Agito didn't need a second warning.
"Trap," whispered Enma's voice, cold and certain.
He could feel it—danger riding the wind like poison.
From the shadows, they emerged.
Grinders. Once human, perhaps. Now nothing but ruin and rust. Jagged frameworks twisted grotesquely from limbs that once walked as men, parodies of bone and tangled wire. Iron-braced spines protruded like sharpened stakes, arms reforged into serrated appendages. Mouths scraped open rather than moved, a hideous chorus grinding like earth gnashing its teeth. Bodies fused of steel and decaying flesh, nightmares brought horribly to life.
Their eyes glowed without thought—driven only by a single, burning directive:
Kill.
Not one. Not two.
A whole goddamn swarm. Steel claws, serrated limbs, rotting flesh stretched unnaturally over metal frames defying logic and nature. The stench struck like a physical blow—blood, decay, and something far worse.
Agito had no time to think. Only to act.
"After you," he muttered to Cain, a glance sharp as broken glass.
His katana sang through the air—a clean, fluid strike. The first creature didn't even manage a sound before its head hit the ground.
"Two on the left!" Cain dropped low, eyes flashing violently.
Before Agito could even blink—
Cain roared.
"Chishio no Yaiba!"[1]
The roar shook the corridor. Cain didn't lunge—he exploded forward. Jagged, blood-red bone blades erupted from his forearms, tearing skin, dripping blood.
He crashed into the nearest Grinder, blades piercing armor, shattering bone, spraying oil across walls. He spun, catching another mid-air, smashing it into stone. The wall cracked.
Another Grinder lunged from his flank. Without hesitation, Cain's forearm snapped upward, bone-blades intercepting claws mid-strike, sparks erupting as steel met living bone. The enemy's strike carved a groove in Cain's plating, but he didn't flinch—only snarled louder, eyes wild with rage.
The Grinders hesitated for an instant. They recognized pain. And Cain had become nothing but pain incarnate.
Even Agito paused briefly, eyes narrowing in wary admiration.
Cain didn't fight.
He tore.
First monster—gutted brutally, spilling steel and gore across the floor.
Second—shredded by a flurry of slashes that carved its chest open like rotten fruit.
"Front!" Agito barked, stepping in.
He kicked a falling body aside, spun, and sliced clean through the next one's wrist. The thing howled, its blade-arm hitting the floor before its throat did. Blood sprayed against stone.
No time.
"Three incoming!" Cain shouted.
"Jump!"
Agito launched into the air, blades swiping under his feet. He landed behind the trio, katana already in motion.
One—throat opened, collapsed twitching.
Two—bisected diagonally, spraying gore like a broken pipe.
Cain caught the third.
But too late.
Mistake.
A sudden weight in his chest. His body screamed something was wrong—but instinct lagged a half-second behind the threat.
The creature leapt.
Cain grabbed its blades with his bare hands.
Steel bit into his palms—blood poured.
He pulled.
Screamed.
And drove his claws into its skull, cracking bone and metal like an overripe melon.
It twitched. Then dropped.
Agito and Cain stood back to back. Heavy breaths. Blood-slicked. Corpses twitching around them.
A shriek.
The last Grinder lunged.
"Now!" Agito shouted.
They moved together.
Katana and bone ripped flesh and metal—the Grinder's head flew, hitting the floor hard.
Silence settled in—thick, clinging, like Exilium's dust that never left your lungs.
Dripping blood. Heaving breaths. That was all.
No celebration. No comment.
They both knew better.
More would come.
Cain looked at Agito.
"They're too fast."
Agito's smirk was gone.
"And there's too many."
A pause.
"Cain," Agito said sharply, "we jump. Now or never."
Cain nodded.
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
They ran.
Same route. Same hall.
Six years ago, death chased them from here.
Now again—footsteps echoed, monsters screamed behind them, stone cracked beneath their feet. Dust, heat, blood filled each breath.
Ahead—the exit.
A figure stood there. Two pistols raised.
Agito tensed—ready to strike.
But the voice stopped him.
"Move!"
Rodrigo raised both pistols.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Senban Rendan!"[2]
His guns lit up the darkness, bullets tearing through metal and flesh.
Every shot precise. Merciless. Glowing rounds ripped into the swarm. Grinders burst apart like rusted machines under pressure—limbs shattered, claws snapped, bodies torn open. Cain and Agito dove clear just as the tunnel erupted in smoke and gore.
Silence again—broken only by the rasp of breath and the ticking of cooling metal.
Cain turned sharply to Rodrigo.
"You were supposed to stay with the tower!"
Rodrigo looked down briefly, then straightened abruptly.
"I couldn't," he replied, voice calm but urgent.
Cain hesitated only briefly. Courage like that deserved respect, even if reckless.
"Good call."
"They came out of nowhere," Rodrigo continued. "Veyrath was leading mutants and more Grinders. Zero got me out, tore through a few of them himself."
Rodrigo shook his head sharply.
"They're planning to attack the Nomads next."
A heavy silence fell. Agito spat into the dirt.
"Fuck…" He narrowed his eyes.
"If he's got a horde and followers…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "…Veyrath."
Cain didn't answer immediately. He was doing the math, and he didn't like the result.
"If it's him," he finally said, "we've got a goddamn war coming."
Cain sucked in a sharp breath.
"So it's true…"
Agito turned abruptly.
"What are we waiting for?"
Cain growled.
"Nothing. Let's move."
Agito cracked his neck.
"Guess I'll stretch my legs."
Cain blinked, confused.
"…What?"
"You two take Zero and get back to Exilium. We need backup."
Rodrigo nodded, quickly climbing onto the beast and gripping the reins. Zero shifted beneath him, sensing the urgency. Cain eyed the creature with his usual distaste.
"I still don't like that dog…"
"He doesn't like you either," Agito replied, deadpan.
Rodrigo shot Cain an impatient look.
"Get on! No time!"
Cain cursed under his breath and leapt onto Zero just as the beast bolted forward.
Agito stepped back calmly, smirk still sharp—deciding, consciously, to face whatever came next alone.
Sand erupted beneath clawed paws, and the beast howled as it tore toward the horizon.
Cain shouted over the wind, "This is a bad fucking idea!"
Agito's grin lingered—sharp, dangerous, unsettlingly calm.
"Enjoy the ride, boys."
He turned toward the desert. Toward the storm. Toward whatever the fuck lurked in the shadows.
Agito took a breath and smiled grimly.
"Time to rescue these desert savages."
And he ran—straight into hell.
Wind screamed around him. Dust lashed at his face. But he didn't slow. Didn't stop.
Because this time, he wasn't running away.
He was charging in.
And the storm swallowed him whole.
[1] Blades of the Blood Tide
[2] Thousand Cutting Bullets