The air carried the scent of wet dirt and rusted metal as Bob stretched and let out a loud yawn, startling a group of crows perched on a broken power line.
The outpost they had been using for training was just a collapsed storehouse at the edge of the safe zone. After days of staying there as their temporary base, the place felt dull and worn out.
"We done here yet?" Bob muttered, his voice carrying across the cracked pavement. "This place is boring."
Iris stopped sharpening her blade and looked up. "We were supposed to give Sly more time to adapt."
Leaning against a broken wall, Sly gave a casual wave, though his tired expression said it all. "Hey, don't blame me. Keeping up with you guys isn't exactly easy."
He was trying his best, but their fighting styles were already well-practiced and coordinated. Unlike them, he had to find a way to fit himself into their battles, making sure his attacks didn't disrupt their flow. One wrong move, and instead of hitting the enemy, he'd end up getting in their way—or worse, getting hit himself.
Sly was the weakest in the group, struggling to keep up with their pace in battle. Their movements were fast, coordinated, almost effortless. Meanwhile, he was still figuring out his own footing, trying to match their flow without getting in the way. He wasn't just slow—he was a liability.
But he refused to stay that way.
If he was ever going to fit into their fights, if he was ever going to stand beside them as an equal, he had to break through Stage 0—no matter what it took.
"Alright," Bob said, standing and cracking his neck. "Let's move. I'm bored. Maybe the next place has something fun to smash."
No one argued.
They loaded their gear back onto the cart, the creaking metal shell that carried their supplies—and more importantly, the thin shield of safety that kept the Pink Fog at bay. It wasn't fast, but it moved, and as long as it kept humming, they didn't have to worry about waking up as Fades.
With the cart rumbling behind them, they pushed forward.
The roads were cracked and half-swallowed by weeds, broken buildings leaning in on both sides as if ready to collapse.
They fought as they moved.
Nothing dangerous—just strays and small packs of weak Fades wandering through the Pink Fog. They were common creatures twisted by the corruption, always on the move, looking for anything unlucky enough to cross their path. Imps with ripped wings screamed from the rooftops. Wretches crawled on all fours, their bodies bent and broken. Kobolds ran through the shadows, snapping their sharp teeth at anything that moved.
Sly pushed himself to keep up. Every time a fight broke out, he'd clap his hands together, flash a confident grin, and declare, "Alright, watch this! I'm gonna Skip stages!"
His Shadow Spectre form wasn't meant for frontline combat. Unlike the others, he wasn't built for brute strength—his power relied on speed, misdirection, and quick escapes. His body felt lighter than it should, his steps barely making a sound, and his reflexes sharp—but only in short bursts.
He threw himself into motion, trying something new—something reckless. He focused, pushing his limits, attempting to pull the energy straight from his core.
He moved. The power flickered.
For a moment, it felt like it was working.
Then reality hit, and instead of skipping stages, he stumbled, barely keeping himself from eating dirt.
It wasn't just some dumb dream.
In theory, it made sense—why wait until Stage 2, when the aura finally leaks out on its own, if you could grab that same power from inside and push it out early?
In practice?
It looked more like a half-trip mixed with a panic hop, ending with Sly nearly smashing into a wall.
On the third attempt, after his foot caught on debris and he barely saved himself from faceplanting, Gabe didn't even look up. He was busy sharpening his claws on a broken piece of metal, acting like Sly wasn't worth the attention.
"You almost skipped your face into that wall."
Sly groaned, wiping dust from his cheek.
"It's possible. I know it is." He tapped his chest.
"The energy's already there. I just need to force it out."
Iris scoffed, sheathing her blade. "Maybe try walking first."
Bob just yawned and kept moving.
"Better hurry up. If you try that in front of a real Fade, you'll save them the trouble."
Sly exhaled through his nose, muttering under his breath.
"Stage 0 today... Stage 3 tomorrow."
Gabe smirked. "More like Stage 0 forever if you keep falling on your face."
Still, Sly refused to give up.
Because deep down, he knew it wasn't impossible.
Just stupidly hard.
And for now, that was good enough.
Days passed like that—travel, fights, resting in broken buildings, moving again. They were somewhere between Safe Zones when the stranger appeared.
A man in worn, dark clothes watched from the edge of an overpass as Bob shattered a wretch's skull with a single punch. His face was neutral, but his eyes lingered on the crew, measuring them.
When the fight ended, and Bob wiped his hands on his pants like he'd finished nothing more than a snack, the man approached.
"You lot handle yourselves well," the man said. "Not from around here, are you?"
Bob shrugged. "Passing through."
The man hesitated. "You should come with me. My people would be interested in meeting you. We're with the Kuroda family."
At the mention of the name, Iris and Gabe exchanged looks. Kuroda was no minor Safe Zone. Word traveled, and what traveled wasn't good. Ruthless, powerful, and always looking for more land.
Bob, of course, didn't care. "Is there food?"
The man smirked. "Plenty. And maybe work too. Something... challenging."
That got Bob's attention.
They followed.
The Kuroda Safe Zone was built like a fortress, with high walls patched together from scrap metal and broken vehicles. Guards watched from above, armed with salvaged weapons and sharper stares.
Inside, the streets were busy but tense. People moved quickly, eyes down, like the air itself was dangerous. You could feel the weight of control here. Everything clean, orderly, and absolutely void of warmth.
They didn't wait long before meeting the one who mattered.
Renji Kuroda, the head of the Safe Zone, welcomed them in a large hall surrounded by his top men. A thin smile played on his lips, but it never touched his eyes.
"I hear you're strong," Renji said, his gaze landing on Bob like he was sizing up a new tool. "We have a problem that needs... solving."
Bob sat cross-legged on the floor and yawned. "What kind of problem?"
Renji leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as the low murmur of the hall quieted behind him.
"A Caller," he said carefully. "It's been blocking our path for some time now. We need it gone. You handle it, and there's a bounty in it for you. Supplies. Rest. Weapons. Whatever you need."
The word hung in the air.
Caller.
Bob tilted his head. "A Caller... huh."
They'd only recently learned what that meant from Dr. Halbridge.
A Fade strong enough to control others—to gather a pack and hold it together.
Stronger. Smarter. Deadlier than anything they'd crossed so far.
Bob scratched his head, exchanging a glance with Iris.
Before he could speak, Renji continued, his tone smooth and calculated.
"We've tracked its movements. It follows a patrol route, always looping back to the same sector. The best time to strike is tomorrow at dawn. That's when it's most exposed."
Bob frowned. "So... it has to be on a schedule?"
Renji nodded. "Exactly. Too early, and it won't be there. Too late, and we risk losing it... or worse, it drifts somewhere we can't control."
Bob leaned back, thinking it over.
It wasn't the fight that bothered him. It was the planning.
Fighting was supposed to happen when it happened. Wake up early for it? That was a first.
Sly shifted beside him. "What do you think?"
Bob looked at Iris. Gabe. Neither said a word.
Finally, he shrugged. "Yeah... alright. We'll handle it."
Renji smiled. "Excellent. We'll provide the details."
And just like that, the deal was made.
The Battle for the Safe Zones had started. Bob just didn't know it yet.
Renji gave them a place to stay.
Food, water, a roof. The basics.
But Bob barely lasted through the meal before standing up and stretching his arms over his head. "Ate too much. I'm gonna walk it off."
Without waiting for permission, he left. The others followed without a word.
They took the cart and drifted back into the Pink Fog, as if the safety of the Kuroda Safe Zone never existed. There was no real destination. Bob just started walking, and they went with him.
They hunted small Fades in the dark. Nothing serious. Strays and weak packs.
And the whole time, they knew they were being watched.
Iris spotted the tail first. Gabe confirmed it.
But no one said anything. They didn't change their behavior. They didn't bother to hide.
They just kept moving, fighting, and eventually returned to the Safe Zone before nightfall like nothing happened.
Back inside, Bob even mentioned the Caller job again.
"We should rest. Got work tomorrow."
They laid low through the night.
The observer reported everything to Renji.
Nothing suspicious. No trouble. Just routine.
Until dawn.
At the exact time they were supposed to meet for the Caller hunt, the place Kuroda had given them was empty.
Gone.
No sign of them.
Renji was furious.
"What do you mean they're gone? They were there a few minutes ago!"
The guards scrambled, checked the nearby streets, but there was nothing. Bob and his crew had vanished into the fog.
And out there, just beyond the Safe Zone's borders, the cart rolled quietly through the mist.
Bob was lying flat on his back, snoring softly, his arms crossed over his chest like he hadn't a care in the world. Still in his human form.
Iris leaned over the side of the cart, watching the fog shift around them.
"Should we wake him?"
Gabe shook his head.
"Leave him. If he wanted to be awake, he would be."
Sly sat at the front, steering, his Glint form barely holding steady as he squinted into the distance.
"Feels like we're skipping work."
No one answered.
Because they were.
Back at Kuroda, Renji's patience ran out fast.
With no sign of Bob's team and no time left, he gave the order.
"Plan B."
If Bob wouldn't kill the Caller, they'd make sure the Caller helped them another way.
They pushed their own people into the fog and started driving the Broodmother toward Okada territory.
It didn't take much.
The Broodmother had been lingering near the border, waiting.
She wasn't just another Fade. She was a Caller—a nightmare creature strong enough to gather and control others.
She used to be just another stray wandering the fog. But after becoming a Caller, the Pink Fog shaped her into something worse—a hive queen, twisting nearby Fades into spider-like creatures that served her swarm. Every Fade within her reach was forced to change, molded into part of her growing army.
Bloated, hunched, and covered in layers of shifting, sticky webs. Her back was swollen with egg sacs pulsing with pink light, and thick, needle-like legs stabbed into the ground as she dragged herself forward.
Where she moved, her children followed.
The Broodmother's swarm spread through the streets, filling the area with movement and hissing sounds. Nearly forty Fades, all shaped by her control, crawled and skittered in the dark, working together like a hunting pack.
Webcrawlers moved along the walls and rooftops, their long, thin limbs making them fast climbers. Their sharp legs let them grip onto surfaces, waiting for the right moment to drop down on their targets. Broodlings, small but quick, burst from the sacs on the Broodmother's back, swarming in large numbers. They were no bigger than dogs, but their sharp teeth could bite through armor. Behind them, the Spinners followed—large and heavy, moving slowly but with purpose. They stayed close to the front lines, throwing webs to trap their enemies and stop them from escaping.
The swarm kept pushing forward, filling every space, ready to tear apart anything in their way.
This was a Caller's army—not random strays, but an organized swarm, all connected to the Broodmother herself.
Once stirred, she moved fast.
By the time Okada's scavengers noticed the threat, it was already too late.
Over forty Fades poured into the area, swarming the front line.
Webs coated the streets.
Okada's fighters barely had time to form a defense as the Broodmother loomed behind the swarm, watching from the fog with her eight glowing eyes, waiting for the moment to finish the job.
Kuroda watched from a distance.
Hidden. Waiting.
They stayed just outside the fight, letting the Caller do their work for them.
Webs spread through the streets. Screams echoed through the fog.
Okada's fighters were falling faster than they could hold the line.
For Kuroda, it was all going according to plan.
They thought they were finally winning.
That this was under control.
That nothing could go wrong.
But they never thought to ask where Bob was.
Out there, somewhere in the fog.
Sleeping.