Rain lingered in shallow puddles, turning Zenith's back alleys into mirrors that shattered beneath every footstep. Alaric moved through the early gloom toward Tavros's clinic, two lockboxes hidden beneath his coat. Today he would learn which one carried fortune and which carried poison.
Inside the basement lab, humming lights cast pale halos over rows of cracked monitors. Tavros met him without a word, wired fingers twitching. Alaric placed the Shroud's lockbox on the steel work-bench. The doctor raised a brow. "You found a twin."
"Need to know which is live."
Tavros dragged a heavy analyzer over. Thin blades of light scanned the case, bathing the ridges in spectral hues. "Biometric encryption identical. But here—" He pointed at faint thermal patterns swirling beneath the shell. "One core runs hot, the other cold. I'd wager the hot one houses active tech or volatile chem. Cold? Likely decoy."
Alaric's gut tightened. The original box hummed faintly warm beneath his palm. He slipped it into the sling bag again—now certain a fortune or a catastrophe rested on his hip.
"Payment later," he said. Tavros only nodded, eyes glinting like coins.
Alaric exited through the rear door—and stepped into a kill-box. Three Syndicate enforcers blocked the alley mouth, trench coats flapping like wings. The tallest spun a chain mace lazily, spikes clinking. "Courier boy," he sneered, voice ragged from cigarette scars. "Boss wants his property."
Rain drummed a slow cadence on corrugated roofs. Alaric's danger sense flared, painting each man in dull crimson. No time for negotiation. He loosened his shoulders, feeling the new agility point hum through muscle and tendon.
The mace whistled. Alaric ducked, boots skimming water. Steel teeth tore a spark off brick where his head had been. He lunged, knife flashing, carving a red ribbon across the wielder's thigh. The enforcer howled, stumbling.
Second man advanced with a stun baton. Alaric pivoted, letting the strike hiss past his ribs. He caught the attacker's wrist, twisted, heard bone pop. Knife punched into soft shoulder seam—gristle parted, hot blood washed across his knuckles. He ripped free, feeling the weapon pull life from the wound.
A gun barked behind him—third man, pistol leveled. Pain blossomed in Alaric's side, but the Vitality boost dulled the shock. He rolled, tucked beneath the chain mace's return swing, and hurled his knife. The blade traced a silver arc before sinking into the shooter's throat with a wet thunk.
Blood sprayed in rhythmic pulses; the gun clattered away. Alaric rose, half-spun, and slammed an elbow into the stunned baton-bearer's temple. The man crumpled, skull meeting pavement with a hollow crack.
Only the mace wielder remained, limping yet furious. He swung wide, overcommitting; Alaric stepped inside the arc—one breath, one motion. Fingers found the man's collar, knife-hand empty but lethal. A brutal head-butt shattered the enforcer's nose; crimson spattered Alaric's cheek. Off balance, the enforcer never felt the boot knife slide between ribs. He sagged, dropping the chain, gurgling curses that died with him.
Rain washed the alley clean, but crimson kept pooling around three still forms. Alaric's chest heaved—first real kill trio, and no time to dwell. His side burned; the bullet had gouged flesh, passed through. Already the wound knitted, pain receding to a hard spark.
[System Alert: Life-and-Death Encounter Logged]Quest Unlocked – Predator's InstinctSurvive ambushes from three Syndicate hunters.Reward: +1 Stat Point
One encounter down, two more promised. He wiped the knife on a dead sleeve, retrieved the pistol, checked the chamber: four rounds. Good enough.
Sirens wailed farther off. Someone would find these bodies. He melted into backstreets, pulse steadying only when neon towers pierced the cloud cover.
At the Rusted Oak, Lia slammed the door behind him, eyes wide at the blood speckling his collar. "You're hurt!"
"Nothing deep." He let her guide him to the mattress, where she dabbed antiseptic on the grazed wound. Her touch lingered longer than necessary, fingers trembling with fury. "They tried to take you," she whispered, voice shaking.
"Failed." He caught her hand. "I promised I'd return."
Tears welled, but she swallowed them. "I hate this city."
"We'll tame it." He squeezed her fingers. She clung to him, forehead resting against his chest, breathing him in as though memorizing his heartbeat. Heat crawled up his neck, complicated and fragile.
Later, while Lia slept curled beside him, Alaric examined the pistol and chain mace now hidden under floorboards. Trophy weapons. Proof that predators could bleed.
The chrysanthemum lay on the table, petals radiant white against gritty wood. A reminder that another hunter still walked the rooftops, playing her own game.
He opened the cold lockbox—the decoy. Inside lay a single crystal data shard, blank. A message: the real cargo remained sealed, stakes untouched. Whoever held the matching biometric signature could open it—or force him to.
He closed the lid, adrenaline fading. Two more Syndicate ambushes would come; the system never lied. And when they did, he'd be stronger.
Somewhere beyond cracked walls, mag-trains roared and high-rise screens flashed endless adverts. Alaric felt the city's pulse align with his own—swift, hungry, relentless. Tomorrow he would hunt information on the cargo's owner. Tomorrow he might face the Shroud again beneath burning neon.
For tonight he allowed himself a single victory: three predators down, lingering echoes of battle still humming in his bones, and Lia breathing softly at his side—safe.
Outside, Zenith howled for blood. Alaric smiled into the darkness, whispering a line he'd once read on a dusty manga panel: "If fate is the strongest hunter, then I'll devour fate itself."
The city answered with distant thunder. The hunt had just begun.