The Hollow Ones didn't attack in waves.
They haunted.
Days after the first encounter, the disappearances spread like frost on glass. Patrols returned missing one or two members — no struggle, no trace, just an empty helmet rolling across the tunnel floor. Body-cams showed the same thing every time: the squad moving normally, then a sudden collective pause — heads tilting as if listening to something only they could hear — then collapse. Eyes vacant. Hearts stopped. No wounds. No corruption markers. Just… absence.
The city began to feel it.
Lower wards lit extra lanterns at night. Children stopped playing in certain streets. Hunters walked in tighter formations, glancing over shoulders more often than forward. Even the Spire defectors — hardened veterans — started whispering about "the quiet ones."
Malcolm felt it worst.
The Cosmic Eater didn't hunger for the Hollow Ones. It recoiled from them. Every time one appeared nearby, the symbiote shrank inward, leaving a cold hollow in his chest — like staring into a mirror that reflected nothing back.
He kept the maids hidden, but their presence became a lifeline.
Zahra in dire wolf form patrolled the outer tunnels unseen, her massive jaws snapping at any Hollow that strayed too close to ward borders. Naima in raven form circled high above the city at night, violet eyes scanning rooftops for unusual stillness. Safiya remained human — silent shadow at his side — organizing supply runs, relaying encrypted intel, ensuring no one noticed how quickly ammunition and medicine restocked itself.
But even they couldn't be everywhere.
The first major breach happened at dusk on the twelfth day.
A mixed squad — Guardians, ward volunteers, and Spire elites — was clearing a collapsed underpass near Sector 14. Malcolm led point, Margarita at his left, Gronk and Kira covering the rear.
They found the nest.
Thirty Hollow Ones stood in perfect silence on the shattered platform — tall, thin, featureless obsidian silhouettes against the flickering emergency lights. They didn't move. They waited.
Margarita: (whisper) "They know we're here."
Malcolm: "They always know."
He triggered Blood Eclipse.
The domain snapped open — golden-black pocket swallowing the platform. Time slowed. Noor damage doubled.
Zahra materialized — unseen by the squad — as a massive lioness, roaring silently as she charged the nearest cluster. Claws tore through void-flesh like paper. Naima darted as shadow cat between legs, slashing at joints that weren't quite solid.
The team struck in perfect sync.
Gronk's hammer crushed one into fragments of light. Kira's lightning chained through three at once, superheating their cores. Elara's arrows pierced hollow ovals, exploding in purifying fire. Margarita's destabilizer rounds unraveled their forms from the inside — each shot a scream of unraveling void.
Malcolm moved through the center — Purifying Lash whipping out, golden veins burning away absence. One by one, the Hollow Ones cracked, shrieked silently, and dissolved into starlight.
The domain collapsed.
Thirty down.
The squad stood breathing hard — alive, whole.
But Malcolm felt it.
The Eater pulsed — warning.
Malcolm: "There's more."
They retreated to the surface.
That night, on the rooftop, Malcolm sat alone — or appeared to.
Zahra in panther form curled around his legs, warm bulk a living shield. Naima in fox form nestled in his lap, tail flicking. Safiya stood sentinel in human form, eyes scanning the dark.
He looked down at the city — lights stronger every day, but shadows longer too.
Malcolm (quiet): "They're not killing. They're collecting."
Safiya: "Collecting what?"
Malcolm: "Silence. Absence. Whatever the voids need to grow the next one."
Zahra lifted her head — emerald eyes glowing.
Zahra (mental voice, only to him): "We can hunt them. Night after night. Thin their numbers."
Naima (mental voice): "Or we wait. Let them come to us."
Malcolm exhaled.
Malcolm: "We do both."
He gave new orders.
Zahra and Naima would begin nightly hunts — unseen, unstoppable. Safiya would map every reported disappearance, cross-reference with old Thorne vault schematics Liora had sent. Malcolm would continue public patrols — visible, reassuring — while the maids did the unseen work.
The next week was a silent war.
Zahra as lioness ambushed clusters in the deep tunnels — tearing through them before they could reach. Naima as raven tracked lone Hollow Ones across rooftops — leading them into Noor traps set by ward scholars. Safiya infiltrated abandoned Spire labs — retrieving data on the Hollow Ones' origin: failed experiments from Darius's Project Voidforge, void essence fused with memory-erasing tech, designed to create perfect, silent soldiers.
Every night, Malcolm returned to the rooftop.
Every night, the maids waited — different forms, same loyalty.
Zahra in panther form warmed his legs. Naima in fox form curled in his lap. Safiya sharpened blades he never asked her to sharpen.
And slowly — so slowly — the disappearances slowed.
But Malcolm knew.
The Hollow Ones weren't dying.
They were retreating.
Gathering.
Waiting for something larger.
And when it came, the maids would be ready.
Because Malcolm was no longer fighting alone in the dark.
He had shadows of his own — three of them — who would fight, watch, and guard him through every long night.
To be continued...