The night sky stretched above them, endless and black, scattered with stars that had witnessed civilizations rise and fall. Below, the ocean churned in darkness, a vast emptiness that seemed to go on forever.
Wolfen flew with fire streaming from his feet—twin jets of orange flame that propelled him through the air like a missile. Beside him, Zoey floated effortlessly, her body wrapped in the invisible field of her psychokinesis, her scarred face turned toward the horizon.
They'd left Australia behind hours ago. The continent was a memory now, a smudge of red and black fading into the distance. Ahead lay Asia—the mainland, where Lily was surely headed next. Where the next battle waited.
For a while, they flew in silence. The wind rushed past them, cold at this altitude, but neither seemed to notice.
Zoey broke the quiet first.
"So," she said, her voice carrying easily despite the wind, "you want to explain why you're covered in blood and won't talk about it?"
Wolfen glanced at her, his golden eyes catching the starlight. "No."
"Figured." Zoey floated closer, matching his speed. "But I'm going to keep asking until you crack. You know that, right?"
"I know."
"Good. Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page."
Wolfen's lips twitched—almost a smile. "You're persistent. I'll give you that."
"I learned from the best." Zoey's expression softened, just slightly. "Seriously, though. That woman—Scylla. What happened?"
Wolfen was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was careful, measured.
"I gave her a choice."
"A choice?"
"Live or die. Revenge or peace." He looked away, toward the distant horizon. "She chose wrong once. I gave her the chance to choose differently."
Zoey studied him. The blood on his clothes. The weight in his eyes. The way he held himself—not like someone who'd just won a fight, but like someone who'd done something that would haunt him.
"Did she take it?"
"I don't know." Wolfen's voice was quiet. "I hope so. But I don't know."
They flew on in silence.
---
The Asian continent materialized from the darkness—a vast sprawl of land beneath them, its features obscured by night. Mountains. Forests. The distant glow of what might have been fires.
Wolfen slowed, his eyes narrowing.
"Something's wrong."
Zoey stopped beside him, her senses reaching out. "I don't feel anything."
"Not with powers. With..." He touched his chest. "Here. Something's here. Something strong."
He looked down at the ground below—a forested area, dark and still. But not empty. He could feel it. A presence. A pressure. Something that made every instinct he had scream danger.
"I'm going down."
Before Zoey could respond, Wolfen's fire cut out and he dropped like a stone.
He hit the ground with the force of a meteor—CRASH—shattering earth, splitting trees, carving a crater into the forest floor. Dust and debris exploded outward. When it cleared, he stood in the center, his hands already igniting with flame.
It stood before him.
The creature.
Twelve feet of crimson-strand nightmare, its body a writhing mass of fibers, its orange-gold eyes floating in the darkness. The pale snout tilted, studying him. The distributed eyes blinked—three visible, more hidden—watching from every angle.
Wolfen's fire flared brighter.
He didn't know what this thing was. Didn't know where it came from. But something about it—something deep, primal, visceral—made him want to destroy it. Not because it was a threat. Not because it was a monster.
Because it had hurt someone he knew.
He could feel it. In the way the creature moved. In the weight of its gaze. In the air itself, which seemed to remember violence.
This thing had fought Maya and Eva. Had nearly killed them.
Wolfen charged.
It matched Eva's description from earlier.
This thing had fought eva and maya and hurt them both and now wolfen was gonna hurt it .
His fist connected with the creature's face—a solid hit, full force, enough to shatter concrete. The creature's head snapped back, strands flying, but it held its ground. Those orange eyes fixed on him, unblinking.
Then it struck back.
A strand-arm lashed out, faster than anything that size had a right to be. Wolfen blocked—barely—the impact sending vibrations through his bones. Another strike. Another block. They became a whirlwind of violence, trading blows in the darkness of the forest.
Wolfen punched. The creature tanked.
The creature punched. Wolfen took it.
They were evenly matched—but Wolfen could feel the difference. The universe he'd been trapped in, the one with no survivors and endless horrors, had forced him to fight things like this constantly. He'd learned to survive through speed, through fire, through sheer stubborn refusal to die.
But this thing... this thing was fresh. Untired. Unbroken.
A blow caught him in the ribs.
CRACK.
The sound was sickening. Ribs scattered—not cracked, not fractured, but scattered, pieces of bone spreading through his chest like shrapnel. The pain was immediate, overwhelming. Wolfen flew backward, crashing through trees, finally stopping against a massive trunk.
Zoey descended from above, her eyes wide.
She saw Wolfen on the ground, his chest a ruin, his face twisted in agony. She saw the creature advancing, those orange eyes fixed on its prey.
Something inside her snapped.
Trees rose.
Rocks lifted.
Debris from the crater—chunks of earth, splintered wood, everything within range—shot toward the creature like bullets from a thousand guns. They slammed into it, over and over, a barrage of destruction that would have leveled a building.
The creature didn't even flinch.
The debris bounced off its fiber-strand body like rain off stone.
Then Wolfen emerged from the dust.
He was on his feet—somehow—his arm wrapped in Umbralite and fire, the black material gleaming with molten light. He moved with the speed of desperation, crossing the distance in an instant, and punched.
His fist connected with the creature's torso.
For the first time, the creature's flesh broke. A crack appeared in the strand-mass, dark fluid weeping from the wound. Wolfen had done it. He'd actually hurt it.
The creature's head snapped down. Its eyes—all of them—fixed on him.
It hit him.
One blow. Right to the head.
Wolfen's vision went white. His body went limp. He stood for one frozen moment, swaying, then collapsed. Unconscious. Paralyzed. Broken.
Zoey watched him fall.
The world stopped.
Her posture changed.
It wasn't dramatic—not at first. Just a subtle shift. Her shoulders straightened. Her head lifted. Her hair began to move, drifting upward as if caught in an unfelt wind.
The space around her felt wrong.
Pressure built. The air itself seemed to thicken, to groan under some invisible weight. The ground beneath her feet cracked—not from force, but from release. Something was happening. Something terrible.
Chunks of earth began to rise.
Trees—whole trees, their roots torn free—lifted into the air around her. Rocks followed. Debris. Everything within a hundred yards started to float, suspended in the chaos of her rage.
The creature felt it.
Immense pressure pressed down on it—not physical, but existential. The weight of a storm. The weight of a god. The weight of a woman who had just watched someone she cared about get hurt.
Zoey's face was half in shadow, half lit by the distant starlight. Her eyes—those scarred, tired eyes—burned with something that hadn't been there before.
"How dare you," she whispered.
The floating debris shuddered.
"How dare you hurt him."
The air screamed.
The creature stood its ground, those orange eyes fixed on her, but for the first time, there was something new in its posture. Something that looked almost like hesitation.
Zoey raised one hand.
The storm was coming.