punch slammed into the ground beside her, shattering the earth.
She coughed, blood flecking her lips. Her body screamed for her to fall, to let the pain take over.
But if any of them died here...
Massiah would never open up again.
"I won't let that happen," she rasped, staggering back, raising her weapon once more.
The myutant lunged—
A battle cry cut through the storm.
An axe head met the creature's fist, stopping it mid-swing. Gran stood beside Quem, chest heaving, fingers trembling around his weapon.
"He just came out of his shell, you know," Gran coughed, bracing himself. "I waited two years for that to happen... I'm not going to let you take that away."
The myutant shrieked, its third eye spinning wildly, body convulsing.
Then—it changed.
Its frame swelled, muscles expanding, skin tearing as the two arms slightly protruding from its torso erupted. Blood and fluid splattered onto the ruined ground. The new limbs, twitching and malformed, flexed once—then settled.
Four arms outstretched.
It thrust forward.
The sky glimmered.
Gran barely had time to react.
He dropped low, scooping up his second axe, crossing both over his chest to brace for impact. The first blow crashed against them, forcing him back, boots sliding through the mud.
The second fist came from below, slamming into his stomach—
But it wasn't hard enough.
The newly formed arms hadn't fully hardened yet. Their density hadn't caught up to the rest of its body.
"Try again!" Gran laughed, blood licking at his lips.
Quem dashed forward, planting her polearm into the ground. With a mid-air flip, she twisted, spinning with her crescent glaive before slamming it down onto the myutant.
The creature raised both primary arms, catching the blade mid-swing.
Which meant—
Gran yanked his axes apart, swinging both into the myutant's sides. His arms nearly split from the force of the impact, but he didn't care. He wasn't here to finish it. He was here to break it open.
He struck again. And again.
The secondary arms moved to block, but Gran sidestepped, planting his foot deep into the mud. With a sharp breath, he drove his axes into the creature's ribs.
Blood.
The myutant winced, barely perceptible, but enough.
Quem wrenched her polearm free and spun, slicing into the same wound Gran had opened. The glaive bit deep, but not fast enough—not clean enough.
It snagged mid-way.
The creature was already regenerating, its bone clamping down on her blade.
"Not so fast!"
Dahlia surged forward, hammer bobbing at her side. She planted her foot, twisting her weight into the strike.
The impact tore through the myutant, its upper body ripping free from its torso, sent flying through the rain.
But even before it hit the ground—
It healed.
Flesh reformed. Muscles twisted back into place. The creature stood once more, its head snapping toward them.
Three of them.
Threepersistentantsthatrefusedtodie.
Three.
Not four.
The myutant barely had time to register the missing one before Ansel was on its back, his karambit plunging into its eye.
Not deep enough. Not strong enough.
The tip chipped, his hand vibrated painfully from the impact.
But it didn't matter.
He'd bought them time.
Quem and Gran moved in unison, lunging forward, weapons piercing deep into the creature's sides.
"Dahlia!" Gran shouted.
Dahlia charged again, hammer swinging in a perfect arc. Ansel pushed off, rolling into the mud just as the hammer struck.
The myutant's torso tore free once again, flung across the battlefield.
There was no clear way of winning, what they were merely doing was keeping it immobile, trying to survive.
But something had shifted on this battlefield. And it was to their advantage.
Dahlia panted, gripping her hammer as her hands shook. "Didn't that feel... easier?" Her eyes flicked toward the monster. "That damn sure didn't feel like diamond."
"Do you think there's a limit to how long it can survive without Diamantis?" Ansel muttered, his breathing heavy.
"If there is," Quem said, swinging her polearm into position, the blade steady in front of her. "Then it's a battle against time."
The creature growled, its body twisting, growing. Muscles swelled, bones stretched—its size expanding from twenty feet to thirty.
Yet, it moved slower.
Its form was becoming... impractical.
"Let's go. We have to keep it at bay." Quem tightened her grip. "We can do this."
Gran stumbled, his axes slipping from his fingers as he fell to his knees. Blood soaked through his coat, his arms collapsing by his side.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He tried clenching his fists, forcing his arms to move.
"It's okay, Gran. We've got this," Quem fibbed. Gran was her safest bet in this fight—her anchor. Putting the recruits in danger was the last thing she wanted. But she had no choice.
"Keep moving, guys. I'll pierce through its sides, Ansel, you'll assist. Dahlia—blow its torso off!"
"Understood!" They answered in unison.
The rain intensified, falling in relentless waves. Thunder cracked overhead, the sky itself seeming to mirror their desperation.
They moved.
Quem led the charge, pole arm slicing through the air. The myutant swung its arm, but it was slower than before. It knew their plan, yet its new form was working against it.
Quem's weapon struck first, sinking into its side. The blade inched through bone. The regeneration much slower now, as if the myutants internal composition was failing rapidly.
Ansel dashed in from the opposite side, karambit flashing. He couldn't cut as deep as Quem, but it didn't matter.
Dahlia leapt, the moonlight casting a ghostly glow behind her. Her hammer arced down.
But the myutant moved—faster than expected.
Its arm shot upward, not to grab her, but to pierce through.
Like it had done to Massiah.
Dahlia couldn't stop. Her hammer was already mid-swing, her weight thrown off balance. She couldn't evade.
Then—
Quem moved.
She slammed her leg into the myutant's lower arm, launching herself into the sky. Her body crashed into Dahlia, shoving her out of the way.
Her polearm braced against the attack—
But it wasn't enough.
The myutant's sharpened limb punctured through the metallic shaft, tearing through her chest.
Awetgasp.
Blood sprayed, mixing with the rain.
Quem's eyes widened slightly, breath hitching in her throat. The realization hit before the pain did. She had always been good at reacting first, processing later.
Now, there was no later.
Her vision blurred, heartbeat slowing to a stop.
Then—
The myutant swung its arm.
Her body twisted mid-air, weightless, like a doll caught in a storm.
And then—
Silence.
Nothunder. Norain.
Just the distant hush of breath escaping her lips as she crashed into the rubble.
Noscreams.Nowords.
Just a dull thud.
Dahlia barely processed what had happened. One second, Quem had been in front of her. The next—gone.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Theraincamecrashingdown.
Gran fell to his knees, tears streaking down his face. He hadn't even seen the moment she hit the ground. He didn't need to. He already knew.
Ansel was the first to move, sprinting toward her, skidding through the mud as he dropped to his knees, cradling her broken body in his arms.
She wasn't breathing.
"Come on, Quem," he whispered, shaking her gently. "You're stronger than this... you're a grade two, remember? You just reconciled with Massiah, right?" His voice cracked. "Don't you guys want to drink again? C'mon, wake up..."
Still nothing.
Dahlia wasn't moving either.
She was frozen, her silhouette rigid beneath the moonlight.
Kneeling.
Unmoving.
Her hammer lay at her side, fingers limp against its handle. Her wide eyes trembled, blurring with something—not quite fear, not quite grief. Something in between.
The myutant turned, its gaze focused now on the kneeling figure before it.
"Move, Dahlia!" Ansel's voice tore through the rain, terror etched in his tone. Quem's lifeless form remained cradled in his arms. "Move, goddamn it!"
She didn't.
She could barely hear him.
The only thing ringing in her mind was Quem's last moments—the way she'd thrown herself in harm's way, laying down her life to save her.
The myutant raised its arm.
A massive palm descended like a falling slab of stone, cutting through the rain, aimed to crush her into the mud.
And then—
A severed limb hit the ground beside her, fingers twitching in the dirt.
The myutant recoiled, jerking backward. Its third eye spun wildly, scanning the darkness, trying to process what had just happened.
It hadn't felt anything.
It hadn't even registered the slash that dismembered it.
A new presence stepped forward from the shadows.
Not alone.
Beside him, Alsa stood, her hands clamped over her mouth, eyes horrified.
"This is horrible," she muttered.
The figure beside her barely reacted. A long katana—an odachi—rested against the ground, its edge mirroring the moonlight.
Osiris.
"It didn't feel like diamond," he noted, his voice cool, collected. His gaze flicked toward the stump where the myutant's arm used to be. "And it's not regenerating as fast." He glanced at Alsa. "Don't tell me you misclassified it."
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "But something's changed... maybe the exterminators did something to it?"
Osiris exhaled sharply, irritation mixed in his voice.
He hated working with others.
"Changed how?"
"It's larger now. The lower arms—it didn't have those before."
"A last stand," Osiris muttered to himself.
Had the exterminators driven it to its limit, forcing a final push? Or was this something else entirely?
Either way, it didn't matter.
Osiris scoffed, already moving. His dark skin gleamed beneath the moon, his buzzed hair damp from the rain. Unlike the others, he wore no protective overcoat.
He didn't need it.
The myutant's third eye locked onto him, dilating. Even in the dark, it was attuned to movement, honed for tracking its prey.
Osiris adjusted his grip on his odachi.
And vanished.
The myutant shot backward, its hulking form hurtling through the air. Its third eye spun wildly, head jerking in every direction. It couldn't see him.
And the moment it landed—
"You scared?"
A blade flashed through the night, its massive edge glistening under the moonlight. Light bounced off the metal, its shade shifting—gray, black, stark white.
The myutant saw the swing.
But it couldn't move.
And in the next second—
It was split in half.
But the battle wasn't over. Osiris knew that.
He stood behind the severed creature, watching as bone fused together, muscle knitting itself back in place. Its flesh squirmed, desperate to mend the wound.
Still, his earlier deduction remained unchanged.
"You don't have a lot of time left, do you?"
The myutant's body twitched. Its limbs swelled, its arms ballooning to inhuman proportions, veins bulging as if ready to burst.
"I wonder why," Osiris mused, rolling his shoulders. "But it doesn't matter." He raised his odachi. "This next one will kill you anyway."
Themyutantlunged.
Its entire body deformed mid-charge—its chest splitting open, its skin peeling away in sheets. It no longer looked like a creature trying to survive. It looked like something unraveling at the seams.
Osiris kept his eyes on it.
But there was something wrong. Something familiar.
The myutant closed in, its outstretched hand reaching for him, its mouth parting just slightly—
And for the briefest moment, its features shifted.
Contorted.
Aboy'sface.
Scragglyblondhair a football tucked under his arm.
A haven miles away.
And then... a voice.
"Please...killme."
Distorted. Warped.
Osiris's grip on his odachi tightened.
The moment flickered. A split-second illusion. But his mind clung to it. That face. He had seen it before. Not in Raval. Somewhere else.
Thememorysnappedback,
Aburningfield, thesmellofcharredwoodandmyutanthide. A youngboystoodbehinda building, staringatsomethingOsiriscouldn'tsee.
He had been assigned a job nearby. It was supposed to be routine. A large myutant rampaging near the haven—Gray's River? Was it? Or was it somewhere else. The name blurred.
Buttheboy—
Osirisrememberedtheboy.
He glanced over at him, his football stuck near a patch in the flames.
Osiriscouldremembergrabbingtheball, watchingastheboyranawaywithasmile, the leather balltuckedunderhisarm.
Andthen,inthepresent—
Thatsameboy'stwisted, mutatedfacestaredbackathim.
Themyutantdidn'tattackrightaway.
Ithesitated.
It's eyes locked onto Osiris, something frantic gleaming behind them—recognition? A plea?
Osirisdidn'tknow.
Didn'tcare.
Thememorydidn'tchangeanything.
Itwouldn'tstophim.
Wouldn'tmakehimfalter.
Wouldn'tbringthekidback.
Osiris exhaled.
And did what the boy had asked.
His blade cut through the rain—through the air—through the myutant.
A final, brutal arc.
And with a heavy thud, the creature collapsed. Its body exploded into chunks of flesh and bone, splattering against the mud, washed away by the endless rain.
Osiris flicked the blood from his blade, his gaze unreadable.
"Please... kill me."
The voice echoed in his skull, hollow, lingering—
Then, gone.
He turned toward the ruins of the haven. The fight was over.
Exterminators lay scattered across the ruined haven, their white overcoats soaked in mud and blood. Some still clung to life, groaning in pain. Others lay silent—already gone.
Osiris tapped his earpiece. The line had been dead for a while, interference from the storm blocking any signal.
Then—
A crackle.
The faintest flicker of static. A voice.
"—ris... Osiris... can... hear...?"
Sabrina.
Osiris exhaled, tilting his head toward the sky. The rain washed past his face, drenching his clothes.
"Yeah," he muttered, voice low. "I hear you."
The signal cut in and out. Her voice barely made it through the interference—frayed at the edges, strained.
"The... myutant... have you...?"
Osiris glanced behind him, where the creature had been. Nothing remained.
"It's dead."
Silence.
Then—a breath. Not relief, not victory. Something heavier.
"And... the exterminators?"
Osiris' gaze swept the battlefield.
White overcoats, stained red. Some of them still moved—short breaths, weak groans. But most didn't. Most never would.
He didn't answer right away. Just watched.
Watched Dahlia kneeling in the mud, staring at Quem's motionless body. Watched Ansel pressing his forehead to his unbroken hand, his other arm bent at a sickening angle.
Watched Gran cry, his head slamming against the mud.
Watched the ones who had survived—if you could even call this surviving.
Osiris closed his eyes.
"Osiris...?"
"We need medics," he said. Flat. Distant.
Another crackle. Sabrina was trying to say something else, but the words broke apart, swallowed by static.
Osiris didn't bother asking her to repeat it.
He let the channel go silent.
The fight was over.
And no one would know.
The public wouldn't hear about this. News of a human myutant would send the city into a frenzy—panic, riots, fear. There was no point in spreading it now.
But even so...
All the lives lost here today, all the exterminators who had fought to keep the world from crumbling just a little further—none of them would be remembered.
No statues. No stories. No names etched into history.
Just another forgotten battle.
"A truly thankless job," Osiris muttered.