The darkness was absolute, a heavy shroud that swallowed all light, but not sound. Grivas Zevris choked, a wet, gurgling sound escaping his throat as the rifle clattered to the floor, metal skidding on plasteel. A frantic scramble began, a desperate thrashing against something unseen. Mireni heard the frantic scrabbling of his expensive leather shoes, the sickening wet slap that followed, then a sharp, tearing sound, like heavy canvas ripping. Grivas screamed, the noise rising sharp before breaking into a wet rattle. It was cut short, not by silence, but by a horrific, wet slurping noise, followed by a low, guttural growl that seemed to vibrate through the very floor. The air grew colder, an unnatural chill seeping into the dense blackness. Mireni, still hidden in the alcove, registered the freezing draft preceding the hound's passage. “Miliya,” Mireni’s voice was a low, steady murmur, cutting through the horrifying symphony from the hallway. The child, who had stood frozen at the threshold of her bedroom, jolted. Mireni extended her left hand. “Come.” Miliya stumbled forward, her small hand finding Mireni’s. The child's palm was cold and damp. The Tundesh pelt, still wrapped around her, offered no comfort against the fear that radiated from her small frame. Mireni’s fingers closed around Miliya’s, a firm, almost clinical grip. She pulled the child close, navigating the pitch-black corridor with unnerving confidence. The tablet, though invisible to Miliya, projected a detailed infrared schematic of the penthouse directly onto Mireni’s retina, a ghostly green map that showed every obstacle, every open door, and the rapidly shrinking thermal signature of Grivas Zevris. The sounds from the hallway continued, a gruesome, rhythmic tearing and squelching. Grivas’s screams had devolved into choked, rattling moans, punctuated by the wet tearing of sinew and the dull thud of something heavy dropping. Miliya whimpered, her face buried into Mireni’s side. “Grandpa… Uncle Pyren…” Mireni rested a flat palm against the girl's scalp. “They’re just handling a pest problem, sweetling. A very large, very noisy one.” Her tone was flat, utterly devoid of the horror that should accompany such an explanation, especially with the evidence of Grivas’s suffering echoing through the air. “Sometimes, when the weather shifts, things from the lower levels find their way up. Your grandfather is very good at dealing with them.” They passed the library, its open door a black maw. The green overlay on Mireni's vision showed the hunter, a chaotic thermal blur, still crouched over Grivas's cooling torso. Mireni guided Miliya past the kitchen, its surfaces gleaming with the phantom light of the tablet, towards the heavily armored door of the penthouse’s secure room. This was the 'shelter' Grivas had boasted about, designed to withstand a siege, a safe haven from the chaos of the streets below. It had never been intended to protect them from something *inside*. She pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner next to the door. The panel glowed with a faint, almost imperceptible blue light, briefly illuminating the stark lines of Mireni’s face, her eyes cold and distant. The heavy plasteel door hissed open, revealing a compact, sterile interior. A single cot, a filtered air unit, and a small, sealed emergency ration locker. “In you go,” Mireni instructed, gently nudging Miliya inside. “Stay here. No matter what you hear, or don’t hear, you stay here. I’ll come for you when it’s safe.” Miliya paused, chin trembling as she stared up at Mireni. “But… it’s so dark.” “It’s the safest place to be right now,” Mireni said, her voice unwavering. “You’re protected here. Grandpa and I will take care of the rest.” A lie, of course. Grivas was already past caring. And Mireni’s protection was solely for Miliya. She reached into the room, her hand sweeping across a control panel, activating the internal lights and sealing the door with a soft *thunk*. As the thick door cycled shut, cutting off the last of Miliya’s small, scared face, the sounds from the hallway intensified. A final, drawn-out groan from Grivas broke off into the wet slap of peeled muscle settling against plasteel. Mireni registered it with a detached curiosity, her gaze already turning back towards the source. The green overlay on her vision now showed only a faint, residual heat trace where Grivas had been. The thermal distortion remained motionless. Mireni strode back down the corridor, her steps light and purposeful. The frigid air clung to her, a constant companion. She walked with measured steps, watching the corridor ahead. She stopped three paces back, tracking the seconds while the spirit finished its work. She watched the disturbance cohere on her display, static blooming across the lens. Just as the last, faint heat signature of Grivas vanished from Mireni’s internal display, a sudden, jarring flicker of light pierced the gloom. The emergency lights, dormant since the initial lockdown, sputtered, then blazed back to life, casting harsh, stark shadows across the pristine plasteel. Mireni blinked, her eyes adjusting to the sudden illumination. And then she saw him. Grivas Zevris was a ruin. He lay sprawled on the floor, an impossible, grotesque sculpture of muscle and bone. His skin, perfectly excised, was gone. Not a drop of blood marred the floor; it was as if the very air had consumed it. But he was not dead. His eyelids fluttered, revealing milky, unfocused eyes. A ragged hiss escaped his throat, raw fascia stretching taut over exposed teeth. He looked at Mireni, his breath a desperate rattle. “You… demon… this… curse… on… you…” The words were barely a whisper, a final, venomous anathema. As Grivas’s final breath shuddered out, his eyes rolled back, and the last spark of life extinguished. The invisible hound, now a massive, shimmering distortion in the air, a ripple in reality, turned its attention from the lifeless husk. Its formless head swiveled slowly, fixing on Mireni. The air around her grew impossibly cold, and a low, resonant growl, a sound of ancient, satisfied hunger, filled the corridor. Her turn had come to prove she was neither prey nor kinswoman.

Harvest