Blood rained down from the bodies.
Drops fell like red rain—slow, heavy, splattering against the metal floor. The lady walked in her high heels, stepping over corpses, her skirt brushing against pools of crimson. She didn't look down. Didn't slow. Didn't care.
Click. Click. Click.
Her heels echoed through the hallway.
"Miss Ken. Miss Ken. Please. Please pity me."
The assassin trembled. His back was pressed against the wall. His hands were raised. His eyes were wide.
She stopped.
"Look. Miss Ken. Please. Please."
Ken tilted her head.
She was dressed in black—a wide-brimmed hat, long gloves, a long skirt that dragged just above the floor, and shoes that clicked like counting clocks. Her lips were red. Red as the blood on the floor. Red as the stains on her gloves.
Her eyes were empty.
"But I have no choice." Her voice was soft. Sweet. Like honey over broken glass. "The elites of the Survey Corps are furious."
She stepped closer.
"In fact..." She smiled. "You were stupid. Useless."
She began walking again.
"Weak."
The assassin's back hit the wall. He had nowhere to go. His hands trembled. Sweat dripped down his forehead. His breath came in short, sharp gasps.
"Awful," she whispered.
"Oh." Ken stopped. Turned. Her red lips curved. "You have nowhere to go now?"
She tilted her head.
"OK."
She waved her fingers.
"Bye-bye."
The metal floor beneath the assassin's feet cracked.
A hole opened.
He fell.
The metal floors below him cracked open one by one—each floor a new hole, each fall a new scream. He tumbled through twenty stories, bouncing off beams, slamming into walls, breaking bones on every level.
Crack.
Crunch.
Snap.
He hit the first floor.
Blood gushed from his mouth. His body lay limp on the metal ground—legs twisted, arms bent backward, neck angled wrong. He was still breathing. Barely.
He screamed.
Ken chuckled.
She sat on a metal chair close to him—casual, comfortable, like she was waiting for a bus. Her legs crossed. Her hands folded.
The assassin shivered.
"How...?"
"Nothing difficult for an Elemental Class hunter." Her voice was light. Dismissive. "Nothing."
The metal floor beneath the assassin rose.
Then slammed down.
Thwaaack!
His body went flat. Flatter than flat. Flattened like paper, like paint, like a memory.
Ken dusted her hands. Stood up.
And vanished.
Above the Deep Slums, a massive drone floated in space.
It was enormous—a floating fortress of steel and light, bristling with antennas and weapon mounts and surveillance arrays. Thousands of smaller drones swarmed around it like insects around a hive, their red eyes glowing in the darkness.
They turned toward the Deep Slums.
And began their descent.
Mystical Eraland
Calvin shivered.
His boots sank into the grassy soil. His hands gripped a metal blade—a dagger, low rank, barely sharp. His breath fogged in the cold air.
"I can do this."
He looked around. The giant humming trees. The flaming aurora sky. The wrongness of everything.
"I came here on my own. Because I am a hunter."
He swallowed.
"No. A solo hunter."
He kept walking.
"I can do this. I can do this. I can do this."
The grass whispered against his boots. The trees pulsed with that strange internal light. The sky burned purple and blue, churning like a dying heart.
Then he saw it.
A creature standing on a large rock. Tall. Thin. Like a stick with too many legs surrounding it. Its body was still. Too still.
"What the hell is that?"
He stopped.
"No. Of course it's a beast."
He shivered.
He went closer.
The creature didn't move.
"Why isn't it moving?"
"Nooo."
Calvin hid behind a tree. His back pressed against the bark. His hands gripped his hair. His dagger clattered to the ground.
"I'm gonna die. Today. Today is my death day."
Tears fell from his eyes.
"Oh yeah. I need to start digging my grave. So I may at least have a silent funeral and a place to rest."
He peeped at the creature again.
It still hadn't moved.
"Why is it just STANDING there?"
He turned back. Screamed in his mind. Pounded his fist against his forehead.
"No way, Calvin. I am brave. You are brave."
He clenched his fist.
"I'm FUCKING brave."
Anger flooded his chest. Hot. Thick. Fuel.
"I can do this. I can do this. I can do this."
He picked up his dagger.
He began moving.
"I can do this. I can do this. I can do this."
He screamed.
Ran.
Dove with every force he had.
Swung the dagger.
Boom!
THUD.
The creature fell.
Calvin stood over it, breathing hard, chest heaving, eyes wide.
"Wait."
He stared at the creature's body.
It was already dead. Long dead. Its legs were dry. Its shell was cracked. It had been standing there for days—maybe weeks—propped up by nothing but its own rigidity.
"So..." Calvin's voice came out flat. "It's just standing there making me freak out all this while?"
He glared at the corpse.
Then he sighed.
"Whatever. The biogenes are more important."
He picked up the creature's body—light, too light, hollow inside—and shoved it into his storage.
Then he ran.
Ran like the wind. Ran like his life depended on it. Ran because the forest was wrong and the sky was wrong and everything was wrong and he just wanted to be out.
Branches whipped his face. Roots caught his boots. But he didn't stop.
He didn't stop until he saw the blue glow of the portal.
He didn't stop until he crossed through.
He didn't stop until he was back in the dead city, on his knees, gasping for air, tears still wet on his cheeks.
"I did it," he whispered.
"I actually did it."
End of Chapter Thirteen.