The heavy-gauge auto-pistol Vysa had scavenged from a dead peacekeeper rose in a jerky arc. Her gaze flickered from the hulking, inky form of Korin Daxx – unmistakably him, yet terrifyingly not – to Rheno. He stood amidst the swirling grit, the obsidian blade in his hand still humming with a faint, malevolent energy. A thin sheen of dust coated his dark tunic, but his eyes, usually wide with a courier’s anxious vigilance, were now devoid of all but a chilling, focused calm.
“Rheno?” Her voice was a strained whisper, barely audible above the distant groans of buckling metal and the shriek of wind funneled through shattered avenues. “What… what is that?”
Rheno offered no explanation. His attention remained fixed on the invisible perimeter caging the avenue, his posture unyielding.
A tremor, deeper and more violent than before, ripped through the street. A cascade of concrete and twisted rebar detached from the skeletal remains of a high-rise office tower, plummeting directly towards Vysa. Her head snapped up, a choked cry escaping her lips as she froze, caught between the monstrous shadow and the looming death.
Rheno raised two fingers. The ink-black silhouette of Korin crossed the asphalt in a stride. It lunged, not attacking, but interposing itself. The concrete slammed into the shadow’s torso with a thunderous impact, shaking the ground. Pulverized plaster billowed outward as the phantom absorbed the impact, holding its ground without a shudder. Not a single shard reached Vysa.
She retreated three paces, barrel drifting low, fingers slick against the grip. The shade stood between her and the ruin like an unyielding slab.
A harsh shout cut through the settling dust. “Hold your position! Oshur Defense Cadre! Drop the blade, civilian, and step away from that abomination!”
Four figures emerged from the swirling dust cloud, their tactical gear scuffed but intact. At their head was a man whose broad shoulders and rigid posture spoke of years in uniform. Tycho Vant leveled an assault rifle from behind a dented bumper, his standard-issue helmet canted forward over scarred temples.
Tycho took in the towering specter. “What unholy sorcery is this? You’ve corrupted a soul, you—you necromancer!” His tone was level, hard as pig iron. “Surrender your weapon. There are civilians to evacuate, not carcasses to parade.”
Rheno’s head tilted, a minute gesture. He didn’t lower the Void-Shard Blade. His gaze was steady, chillingly unconcerned with Tycho’s demands or the three rifles now trained on him. “This isn’t sorcery. This is necessity.” His voice was low, flat, devoid of negotiation. “And he’s not defiled. He’s repurposed.”
Vysa took another step back, her boots scraping over glass.
“Repurposed? You’ve enslaved the dead.” Tycho advanced two paces, stock welded to his cheek. “We maintain the sector perimeter. Stand down, or we open fire.”
Rheno considered the threat for a heartbeat. He looked past Tycho’s squad, towards a jagged fissure that had opened in the street, revealing a dark, churning pit below. A guttural growl, followed by the clatter of chitinous legs, drifted up from the depths. Chitin-scaled stalkers congregated in the subterranean gloom, jaws snapping against wet stone.
His eyes met Tycho’s, a spark of something cold and challenging glinting in their depths. “Neutralize me?” Rheno’s lips barely moved. “You can try. But there’s a faster way to prove who’s effective here.”
Rheno vaulted over the asphalt lip. Korin’s spectral bulk dropped directly behind him, plummeting into the trench without a sound.
“Galt!” Tycho roared, startled. His squad hesitated, their rifles shifting from Rheno’s vanished form to the snarling sounds now emanating from below. “What in the—we can’t go down there! That’s an infestation!”
The troopers scrambled for cover along the fracture. Several four-legged carapaces surged upward, claws digging into the sheared concrete. Tycho’s squad opened fire, their weapons spitting bursts of light into the gloom, but their shots were scattered, inefficient. The pack moved too fast. A soldier yelled as hooked mandibles sheared through his combat boot.
Beneath the street, Rheno carved through the swarm with mechanical precision. Korin’s wraith struck like an iron pile-driver, splintering exoskeletons and caving in ribbed skulls. Rheno didn’t waste a movement. He ducked, weaved, and precisely plunged his blade into glowing weak points, each strike ending a life with chilling finality.
[SHADOW EXTRACTION: RAZOR-HOUND ALPHA. ONE SOUL COLLECTED.]
[SHADOW EXTRACTION: RAZOR-HOUND BRUTE. ONE SOUL COLLECTED.]
[SHADOW EXTRACTION: RAZOR-HOUND STALKER. ONE SOUL COLLECTED.]
The red script of the Monolith Interface flared across Rheno's vision. Three quadrupedal forms of solid black condensed around him, their claws flashing through the muck. The remaining beasts broke beneath the counter-assault, butchered within seconds.
When the screeching ceased, Rheno hauled himself onto the street curb. Three blackened, dog-shaped wraiths trailed his heels, their outlines smoldering. Vysa did not lower her weapon, though her aim wandered. Tycho remained motionless, barrel tilted toward the asphalt.
[GATE DUNGEON DETECTED: FISSURE OF THE CHITINOUS. CLEARANCE REQUIRED TO UNLOCK SECTOR: RIVET GATE.]
The Monolith’s message pulsed, red and urgent. Rheno glanced at it, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. The way out. The only way out.
Before anyone could speak, before Tycho could regain his composure or Vysa could voice her questions, the Monolith Interface blared again. This time, the red text wasn't just on Rheno’s personal display. It shimmered in the air, vast and impossible, a server-wide announcement that burned itself into the fractured sky above Oshur, visible to all.
[SERVER-WIDE ANNOUNCEMENT: WARDEN MYKELOK HAS COMMENCED ACTIVE TRACKING PROTOCOLS WITHIN SECTOR: FISSURE OF THE CHITINOUS.]