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Chapter 107 - MY OWN TYPE OF ANIMAL

Tobi tumbled down the steps, his shoulder slamming into every edge on the way down until his hand caught on a broken seat and stopped his fall. His throat burned as he coughed the air out of his lungs, each breath scraping like glass. The world around him tilted, blurred, and swayed in and out of focus. He tried to blink it away, but the grit and smoke from the breach had glued themselves into his eyes. He could barely make out shapes—just streaks of color and motion.

His body shook violently. His hands wouldn't stop trembling. His pulse felt like it was crawling under his skin. He was terrified, beyond anything words could describe. The kind of terror that turns thought into noise and breath into something shallow and desperate.

'How the hell do I beat this guy? I can't… I can't… I can't be like you, Mikey. I can't even protect her. I'm useless. I'm just—'

He slammed his palm against the ground, hating the sound of his own thoughts. The sharp sting grounded him, but only barely. His mind screamed while his body stayed still. Then his gaze caught something—a shape. A dull, glinting cylinder resting in the rubble a few feet away. A canister. Water.

He crawled toward it like it was the only real thing left in the world, dragging himself on his elbows, his knees scraping raw against the cracked floor. When his fingers finally reached it, he tore the lid off and dumped it over his face. The burn was immediate, searing, brutal. He gasped, his eyes igniting with pain as the grit flushed out. The sting made him want to scream, but he kept it in.

'I have to see. I have to see her. She's alone with that monster. I have to see—'

When the haze finally cleared, the world sharpened back into something real. The dome had become a vision of hell. Fire danced across the broken stands, black smoke curling up toward the ceiling where holes let in streaks of orange light. Gunfire cracked in the distance. Bodies—Defectors, Cultists, soldiers—all tangled in the same ruin. Blood pooled along the edges of the arena steps, and the smell of iron clung thick in the air.

Tobi stared, wide-eyed, as the reality of it hit him. "Oh… oh my god…" he muttered, his voice barely audible under the roar of flames. He shook his head hard, forcing himself to move. His hands dug into the stone, dragging him up step after step until he could stand, legs trembling but refusing to give out.

'Amelia… I'm coming.'

When he reached the top, the sight waiting for him made his breath stop cold. Leo stood there, one hand wrapped tight around Amelia's throat. Her body hung limp, her legs barely kicking. Her wrist bent at an angle no joint should. Her left eye was swollen shut, blood streaked down her temple, and her voice came out in nothing more than a cracked whisper.

"Tobi… help… me…"

Then her head dropped forward, the words dying in her throat.

Tobi froze. His chest hollowed out as if something inside him had been scooped clean. He couldn't even move. The sound of her body hitting the ground barely registered. Leo laughed, a dry, unhurried sound, and tossed her aside like trash.

"Puppy eyes," he said, turning his gaze down toward Tobi. "You're back."

Tobi looked up at him slowly, his breathing uneven. For the first time, he really saw him—not just the body, but the symbols. The dark robe, the embroidered sigil stitched across the hood: the coiled eel surrounded by rays of light. His pulse quickened. His stomach turned cold.

That mark.

His mind flashed back—blood in the sand outside the Silo, a jagged dagger jutting from his father's back, the body still warm, that same sigil carved into the blade's handle. And the pale man standing over it, face stitched like a doll, eyes empty. That memory never left him. It defined him. It was his sole conviction and now, the cult was standing right here.

His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. "Do you know a tall, pale man with stitches across his face?"

Leo's brow furrowed for a second, then he gave a short, lazy grin. "Hm. Can't say I do. And if I did, I'm not telling you that."

Tobi's voice dropped into something low, tight, trembling between rage and disbelief. "Talk."

Leo laughed, a single, humorless exhale. "No. I'm good, puppy eyes." His gaze wandered past Tobi, toward the carnage still unraveling across the dome. "You're boring anyway. I think I'll go join the others."

He turned slightly, but before he could take a step, there was a blur—a sound like air snapping—and Leo's head jerked violently sideways.

The fist came from nowhere.

The impact cracked like a gunshot, echoing through the empty stands as Leo was thrown backward, his feet leaving the ground. He caught himself with a hand, stumbled, and spit out a mouthful of blood. A few teeth clattered to the floor. Then he started laughing. Slow. Unsteady. But delighted. He had finally been hit.

"Puppy eyes," he grinned, blood spilling from his lips. "You might be fun after all."

Tobi stood over Amelia's unconscious body, his knuckles raw and dripping. His shoulders trembled, but not from fear anymore. His breathing was deep, steady, unnatural. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the brown of his eyes until they looked like empty wells. He didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He just stared.

Leo tilted his head. "Can you even hear me, puppy eyes?"

There was no answer. Because Tobi wasn't there anymore. Not really. Something inside him had broken open—shattered—and what came spilling out wasn't fear or grief or even thought. It was instinct, pure and unfiltered. Something primal that had lived dormant under the layers of doubt and cowardice his whole life. His body moved without asking. His heartbeat no longer carried hesitation, only rhythm. For the first time, Tobias wasn't afraid. He wasn't even thinking.

He was becoming his own type of animal.

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