The tunnel exhaled cold breath, damp and rank. Water dripped somewhere far behind them, each drop a metronome counting down to violence.

Cain didn't blink.

The creature crawled fully into view, its movements jerking, insectile, as if its body wasn't bound by rules of bone or tendon. Its limbs were too long, bending in ways that mocked anatomy. Black plates shifted across its frame like shards of obsidian sliding over oil, and where its face should have been, there was only a hollow aperture—a mouth that wasn't a mouth, yawning without sound.

Susan's grip tightened on her blade. She'd seen nightmares before, things stitched from old wars and forbidden labs, but this—this was older. This felt like something that had waited. Something patient.

Behind it, two more slithered into the faint edge of light. Then another. Four… no, five. They didn't walk so much as glide, limbs scraping, heads twitching in ragged rhythm like puppets tugged by unseen strings.

Steve's voice cracked under his breath. "That's… too many."

"Too late to count," Cain murmured.

Hunter's silhouette bled from the wall behind the first creature, blade curved like a crescent moon. His strike landed before it even turned—steel biting into the joint where its limb bent backward. Sparks and black ichor sprayed the wall. The thing shrieked without sound, its body convulsing like a signal jammed by static.

Cain moved as the others surged forward.

The tunnel detonated into chaos.

One lunged straight at him, limbs snapping forward like spears. Cain ducked low, boots skidding through filth as his blade whipped upward in a brutal arc. The steel bit deep. For an instant, the creature froze—then split apart, its torso peeling open like paper soaked in ink. The ichor hit his coat, burning through fabric, but he didn't stop.

Susan was a storm at his flank. Her blade spun in precise, surgical arcs, cutting down the second phantom before it reached Steve. The third slammed into her mid-strike, dragging her back against the tunnel wall with bone-cracking force. Her breath left her in a sharp gasp, but her dagger punched upward, straight through its face-hole. It convulsed and fell twitching.

Steve activated the dampener rig, and the air rippled—sound dying in a sudden, suffocating hush. The creatures faltered, their movements jerky as static flickered across their frames. Steve was sweating hard, teeth gritted, every nerve screaming as the rig bled power to keep the field stable.

"Hold it!" Cain barked.

"I—fucking—am!" Steve spat through clenched teeth.

Two more surged in, slipping through the dampener's radius like smoke. Hunter intercepted one mid-lunge, slamming it into the wall with such force the concrete spiderwebbed. His blade severed its head in one savage motion.

The fifth creature barreled past Cain and went for Steve.

Cain spun, throwing his knife in a single, fluid gesture. The blade buried itself in the phantom's throat—not that it had one—but it staggered just enough for Cain to close the gap. His sword drove through its chest, pinning it to the wall. The thing writhed, limbs scraping sparks against the concrete, until Cain twisted the blade and tore it free.

Silence fell, thick and trembling.

Steve collapsed to his knees, the rig sparking and hissing as it died. His hands shook, face pale as bone. "That… was all of them, right?" he whispered.

Hunter wiped black ichor from his blade with a torn rag. "No," he said flatly. "That was the front."

Cain stood in the center of the carnage, breathing steady, coat torn and smoking where the ichor had eaten through. His eyes tracked the tunnel ahead—a yawning mouth stretching into the deeper dark. Beyond that blackness, something pulsed faintly, a distant glow like embers under ash.

"They were guarding something," Susan said quietly, spitting blood from her lip. Her voice didn't waver, but her hands were white-knuckled around her blade. "Whatever it is… it's awake."

Cain stared into that glow, every instinct telling him the same truth: this wasn't a nest. It was a throat. And they were already inside.

He turned to Steve, voice like iron scraping stone. "Get back topside. Wipe everything. If the Grid finds even a trace of this, we've got more than phantoms to deal with."

Steve shook his head weakly. "I'm not—leaving you down here."

"You don't have a choice," Cain said. His gaze pinned him like a blade through flesh. "You'll buy us ten minutes. That's the only reason you're still breathing."

Steve hesitated, then swallowed hard and began stripping the rig, fingers moving fast despite the tremor. His boots splashed as he ran, the sound swallowed quickly by the tunnel.

Cain looked at Hunter and Susan. Neither spoke, because there was nothing left to say.

He adjusted his grip on the blade, the metal humming faintly in his hand, and stepped into the dark where the glow throbbed like a heartbeat.

The tunnel narrowed, forcing them shoulder to shoulder. The smell changed—less rot, more copper, sharp and cloying. The walls here weren't concrete anymore. They were… wrong. Slick, almost organic, like something had grown over the stone and hardened into black glass. Veins pulsed faintly beneath the surface, carrying that ember-light deeper in.

Susan whispered, "This wasn't built."

Hunter's voice was low, unreadable. "No. It was born."

The glow brightened ahead, washing the walls in sickly hues. Shapes moved within it—slow, undulating, like silhouettes behind a burning curtain.

Cain tightened his grip on the hilt until his knuckles ached. He felt the weight of the city above them, oblivious and vast, and wondered if it would still be standing by the time they climbed out of this hole.

The hum returned—louder now, threading through their bones like a cold wire.

Cain's voice broke the silence, calm and merciless.

"Stay sharp," he said. "The real hunt starts here."

Rain hissed softly against broken glass, carrying the stink of ash and burnt steel through the alley. Cain drew in a breath, tasting iron, smoke, and the static that came before storms. Somewhere in the distance, alarms began to cry, their hollow voices clawing at the edges of the waking city.