The city never truly slept. Even after Nyarlathotep's defeat, Heartwork's streets still held that same low hum of tension—like the air before a thunderstorm. Xenos walked along the rain-slick cobblestones, his coat's edges brushing against his legs with each measured step.
He should have felt the calm after victory. Instead, the weight in his chest told him something was wrong. The shadows here were too long. Conversations in the taverns cut short when he passed. There was an invisible thread of malice, woven into the bricks and alleys themselves.
The tavern lights dimmed behind him. Somewhere ahead, a sharp crack—glass breaking. He didn't hurry, but his eyes sharpened. Rounding the corner, he saw the scene: a masked figure leaping from a second-story balcony, cloak flaring, a chain of stolen jewels catching the moonlight like drops of blood.
The thief landed in a puddle, barely glancing back before sprinting into the maze of alleys.
Xenos almost ignored it. Almost. But something about the sound of the landing—too heavy, too deliberate—made him follow. He didn't run; he walked, yet the gap between them seemed to shrink with each turn.
The chase wound through tight corridors until they reached a half-lit market square. The thief was gone.
Instead, there was Micron. Standing there, of all people, bent over an overturned cart, muttering curses under his breath while trying to set it right.
Xenos stopped a few paces away. "What are you doing here?"
Micron glanced up, his grin half-hearted. "Would you believe me if I said sightseeing?"
"Not in this city."
Micron's grin faded as his eyes drifted toward the far side of the square. Xenos followed his gaze and saw it—a shape moving in the shadows. Not human. Its form shifted as though it were smoke wrapped in flesh, limbs too long, head tilting unnaturally as it approached.
There was no time for a plan. The thing lunged—not at them, but at a child darting out from the corner, chasing a ball.
Micron moved before Xenos could. One heartbeat he was by the cart, the next he was throwing himself between the monster and the girl. Claws raked across his side, deep enough to draw blood.
He grabbed the girl, shielding her with his body as the impact knocked them both to the ground.
The creature reared back, about to strike again—
"I guess," Micron gasped, forcing a bloody smile toward Xenos, "I'm not… dying pretty today."
It wasn't the kind of line you forgot.
The monster's claws came down—only to stop mid-air. Xenos had stepped in, hand gripping the creature's wrist like it weighed nothing. His other hand tore reality open just enough to drag the thing into a pitch-black rift that swallowed its screams whole.
The market went silent. The girl was sobbing into Micron's arm. He patted her head weakly before handing her over to her frantic mother, who'd rushed from the crowd.
Micron slumped against the cart, clutching his bleeding side. "Still not sure if you're my guardian angel… or just really bad luck."
Xenos didn't answer immediately. His gaze swept the square, the rooftops, the alleys. The malice hadn't gone. If anything, it had grown thicker.
"You shouldn't have been able to wound it," Xenos finally said. "And yet you did."
Micron's brows rose, but before he could reply, Xenos added, "This city's rot runs deeper than I thought. And you've just made yourself a target."
The last of the crowd dispersed. Somewhere far off, a clock chimed midnight. The shadows around the rooftops seemed to lean closer, listening.
Micron chuckled softly despite the pain. "Guess that makes two of us."
Xenos turned away, his coat catching the wind. He didn't look back, but his voice carried over his shoulder.
"Stay alive, Micron. There are answers in this city you don't want to die before hearing."