(Add to Library—before the Obsidian Fiends claim another life.)
Avery & Nyra – PSB Lobby
Avery glanced at her phone. Her boss was definitely drowning in chaos.Plan B it was.
She rang the only other speed-dial that mattered.
"Sweet Avery, already craving my company this early?" Nyra Night's voice draped over the line—silk over a hidden dagger.
"Nyra, I just hospital-ized two people. I'm in PSB custody. Lawyer. Now."
Thirty minutes later, Avery's eyes widened as Nyra strode into the Public Supernatural Bureau in person.
Flowing floral dress. Deep-brown curls. A silk scarf knotted like a signature flare. Makeup flawless; eyes sharper than scalpels.A Trait-class Enforcer with suppression cuffs escorted her—personally.
PSB officers pivoted from caution to courtesy in record time.
Paperwork signed? Five minutes flat.Avery was whisked outside.
"If Soren's dead, come work for me," Nyra said off-handedly as they slid into her car.
Avery almost choked. "What?"
Nyra's knuckles tightened on the wheel. "His plane exploded. Four hours ago."
Westlake Province – Rainforest Ops
Deep in Westlake's jade jungle, Gideon Wolfe and Griffin Wolfe moved like silent phantoms. They had to reach a point north of Seaforth Town before 1600 hours.
Early-autumn heat felt like midsummer hell. Sweat slid off their brows while tactical terminals spat constant updates.
Gideon—lean, mid-forties—checked his screen, face hardening."Soren's jet went down over the South Sea. Wreckage found—no bodies."
Griffin, built like a freight engine, halted. His fist slammed into a tree—instantly carbonizing a meter-wide trunk.
"It was them, wasn't it?" he growled.
Gideon's voice shook with icy rage. "They've crossed every line."
"Brooks and Haven died so Callan could rocket to High Mid-Tier. Now Soren's dead?"
Chill sank into Griffin's bones. Coincidence? Impossible. Someone knew Soren's flight path with surgical precision.
"And the mission?" Griffin asked.
"Callan won't show. Just us—mocking his Ice-Flame combo. Engagement zone: rainforest north of Seaforth."
Two vs. Ezekiel Grimm. A lopsided suicide pact.
1500 Hours – Kill Zone
At the coordinates, they popped their packs open—revealing matte-black meteorite blocks webbed in leather straps: Obsidian Fiends.
High-radiation meteors. Fifty-percent reduction in psychic damage. Price tag? Slow cellular decay. Only ten in existence—two million credits each.
Straps cinched. Radiation gnawed at bone. The men blurred into the treetops; elemental signatures faded into banyan leaves.
On their wrist HUDs, a 10 cc Luminite crystal screamed past twenty million credits at live auction—mocking them.
Against Grimm's Fear Domain, rubber bullets in a hurricane. But they had nothing else.
Violet dusk bled through the canopy. Night settled. Moonlight dripped silver.
A frog croaked.
Snap. A twig cracked in the blackness.
He was here.
Gideon and Griffin stopped breathing.Even the insects fell silent.
An unknown life-signature stepped into their trap—Footsteps… drawing closer.
And the hunt began.