Their feet pounded against the rain-soaked ground, heartbeats hammering in time with the occasional thunder that rumbled above.
They weren't going to make it. Not in time. Dahlia knew the way to Raval, but they were still too far, and in these conditions—low visibility, treacherous terrain—they were running blind, threading dangerously close to disaster.
Then she saw it.
Off to the side, standing at the edge of the road, was a dimly lit barn. From within the stables, several horses neighed under the downpour, their dark silhouettes shifting in the lantern glow.
Dahlia started toward it, but Ansel grabbed her wrist.
"We can't guarantee they'll make it back," he muttered.
Dahlia stopped, turning back toward the road.
She knew Ansel was right, depending on the situation in Raval, they'd be merely sending the stolen horses to their deaths.
"You!"
A raspy voice cut through the storm, managing to reach them even through the pounding rain.
They turned toward the barn. Beneath an umbrella stood an old man, presumably the owner, gesturing them over.
Dahlia hesitated. They needed to move fast, but they couldn't see a damn thing in this storm.
"Maybe he has lamps," she muttered.
Ansel let go of her arm, and together they made their way to the barn.
Inside, the rain slammed against the roof, water leaking through a crack in the ceiling, dripping into a well-placed bucket. The air was thick with the scent of damp hay and burning oil from the lanterns lining the walls.
They sat near the warmth of the flickering lights, their coats soaked through, their bodies shivering. The only heat they had left was the fading burn of exertion from running.
"You're young," the barn owner muttered as he approached, two cups of tea in hand. He passed them each a cup before stepping back. "Too young to be out in a downpour like this. You lost?"
"We're exterminators," Dahlia said, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. "There's a myutant in Raval. We're headed there to help."
The old man raised his brows. "Ah, exterminators." He thumped his knee, a knowing look in his eyes. "Had you folks deal with a myutant over by Grays River a while back. Did good work, too."
Dahlia downed the tea in one go, setting the empty cup on the ground. "Thanks for the hospitality, but we have to get moving."
The barn owner frowned, glancing toward the storm outside. "Are you sure? You can barely see squat out there."
Ansel set his cup down, steam curling into the cold air. "We don't have a choice."
The old man sighed, lowering himself onto a wooden stool across from them, his hands resting softly on his lap. "You're young," he muttered. "Too young to be running off into hellstorms like this."
Dahlia wiped the rain from her brow, shaking her head. "If we don't, people die."
The barn owner studied them for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. "I had a kid about your age. Short, muscular, hotheaded. Wanted to be a firefighter, would you believe it?"
Neither of them responded, only watching him in silence.
"He died. Three years ago, on a day like this. In the same fire he wanted to be in so badly." The old man turned slightly on his stool, his voice quieter now. "Sometimes, I wonder if I did the right thing... letting him go."
Dahlia hesitated before speaking, her voice softer. "Even still, I think he died without regrets. If he had the chance again... I think he'd make the same choice."
Ansel glanced at her but said nothing.
The barn owner let out a long breath before pushing himself up. "Well, if you're set on it, at least don't go blind into the dark." He disappeared toward the back of the barn, then returned moments later, holding an oil lamp. "I've only got this as a spare, but it'll hold against the wind."
Dahlia took it, the glass warm from the burning flame inside. "Thank you."
The old man gave a small nod, glancing toward the stalls. "Take the horses too."
Ansel frowned. "We can't guarantee they'll make it back."
The barn owner waved a dismissive hand. "They're strong, and they know the roads better than you. If you're headed to Raval, you'll need all the speed you can get. Besides, these old things have long since lost their riders."
Dahlia glanced at Ansel, waiting for his reaction.
He sighed, pushing himself to his feet.
Every second counted and in the next, the two of them were by the horses, grabbing the reins of a dark-coated mare.
Ansel hesitated for a moment before swinging himself onto the saddle. The horse shifted beneath him, and he let out a shaky breath. "Whoa..." he muttered, gripping the reins tighter.
Dahlia settled onto her horse with ease, adjusting her grip on the lantern. She shot him a knowing look. "You didn't want to take the horses because you've never ridden before, didn't you?"
"Shut up," Ansel muttered, his legs stiff as the horse moved out of the stable.
The barn owner chuckled, giving them a wave. "Good luck, exterminators."
As they galloped into the night, the glow of the oil lamps faded into the darkness, swallowed by the storm.
The old man lowered his hand, glancing down at his palm.
Just like this, three years ago. He had sent his son off to fight a fire.
But unlike that day, when he had wept as his son walked away—
He lifted his hand, fingers curling into a tight fist.
"Show that myutant hell."
Thunder cracked. Rain hammered the earth. Every other sound drowned beneath its relentless assault. The horses slowed as they neared the entrance of Raval—much different than Dahlia had remembered.
"This it?" Ansel muttered, nearly slipping as he dismounted.
"Should be." Dahlia swung her leg over the saddle, landing with ease. She scanned the area. "They must've renovated."
Ansel could tell Raval meant something to her, something deeper than she was letting on. But now wasn't the time to ask. "Let's go."
The entrance looked like any major haven—stable buildings, paved roads, guard towers on either side. But Raval had gone further, setting itself apart as a tourist hub. Inns and restaurants lined the streets, meant to pull in visitors and credits alike.
Their boots squelched through the mud, oil lamp light flickering against the drizzle. The rain had stopped briefly but was already picking up again, soaking into their coats.
Dahlia suddenly halted, lowering the lamp.
The glow revealed a shape in the mud—half-buried by rain and dirt. A corpse ripped in half. A white overcoat clung to it—the company issued suit.
"Do you think this is—"
A scream ripped through the air.
Quem.
Their heads snapped up. Without hesitation, they bolted deeper into the haven, feet pounding against the wet ground, breath catching in their throats.
Were they too late?
Had the others already fallen?
The rain roared, drowning out everything else.
The oil lamp slipped from Dahlia's grip, hitting the ground with a muffled thud. The flame flickered, then went out.
Their eyes locked on the center of the haven—
Massiah, sprinting toward a man, a rock clutched in his fist.
The myutant's arm pierced through his chest.
His body crumpled to the ground.
Dahlia surged forward, but Ansel grabbed her, one hand clamping over her mouth.
Massiah would have told them to run. He wouldn't have wanted them here. There was nothing they could realistically do—charging in now would be suicide.
"Let me go!" Dahlia thrashed against Ansel's grip, her voice muffled by his hand, her fury burning against the cold rain.
"Wait." Ansel pulled her down behind the rubble, just a few feet from the myutant. "This is pointless. We'd just be running to our deaths. Massiah is stronger than us—we both know that. If even he couldn't—"
"I don't care!" Dahlia's scream was swallowed by the storm. "I can't let him die! I can't just stand here and do nothing—I can't walk away knowing I saw his killer and did nothing!"
Ansel sighed, eyes flickering to his side. A silver-headed axe lay half-buried in the mud—Gran's axe.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, picking it up while keeping Dahlia in place.
"Let me go, Ansel!"
"Wait. Just for once, wait." His voice was firm, but not unkind. He glanced through the rubble, eyes darting between the myutant and the man behind it—the same one Massiah had attacked instead of the creature. "Okay. I have a plan."
Dahlia stilled, breathing heavy. "Say it. Fast."
"Massiah is strong, and he's smart. Smarter than us, at least when it comes to myutants. But he went after that guy instead of the monster." Ansel flipped the axe and handed it to her. "Which means one of two things."
Dahlia snatched the handle. "What?"
"One—it's impossible to kill the myutant head-on. And two—which is a little harder to believe..." Ansel's gaze flickered toward the man again, watching as he spoke to the creature like he had control over it. "That guy might be the key. Or maybe even the myutants weakness. If we take him down, the monster might stop."
Dahlia's jaw clenched. "That sounds like a long shot."
"Probably. But there has to be a reason Massiah targeted him first."
"Maybe the guy pissed him off—" She stopped mid-sentence, shaking her head. "No. Massiah isn't that reckless. Not in a fight this serious."
"Exactly." Ansel stood, spinning his karambits around his fingers, "Which brings us to our ambush."
"Ambush?"
"Yeah," he said, exhaling into his hands, steadying himself. "I'll circle around behind the rubble, get right behind that guy. And from here, you'll throw the axe—straight at him. Don't miss."
"Why exactly?"
"If the myutant moves to protect him, my theory is right."
"And if it doesn't?" Dahlia asked.
"Then we'll see each other in the afterlife."
Without another word, Ansel took off, his footsteps muffled by the rain.
Dahlia tightened her grip on the axe, eyes locked on the target. If this worked, she owed Ansel a burger for keeping his cool under pressure. Then again, that was only if it worked.
Thirty seconds passed. Then fifty. Then a full minute.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the battlefield in a flash of white.
A second later, the thunder hit—loud, ear-thrashing.
And just as it boomed—so did the axe.
Dahlia hurled it from behind the rubble, watching it cut through the rain, wobbling mid-air before locking onto its target. At the last second, the myutant lunged—not at her, but at the axe.
She grinned.
Ansel was right.
"Maybe I owe him more than a burger!" she yelled, vaulting over the rubble. She soared through the air, moonlight bouncing against the obsidian of her hammer as she swung it downward.
But she wasn't aiming for the myutant.
It had probably already regenerated, its body hardened way beyond her capabilities.
Instead, her hammer slammed into the ground, sending a shockwave of dirt and debris into the air. The rain made it harder, but she just had to hit twice as hard.
And in that same breath—
Ansel was behind the man, karambit pressed to his throat.
Dahlia exhaled, rising to her full height, resting the hammer against her shoulder.
"Now," she said, tilting her head toward the myutant.
"If you don't want your master or whatever to die—"
She pointed the hammer at the creature.
"You'd better play ball."
"You guys shouldn't be here..." A voice rasped beneath them—Massiah's. "Go..."
Dahlia's head snapped toward him, eyes lighting up with relief. He was still breathing. They weren't too late. Their fight wasn't pointless. She grinned. "Don't talk. Just conserve your strength. We'll handle this."
"All of you keep popping up like bugs under a rotten plank," Diamantis muttered, voice heavy with irritation. "You stomp and stomp, and you just keep fucking coming!"
The myutant shifted, its gaze locking onto Ansel.
His blade pressed closer to Diamantis's throat, a thin line of blood trickling down the man's neck.
Ansel wasn't afraid of killing. That wasn't it. What terrified him was what came after.
His theory had been right—partially. The myutant lunged to stop the axe. But if killing Diamantis didn't put an end to it, if the creature kept going... what then?
"What are you waiting for?" Diamantis hissed. "Kill him!"
The myutant hesitated.
Ansel saw it.
It didn't want him dead.
His grip tightened around the karambit, his heartbeat slamming against his ribs. If he ended Diamantis here, would the myutant stop? Would it collapse? Or would it lose whatever restraint it had left?
The hesitation stretched.
Blood dripped down his fingers.
The myutant took a step closer.
"Tell your myutant to back off, or you'll die," Dahlia muttered, eyes locked on Diamantis.
"My death changes nothing," Diamantis said, voice eerily calm. "Someone else will take my place. Someone else will carry on my conviction."
"And what is that?" Dahlia pressed.
Diamantis scoffed. "Kill me, child."
Dahlia's grip tightened around her hammer. Ansel's karambit pressed deeper into Diamantis's throat, blood running down the blade. He pulled back, ready to finish it.
The myutant lunged.
Too fast.
Faster than Dahlia could react, faster than Ansel could strike. It tore through the air, its sheer velocity warping the space around it. The force of its lunge sent a shockwave rippling outward, scattering rain, shaking the ground, and blasting everything aside.
The force sent them flying, Ansel's karambit slipping from his grasp, Diamantis rolling toward the rubble.
Dahlia hit the ground hard but recovered quickly, eyes snapping toward the creature. She swung. Her hammer cut through the air, wind screaming in its wake—
But the myutant sidestepped. Effortlessly so.
And then it countered.
A backhanded strike slammed into her ribs. The world spun as she crashed into the ground, her hammer embedding itself into the mud beside her.
"Fuck!" Ansel staggered up, shaking off the impact. His eyes locked onto Diamantis, who was scrambling to his feet.
No hesitation.
Ansel dashed forward, mud splattering under his boots as he scooped up his karambit. He slid through the sludge, blade raised—
But before he could strike, the myutant was there.
It caught his arm mid-swing.
Ansel barely had time to register the grip before,
Snap.
Pain exploded through his body. His scream tore through the storm as his arm bent the wrong way, bones shattering under the creature's grip.
The myutant lifted its arm, aiming directly at Ansel.
About to end him in one fell swoop.
"Wait."
Diamantis stepped forward, blood trailing down his neck—not deep enough to be fatal, but enough to sting. His gaze sharpened as he reached out, gripping Ansel's face, tilting it slightly.
He took a closer look.
At the stark white hair, glistening under the moonlight.
"You're affected." His voice was almost reverent. Then, a twisted smirk. "We couldn't use the other one... but maybe we could use you."
The myutant adjusted its grip, turning Ansel toward the light, as if inspecting a prize.
"Oh, you'll make a fine specimen."
"Leave him alone," Dahlia growled.
She pushed herself up, her legs unsteady, her hammer heavy in her grasp. Blood dripped down her cheek, mingling with the rain, but she didn't falter.
Diamantis barely spared her a glance before his lip curled in irritation.
"Kill her."
The myutant obeyed, flinging Ansel to the ground like discarded meat before turning toward Dahlia, its face mirroring its master's annoyance.
The myutant stopped. Its massive hand rose—ready to kill Dahlia.
Then—
It hesitated.
Behind it.
Its master had fallen.