VOLUME 2: THE HUNT
Eleven years.
The world had changed in ways both subtle and profound. The jungle had grown thicker, wilder, reclaiming what little remained of human civilization. New creatures roamed the wastes—hybrids and mutations that even the Architects hadn't anticipated. And somewhere in the chaos, a girl had become a woman, and a woman had become a hunter.
Lily rode atop Tusk, her massive tiger companion, his flame-mane casting orange light against the encroaching darkness. A ragged cloak hung from her shoulders, torn and mended a hundred times, its original color long since faded to grey. Across her left cheek, a scar ran from temple to jaw—a gift from the early years, a reminder that the world didn't forgive mistakes.
She was 109 years old.
The number meant nothing and everything. Ten years of childhood in the before-times. Nine years of torment in the Architects' labs. Seventy-nine years in white rooms, alone with her thoughts, watching time pass through a window that showed nothing. And now—eleven years of hunting. Eleven years of tracking. Eleven years of becoming the thing that monsters feared.
Her target stood before her.
Jenny Damber hadn't aged. Of course she hadn't. Psychopaths never did. She stood in the clearing with that same smile, that same hungry gleam in her eyes, looking at Tusk like he was dinner.
"That's a good kitty," Jenny said, her voice light, almost playful. "Looks good."
Tusk growled, his fire-mane flaring.
Then the ground exploded.
Something erupted from beneath Jenny's feet—a nightmare of blue and orange, all armored plates and scissor-like jaws. The creature was massive, twenty-five feet of serpentine horror, its multiple clawed arms reaching for her with hungry precision. Jenny threw herself backward, barely avoiding those crushing mandibles.
The Deep Lurker rose from its ambush, its bioluminescent colors flashing warning. It coiled, ready to strike again.
And from behind, something else hit Jenny.
The Forgotten Sentinel moved like a mountain given purpose. Fifty-two feet of armored dragon-beast, its red and green scales gleaming like ancient stone, its tail slammed into Jenny with enough force to send her flying. She twisted mid-air, forming a shield of that white, saliva-like substance—the same stuff she'd used to kill Theo—but the impact still hurled her miles across the landscape.
She wasn't dead. She was healing. But she was hurt.
A third creature emerged from where Jenny had been standing—a rotting, undead theropod, fifteen feet of hunger and decay. Its broken teeth dripped with something that steamed when it hit the ground. Its eyes, milky and dead, fixed on Jenny's distant form.
The Rotting King roared, a sound that shook the trees.
And Lily rode forward on Tusk, the three creatures falling into formation around her.
Eleven years.
Seventy-nine years in the dark.
Nine years of pain.
Ten years of light before it all ended.
All of it led to this moment.
Jenny landed somewhere in the distance, already pushing herself up, already healing, already smiling that terrible smile.
Lily's hand tightened on Tusk's mane.
"Now," she said quietly.
The hunt began.