Lights illuminated the nest until Karauro’s flare extinguished them.

  Noose readied the dampener and loaded it into her rifle.

  She moved through the dark, visor painting a thin digital path.

  There he was—hunched over charred Elder mites.

  Karauro dropped something with a wet thud.

  The Elder’s remains. A torn cavity still leaking green.

  “Ciro?” she called—Monarch’s file-name for him.

  Tendrils swayed behind him.

  Karauro snapped around.

  Noose’s breath caught.

  Dark vines webbed his torso—armor fused into them like it had grown roots.

  A skeletal shell masked his face, teeth too long, stained green. Meat still hanging between them.

  His eyes were wrong. Orange—split by black.

  A growl rolled out of him.

  He rose, bone spikes lifting from his shoulders, plates ridged along his back. His head tilted up—sniffing. Listening.

  Then he lowered his face toward her.

  Eyes met through the visor glass.

  A gravelly voice forced itself out, breaking on each syllable.

  “Do… it…”

  Pity flickered through her—gone as fast as it came.

  Noose steadied her laser on the vine seams.

  He held still.

  She fired.

  The dart punched in—steel needle flashing—golden serum flooding into vine-flesh.

  His ember lights flickered.

  His whole body convulsed.

  He dropped hard to one knee, palm grinding into the concrete.

  His hand clamped his skull-mask like he could rip it off by will alone.

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  Noose tightened her grip.

  Was it enough?

  Karauro’s growl sharpened. His hand slammed down.

  Tendrils lashed from his lower back—whipping the air.

  His head jerked up again.

  Listening.

  The dart kept pumping—then stuttered. Something in him rejecting it.

  He seized it and yanked it out.

  Shattered it against the ground.

  His mouth opened wide.

  A roar punched through the nest.

  “Shit,” Noose breathed.

  Karauro lunged—tendrils hooking the ceiling.

  His fist hammered concrete repeatedly.

  Noose slammed a breach round into her rifle, aimed, fired—

  A tendril snapped out and swatted it aside.

  Karauro’s head whipped toward her with a snarl.

  Then he snapped upward again.

  Tendrils speared into the hole, tearing through cement—pipes, rebar, debris raining down.

  Noose dodged, pain flaring through her leg.

  Comms crackled in her helmet.

  Karauro crawled up through the breach.

  Gone.

  Noose (over comms): “Fey, do you copy? Ciro’s unstable—avoid engagement.”

  Fey: “Hold on, what? Damn it. We’re up against one now—” A pause. “It’s Hollow-Shade, Noose—he’s here!”

  Of course.

  Noose fired her hook-wire gun. A loud beep—anchor locked above.

  Noose: “It’ll take me a bit to get out. Don’t shoot him. Partial dampener’s in—he’s still in there.”

  Across the structure, Fey’s channel erupted—gunfire and screaming bleeding through Noose’s comms.

  ---

  Noose emerged from the vertical pit, level with Fey’s position. She endured each surge of pain as the hook-wire cable retracted into the device.

  Her mind replayed Karauro’s plea. Teeth clenched. She hated it.

  At a distance, her gaze fixed on him.

  His hunched mass rushed on all fours like a wild dog toward Fey, who braced behind an Onyx barrier sinking into the ground.

  Bullets stitched into a figure made of flowing, toothy ichor.

  Three bodies lay torn nearby.

  Fey’s private channel was still active.

  “What the hell!” Fey shouted. “Why are you here, Hollow-Shade?”

  Noose picked up her father’s voice on the comm.

  Holvok’s voice came calm—too calm. “Stay here, Fey.”

  He stepped forward—black Nexon suit cut with blue neon.

  “General—” Fey started.

  “I’m not here to posture,” Holvok said. “I’m here to finish it.”

  Noose sprinted, tossing a stim to numb the pain—just long enough.

  She slid onto the concrete, scraping armor, and stopped beside Fey.

  Eyes on Hollow-Shade.

  Its claws flexed—white core pulsing in its grip like a heart.

  It opened its jaw too wide and swallowed the core.

  Wet. Final.

  Purple veins flashed beneath its ichor skin.

  It lunged.

  Holvok met it head-on—caught an arm, thrusters flaring just enough to hold footing. He drove punches into it like he was breaking a door.

  Jaw snapped sideways.

  Hollow-Shade staggered—

  —and stitched itself back together with a sickening crack.

  Holvok’s mouth twitched. “Of course.”

  Hollow-Shade dropped to all fours, grinning like it understood the game.

  It thrust both arms forward.

  “A bait—”

  Holvok surged in anyway.

  His fist passed through—

  Hollow-Shade dissolved into ash.

  Holvok’s eyes widened.

  Too late.

  It reformed behind him, claws already rising—

  Something hit like a wrecking animal.

  Karauro launched on all fours, planted off Hollow-Shade’s shoulder, and drop-kicked Holvok sideways—sending the General skidding hard.

  Holvok’s helmet rang.

  When he looked up, two predators stood where one had been.

  Karauro didn’t even acknowledge him.

  He headbutted Hollow-Shade—skull to face—then grabbed its head and slammed it into the concrete, dragging it like meat across stone before throwing it away.

  Rifles snapped up.

  Noose slid in, breath cutting through her comms.

  “Don’t shoot!” she yelled. “It’s K-19!”

  Holvok’s icy blue eyes locked on her.

  His hand lifted—rifles froze.

  Without looking away from Karauro, he said, “Let’s see if you can handle him.”

  Noose ducked behind cover, pulse racing.

  Holvok’s voice cracked over comms: “Focus Hollow-Shade. Watch the other one.”

  Hollow-Shade roared.

  Karauro didn’t care.

  He seized a twisted shield and hurled it—forcing Hollow to dodge—then his tendrils surged forward and yanked it back like a hooked fish.

  Black fog misted from Karauro’s skull-jaws, swallowing sight.

  Noose heard it again—low grinding in the bones of the structure.

  The sound before an underground space detonated.

  The fog glowed orange.

  The air crackled.

  “Take cover!” Noose screamed.

  BOOM—

  The blast punched through the haze.

  Hollow-Shade skidded back, scorched ichor hissing. It landed on all fours—alive.

  The fog peeled away, burnt air thinning.

  Hollow-Shade turned—eyes locking onto an aircraft lifting off beyond the rubble.

  Noose snapped to Karauro.

  He wavered—just a split second. Enough.

  She fired.

  A dart hit.

  Reload. Second shot.

  Karauro growled, jaw shaking, and turned—finding her through the thinning smoke like he hated that she was saving him.

  Hollow-Shade launched after the aircraft—crawling up the fuselage like a stain.

  Arms coiled around the cockpit.

  Metal shrieked.

  The aircraft spun, slammed into a building, and burst into flames.

  Hollow-Shade was gone.

  Karauro’s body shook—then dropped.

  Somehow he still moved.

  Rifles aimed again.

  Tendrils met concrete as the orange light in his eyes dimmed.

  His body loosened at last.

  Vines peeled away—flaking, dissolving.

  Boots scraped closer.

  Through the ringing, Karauro whispered—so quiet Noose almost missed it—

  “…Nera.”

  Team Noose or Team Nera—and why?