Chapter 11: Predator and Prey

  The tension hung heavy in the air after the exchange, an oppressive weight that seemed to smother even the faintest sound. Dust swirled lazily in the faint light, catching on the jagged edges of shattered display cases and the twisted remnants of priceless artifacts.

  Silence filled the room as Fernandez squared off against the predator, his stance steady despite the chaos around him. Izzy coughed weakly, crawling out from the remnants of her hiding place as her gaze darted between Fernandez and Connor.

  The predator stood motionless for a moment, his towering frame casting jagged shadows over the shattered remains of the Spanish exhibit. He tilted his head, his feral grin widening as he took a slow, deliberate stretch.

  “You’ve got fire, soldier,” the predator said, his voice smooth and cold, cutting through the stillness. “I can smell it on you. Most of the little rats I’ve chased down these corridors just squeal and scurry. But you…” His claws dragged along a toppled pillar, shrieking against the stone. “You might actually make me work for this.”

  Fernandez met his gaze, his grip tightening on the shield-axe. “You done talking yet?” he said, his voice steady, cold, and edged with steel.

  The predator’s grin widened, jagged teeth catching the faint light as he straightened. “Oh, I like you. Straight to the point. No pleading. No bravado. Just… focus.” He paused, letting the silence stretch as he dragged his claws deeper into the shattered column, carving razor-sharp lines into the stone. “You can call me Nightfang. It’s the last name you’ll hear before you die. I’ll save the other little rats for dessert,” he added, his yellow eyes flicking toward Izzy and Connor. His nostrils flared slightly, savoring the scent of fear in the air.

  Fernandez’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing. “You’re nothing,” he said, his tone measured and deadly. “Just another feral animal that needs putting down.”

  Nightfang’s grin stretched wider as he crouched low, muscles coiling like a predator ready to strike. “Blur Step,” he growled, the words dripping with menace.

  His massive frame seemed to ripple and distort, leaving behind ghostly afterimages as he launched forward with inhuman speed. The air itself seemed to ripple in his wake, a distortion that made him appear more phantom than flesh.

  Fernandez barely had time to register the motion before Nightfang was upon him, a blur of shadow and raw power. The predator slammed into the shield with devastating force, claws raking across its reinforced surface in a high-pitched screech that set Fernandez’s teeth on edge.

  The sheer impact hurled Fernandez tumbling backward, his body twisting as he rolled with the momentum. His breaths came in sharp gasps as he fought to regain control, the hard museum floor scraping against his skin through his tattered gear. Move, damn it. Move! His instincts screamed at him.

  Twisting mid-roll, Fernandez slammed the edge of the shield into the debris-strewn floor, halting his slide with a bone-jarring lurch. The sharp clang echoed through the shattered remains of the Spanish exhibit as he drove the weapon deep into the tiles, steadying himself. His muscles screamed in protest, but he forced himself onto one knee.

  “Damn—he’s fast and strong,” Fernandez muttered under his breath, his sharp gaze locked onto Nightfang, who was already repositioning, the afterimages of his last movement still fading into the dust-filled air. Fernandez’s mind raced, replaying the blur of motion. What the hell was that? Some kind of speed ability?

  Nightfang prowled the edges of the room, his towering frame shifting with fluid precision, muscles rippling under his bloodstained skin. The predator tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes glinting with savage amusement. “What’s wrong, soldier?” he taunted, his tone smooth and mocking. “Can’t keep up? Maybe I overestimated you.”

  Fernandez gritted his teeth, shaking off the daze. Damn it, Hector. You’ve got abilities of your own—use them. His fingers tightened around the shield’s arm straps, the weight of the hybrid weapon grounding him. He slammed the shield into the floor again, harder this time, as if driving his resolve into the earth alongside it.

  “Iron Guard!” His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

  The change was subtle but immediate. Fernandez felt a shift within himself, a surge of stability as though unseen braces locked his stance into place. The strain in his muscles eased slightly, every fiber of his body aligning with the shield’s unyielding presence. It wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper, something the system had woven into his core. Each strike he had absorbed earlier seemed to diffuse, the pressure lessening as if the shield itself was anchoring him to the ground. His stance solidified, unshakable.

  Nightfang darted forward, his blurred form leaving faint echoes of motion as he circled. But this time, Fernandez’s movements were deliberate, his breathing steady as he tracked the predator’s motions. The frantic, reactive edge in his posture was gone. His feet dug into the ruined floor, braced for the next assault.

  Nightfang’s grin stretched wider, jagged teeth glinting in the dim light. “Oh, you’re learning,” he said, his voice low, almost admiring. “Let’s see if it’s enough.”

  The predator lunged again, closing the distance in a flicker of motion. His claws slashed downward in a brutal arc, aiming to tear through Fernandez’s defenses. This time, Fernandez anticipated the strike. He shifted the shield at an angle, deflecting the claws with a deafening clang and sending sparks skittering through the air.

  Nightfang didn’t let up. He spun with the momentum of his deflected strike, bringing his claws around in a low sweep aimed at Fernandez’s legs. Fernandez leapt back just in time, his boots scraping across the floor as he swung the shield into place, absorbing the impact of a follow-up slash.

  “Persistent bastard,” Fernandez growled through gritted teeth, his arms aching from the sheer force of each blow.

  Nightfang snarled, crouching low as he feinted to the right before springing upward. His form twisted mid-air, claws slashing downward, a precision strike aimed at Fernandez’s exposed flank. Fernandez barely managed to pivot, raising the shield just in time. The claws scraped against the reinforced edge, the vibrations rattling through his arms.

  The exchange was relentless. Fernandez was defending, adjusting, learning—but not without cost. A sharp burst of pain seared across his ribs as one of Nightfang’s slashes slipped past his guard, carving a shallow but burning wound. Fernandez hissed, rolling away to create distance.

  Nightfang straightened, rolling his shoulder as if testing for soreness. His feral grin widened as he glanced at the faint marks along his arm. “You can block, soldier, but first blood’s mine and I’ll give you credit—your shield’s got some bite. But who goes into a fight planning to block someone to death?” He laughed, sharp and guttural. “You might as well hand me your neck now.”

  Fernandez’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he met Nightfang’s gaze. “The shield’s just the start,” he said, his voice low and even, the promise of violence threading every word.

  Letting the handle of the shield-axe slide down, with a sharp, deliberate hiss. Fernandez adjusted his grip, the blade scraping the floor The weapon shifted from a purely defensive stance into something far more dangerous.

  Nightfang didn’t wait. He launched forward with unnerving speed, the edges of his hulking frame seeming to blur as he closed the distance. His razor sharp claws rent the air in blinding precise slashes, but Fernandez met him head-on. This time, instead of bracing, Fernandez stepped into the attack, angling the shield-axe upward and slamming the flat edge into Nightfang’s chest.

  The impact sent a jarring shock through both of them, but Fernandez followed through, twisting the handle and swinging the axe blade in a brutal, horizontal slash. Nightfang leapt back with a snarl, the blade grazing his arm and leaving a shallow gash. Blood welled along the wound, but the predator’s grin only widened.

  “Better,” Nightfang growled, circling Fernandez, “But you’re still slow.”

  Fernandez tracked him, keeping the shield-axe angled in front of him. He’s faster than me—too fast to match head-on. I need to bait him in, control the fight. His mind raced, thinking of his available abilities. Iron Guard won’t help if I’m not stationary, and I can’t just sit here waiting for him to wear me down.

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  Bull Rush could close the gap, maybe even stagger him long enough for a clean strike. But if he dodges, I’m wide open—and he’s fast enough to make me pay for it.

  Then there’s Kinetic Exchange… His grip tightened on the shield’s arm straps as he replayed the last hit in his mind. I can absorb the force from his strikes and turn it into a single, devastating blow. But I need him to commit—to overextend. If I trigger it too early, I’ll lose my chance.

  Fernandez steadied his breathing, relaxing his stance just enough to look vulnerable. It was a calculated gamble, but one that might pay off. He shifted his weight subtly, making it seem like he was favoring his wounded side, the shallow cuts still stinging against his ribs. Nightfang’s golden eyes locked onto him, the predator’s grin widening.

  “There it is,” Nightfang growled. “You’re slowing down. I was starting to think this might actually be a fight, disappointing.”

  Fernandez didn’t reply. He waited, keeping his shield-axe lowered just enough to appear off-guard, his muscles coiled beneath the facade of weariness.

  Nightfang took the bait. With a snarl, he launched forward in a blur, claws arcing toward Fernandez’s exposed flank. This time, Fernandez didn’t block. He pivoted sharply, sidestepping the initial strike, and as Nightfang’s momentum carried him past, Fernandez swung the shield-axe upward with all his strength.

  The edge of the axe blade caught Nightfang across the back, tearing through muscle and sending a spray of blood across the shattered tiles. The predator roared in pain, stumbling back as he clutched at the wound. But his feral grin returned just as quickly, his golden eyes gleaming with savage glee.

  “That’s more like it, soldier!” Nightfang snarled. “But you’re still way too slow.” He surged forward again, faster this time, twisting mid-air to avoid the next swing of the shield-axe.

  Fernandez had no time to react as Nightfang landed behind him. He felt the searing pain before he registered the strike—claws raking across his back in a precision slash that tore through his gear and left burning lines of agony in their wake.

  Fernandez staggered forward, barely catching himself with the shield. His breath bursts out his throat, as blood soaked into his shirt, the sharp sting of the wound fueling his resolve. He spun to face Nightfang, who crouched a few feet away, licking the blood from his claws with a taunting grin.

  “Now I’ve paid you back,” he laughed “I’m still up one.” Nightfang said, his voice dripping with mockery.

  Fernandez ignored the taunt, his mind already turning over his next move. He couldn’t afford another mistake,

  The shield felt heavy in his grip, but it grounded him as his mind raced, considering his next move. Kinetic Exchange. The thought settled in his head like a lifeline. He pushed past the pain, his gaze sharpening. I can use his strength against him. Every hit he’s landed, every ounce of force—it’s all fuel for the ability.

  Bracing himself, Fernandez adjusted his stance, planting his feet firmly. The shield-axe came up, angled and ready. His body screamed for rest, every muscle burning, but his mind was locked on one purpose: endure and counter. His eyes never left the beast.

  Nightfang stalked closer, his hulking frame weaving through the rubble with a chilling, casual arrogance, like a predator savoring the last moments before a kill. His golden eyes flicked over Fernandez, measuring every breath, every shift in his stance. He wasn’t some mindless animal—he was an apex predator, calculating, studying, and relishing the hunt.

  Nightfang’s golden eyes gleamed as his grin widened, his voice smooth and mocking. “You’ve been fun, soldier, but I think it’s time we upped the stakes.”

  Then, without warning, he activated another ability. He stretched his arms wide, and the air around him rippled over his body, like a stone dropped into a still pond. Shadowy tendrils curled outward from his form, writhing like living smoke. “Doppelg?nger!” he said with a whispered smile.

  Slowly, the tendrils stretched and twisted, taking shape beside him—first faint silhouettes, then full, perfect replicas of his hulking frame.

  When the shadows finally solidified, there were three Nightfangs. They stood shoulder to shoulder, each identical to the other, from the savage gleam of their claws to the bloodstains streaked across their skin, they were indistinguishable in every way.

  Fernandez’s grip on the shield-axe tightened as he narrowed his eyes. “Damn it,” he muttered.

  For a brief moment, the room was silent, save for the faint, distorted echo of Nightfang’s growl. Then the doppelg?ngers moved.

  They didn’t rush Fernandez directly. Instead, the three Nightfangs began to flow, darting in and out of each other in a hypnotic, predatory rhythm. Their movements weren’t circling him—they were weaving together, crossing and merging, creating an impossible tangle of bodies and motion.

  One moment, all three Nightfangs seemed to converge into a single figure; the next, they blurred apart, twisting unpredictably as they advanced together. Their pace was slow and deliberate at first, the erratic weaving pattern making it impossible to predict who would strike—or when.

  Then the rhythm broke.

  Without warning, all three sprang into action, their movements synchronized yet chaotic enough to defy prediction. Each one darted toward a different target, their speed and ferocity unmistakable.

  Fernandez’s sharp gaze darted between the three Nightfangs, his grip on the shield-axe tightening as the predators broke formation. His instincts screamed for him to act, but there was no clear target, no certainty if any were were fake—but he knew for sure one was real. The calculated chaos was working—he couldn’t defend everyone at once.

  One of the Nightfangs surged toward Connor, its claws gleaming as it closed the gap in an instant. For a split second, Connor froze, his mind blank as pure panic overtook him. The predator’s low growl echoed in his ears, pulling him out of his stupor.

  “Oh, hell no!” Connor blurted, his voice trembling with panic. Turning on his heel, he bolted through the rubble, his movements frantic and uncoordinated as he zig-zagged between toppled displays and debris.

  The growls grew louder behind him, as Nightfangs claws raked the air just inches from his back. He vaulted over a shattered bench, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The predator’s shadow loomed larger, relentless, suffocating. Connor’s lungs burned as he forced himself to keep moving, running at top speed.

  “Not stopping! Not stopping!” he huffed like a mantra, as he ran, each step fueled by desperation. Nightfang stayed on him, his presence heavy and oppressive, his low growl promising it wouldn’t tire first.

  The second Nightfang was on Izzy in an instant, claws slicing through the air with a chilling whistle. She scrambled backward, her boots slipping on the shattered tiles, her hands clawing through the debris in a desperate search for something—anything—to defend herself.

  Her fingers closed around a jagged piece of wood, and she swung it wildly, her grip trembling.

  Nightfang didn’t hesitate. He feinted left, then darted right, weaving around the crude weapon with terrifying precision. His grin widened, revealing sharp, blood-flecked teeth. The predator seemed to savor her fear, each movement deliberate, as if it were toying with her.

  Izzy screamed as Nightfang lunged, his claws arcing toward her chest.

  Fernandez’s instincts flared as he saw the attack unfolding. One of the Nightfangs surged toward Izzy with terrifying speed, claws gleaming as it closed the gap. She stumbled backward, clutching a jagged plank, her face pale with fear.

  Connor continued his mantra as he ran, each step pounding against the shattered tiles beneath him. “Not stopping! Not stopping!” The words spilled from his lips like a prayer, his chest heaving as the panic clawed at him. His boots slipped on the jagged debris, and for a heart-stopping moment, he almost went down, but he caught himself with a desperate push forward.

  The growls behind him never faltered. Nightfang was relentless, his presence a suffocating weight bearing down on Connor’s every move. The sound of claws scraping stone rang in his ears, far too close for comfort.

  “Run all you want, little rat,” the voice snarled, dripping with cruel amusement. “But you’ll never escape.”

  Connor’s heart felt like it might burst as the words echoed, cold and taunting, in his ears. He risked a glance back and immediately regretted it. Nightfang was closing the distance, a blur of feral precision that seemed unstoppable. Connor’s legs burned, his lungs screamed, but fear was a merciless motivator.

  Suddenly, the growls behind him shifted—no, stopped entirely. Connor stumbled, nearly falling as his brain struggled to process the absence of sound. He spun around, half-expecting claws to meet him, but there was nothing. The Nightfang chasing him was gone, its form dissolving mid-stride into curling tendrils of shadowy smoke that evaporated into the air with a faint hiss.

  Connor’s breath hitched. “What the hell?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he staggered to a halt. His wide eyes darted around the ruined corridor, searching for any sign of the predator.

  Connor’s chest heaved, his legs trembling as he tried to piece together what had just happened. His mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. But just as the weight of confusion began to set in, another sound cut through the air—a faint, mechanical hum, low and steady, accompanied by soft, rhythmic beeps.

  Connor froze, his ears straining to make sense of it. The sound grew steadily louder, unmistakably artificial and out of place amidst the destruction. His eyes widened as recognition struck.

  A drone?” he muttered under his breath, the word tasting foreign, almost absurd amidst the chaos. But that’s what it was—its rhythmic beeps and mechanical whir unmistakable.

  His first instinct was to run, every nerve in his body screaming at him to keep moving. But he hesitated, his eyes darting toward the shadows around him. Why a drone? His pulse quickened. Is it someone trying to help? Or is this just another part of the nightmare? Some sick ability?

  Connor’s hands clenched into trembling fists as his mind raced through possibilities. The drone could be tracking him, calling something worse to his location, or even broadcasting his position to whoever—or whatever—was behind this hellscape. He took a shaky step back, the crunch of shattered glass beneath his boot startling him more than it should have.

  Think, damn it. Think! He glanced over his shoulder toward the path he’d taken, debating whether to bolt or hide. His eyes burned with exhaustion, his legs trembling from the strain of running, but he couldn’t afford to make the wrong choice now.Another notification flickered at the corner of his vision:

  [78 Participants Remaining.]

  Connor gritted his teeth. His mind wavered between hope and dread. If this is help, why does it feel like a trap? The sound was closing in, relentless and inescapable.

  He shifted his weight, his breath shallow. His survival instincts told him to run, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the ominous noise. But his gut twisted with indecision, the drone’s mechanical hum gnawing at his resolve.

  “Just my luck,” he muttered, taking a hesitant step forward, unsure if he was walking toward salvation or a fresh hell.