Sato hopped down from the destroyed car he'd been standing on, his boots splashing into a shallow pool of diluted monster blood. He strode toward Hannah with heavy steps, the smell of poison and iron clinging to his clothes. When he reached her, he knelt, lowering himself until they were eye level. The hardness in his face eased.
He opened his mouth to speak—
"Ssibal gae-gateun nyeon!"
The shout cracked across the battlefield like a whip.
They all turned.
A man stormed toward them—lean, tall, built like a runway model but dressed for war. His metal pauldron clanked against his frame with each furious step; his green button-up was torn at the shoulders, the sleeves rolled to reveal forearms smeared with blood and dirt. His brown mullet swept behind him messily, coppery under the flicker of ruined streetlamps. His blue eyes were wild, red-rimmed with grief and rage.
Taygun.
"Jin fucking die because of you bitch."
His voice cracked on the last word, raw and venomous.
Sato immediately stood, intercepting him before he reached Hannah. His arm shot out, gripping Taygun by the collar and yanking him to a stop.
"Oi! Don't talk like that to her."
Taygun scoffed—wet, broken—a sound halfway between a sob and a snarl. He shoved Sato back with surprising strength.
The man scoffed, shoving him back, "Fuck you too. I'm fucking tired of her shit, man. This isn't some game, we are fighting for our lives, and she's fucking around. She needs to get her shit together, or she will end up kill all of us."
Hunters glanced at them, a few murmurs rising, their expressions uneasy.
He glanced at Hannah, trying to push past Sato but a few guys moved to intervene, standing between the two men, holding back Taygun.
"Taygun, hey hey—easy, bro—easy…"
"Jin just died because you spaced out. MOTHERFUCKER!" Tears ran down his face, his voice raw with rage. Taygun's face twisted as he tried—and failed—not to break.
His words cracked fully now. His jaw tightened again and again, as if trying—and failing—to hold his grief in place. His knees buckled. He staggered forward and fell to them.
"Taygun. Breathe, man."
"Fuck… he's shaking."
One man wrapped his arms around him. Another gripped his shoulder.
"Ssibal… ssibal… aish… wae geurae, man… He didn't deserve this…"
Hannah's throat tightened. Tears welled. "I—I…I'm sorry." The only words she could manage.
"Jin-ah!" He cried out, his fists clenched around the man's shirt, pulling at the fabric. Tears streaking his face.
"I'm sorry," Hannah whispered again, her voice breaking.
But Taygun heard.
His head snapped up, glare burning straight into her.
And for a moment—she wished the monsters would kill her right there.
Every stare felt like judgment.
Every breath tasted like guilt.
She didn't know how to comfort someone grieving; she barely knew how to manage her own grief.
She had lost everyone too—her parents, her home, Jagger—
Pain pressed against her chest like a crushing hand.
"WHAT Y'ALL STARING GET TO WORK!" The woman from before shouted.
The spell broke.
Hunters flinched, scattering back into movement. The battlefield returned to chaos—shovels scraping, blades sawing through carapace, voices calling orders.
As Taygun was gently pulled back by his squadmates, Sato finally turned to Hannah and rested a firm hand on her shoulder.
She looked up, eyes trembling, tears threatening to spill.
Sato's voice softened into something deeply human.
"It's not your fault, kiddo. You're not used to this. None of us are. You're doing your best."
She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper and nodded weakly.
He smiled weakly, giving her a light punch on her arm. "Listen," he said gently. "Tension is high, everyone has lost someone and they will keep losing. But you spacing out for even a second means death—for you, and everyone who relies on you."
His face hardened.
"I know you are young, but you'll have to grow up fast. This is the end of the world. If you can't protect yourself, and those that rely on you... then you're just another liability."
Each word stung, but they did not wound her—they anchored her.
He jabbed her arm lightly with his fist, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "You're young. You're smart. And you're strong as hell. You'll grow. Fast."
"I'll… try," she whispered.
"Good." He ruffled her hair, a rare moment of warmth in the frozen hell of the battlefield.
Somewhere behind them, a Fang Spitter corpse was flipped over with a heavy thud. Hunters cheered as they extracted a glowing mana core the size of a fist.
Sato stood, stretching his back with a groan. "C'mon. Let's get to harvesting before someone gets acid in their ass."
Hannah managed a tiny, shaky smile.
"Don't worry about Taygun, he's grieving. You can't blame him for being angry and hurt. Give him time." Sato sighed, lightly punching his forearms, biceps and triceps as he spoke, "But don't let what he said get to you. We need you. We need every person we can get our hands on. Especially a powerful psion like you. So don't space out again. You got it?"
She nodded. "Yes, Sir."
"That's my girl." He grinned, "Let's get to harvesting."
Hannah pushed herself upright, brushing dust and monster residue from her clothes. The battlefield crackled with fading energy—embers drifting, smoke coiling through the air. She approached the nearest Fang Spitter corpse, its massive legs splayed like shattered spears across the asphalt.
A familiar woman knelt beside it. Maria. Her warm brown eyes lifted when she saw Hannah, sweat streaking her pale skin, her short black hair fluttering faintly in the breeze. Stocky, powerful, and steady—exactly the kind of person Hannah wished she could be right now.
Maria nudged her gently with an elbow. "Here," she said, lowering a pair of thick, worn gloves into Hannah's trembling hands. "You're gonna need these. And wipe those tears—put your big girl pants on."
Hannah blinked fast, trying to hide the redness around her eyes. The leather gloves were stiff, scarred by countless cuts and dark stains of dried venom and blood. They were heavier than she expected.
"Thanks." She slipped her hands inside. They were slightly too big, the fingertips tugging with every movement, but the weight grounded her.
Maria nodded once, approval flickering across her expression, before she crouched beside the dead Fang Spitter. "Alright, lesson one: don't touch the ends of its legs." She pointed with the tip of her dagger. The spike at the end of each limb glistened faintly—a muted, oily green sheen sliding across the surface like living poison. "This needle is full of venom and acid. The moment you stab the wrong way, the pressure inside pops it—shoots right into your face."
She snapped her fingers for emphasis.
"It'll melt you from the inside out."
Hannah stiffened. "Y-yes, ma'am."
"Good. Lesson two—start from the bottom and work your way up." Maria tapped the creature's armored body. "This shit is harder than steel. Slice at the armor directly, and you're gonna hear your knife cry before it breaks."
She angled her dagger downward, sliding it between two plates near the base of the limb.
"So instead… we go for the joints."
The metal edge slipped in with a sharp crack, sinking into a narrow groove where muscle met plating. A sour hiss escaped, like steam pushing through rotting pipes, accompanied by a faint puff of green vapor that stung Hannah's eyes even from where she stood.
Maria twisted.
The joint snapped open with a wet, meaty pop. Chitin split apart, revealing a sliver of green muscle that glistened like slimy cords.
"Now bend the leg back."
Her hands braced the limb, pushing slowly until it stretched with a sinewy creak—fibers straining, tearing, peeling away. Beneath the split flesh sat a bulbous sac, grey and pulsating faintly, as if beating to some residual heartbeat that didn't belong to the dead.
Hannah wrinkled her nose at the sight. The sac was wet, slick, and veined with dark threads crawling across its surface.
"This," Maria said, pointing with her chin, "is your venom gland. Sensitive little bastard. One wrong move… and—BOOM." She mimed an explosion with her hands. "Your face becomes soup."
Hannah flinched.
A hand suddenly touched her shoulder.
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
Claire stood there—older, slightly hunched, hair tied tight enough to pull her skin smooth around the temples. A few silver streaks escaped and fluttered in the dusty breeze. Brown eyes flicked with brightness despite the exhaustion carved into her features. She smelled faintly of sweat, metal, and old perfume—like someone who still held onto small pieces of the old world.
"Well, well," Claire said warmly, "looks like Maria's teaching our newcomer properly. But she doesn't have the kind of experience I do."
Maria scoffed loud enough to echo off the ruined storefronts. "We really doing this now? We don't have time for your delusional ego, old hag."
Claire recoiled with dramatic horror. "OLD HAG?! I am five years older than you, you little shi—"
Maria smirked. "I'm joking, relax."
Claire grumbled, cheeks puffed. "No manners, I swear—kids these days—talking back like they pay the fucking bills—"
Maria leaned toward Hannah and whispered, "She talks like one too."
They giggled.
Claire whirled on them. "I HEARD that!"
Maria just snickered. Even Hannah couldn't suppress her smile.
"Okay, okay, back to work," Maria said, guiding Hannah's attention back to the split limb. "Watch this part. It's delicate."
With gentle, practiced strokes, she cut open the fibrous casing. The flesh peeled apart like soft fruit, revealing the gland clearly. The sac hung from a single tendon-like thread, a needle-like tip at its peak dripping glowing venom that slid down in slow, syrup-thick strings.
The stench intensified—burnt rubber, rotting copper, and chemical acid mixing into a nauseating wave.
Hannah's eyes watered.
"See?" Maria said, carefully tugging the sac free. "Not too bad if you're careful."
"You make it look easy," Hannah murmured, leaning closer despite the smell.
"That's because," Maria said proudly, placing the venom sac into a reinforced glass vial, "I used to cut animals for a living before the world went to shit. These bastards? They're basically huge, deadly crabs with more attitude and a fuckton of poison."
"More like spiders," Claire muttered from her corpse, slicing through her own Spitter with impressive dexterity.
"Yeah, yeah," Maria rolled her eyes.
She sealed the vial and tapped it twice. "Alright. Your turn." She handed the dagger to Hannah. "Don't overthink it. If you mess up, I'll stop you before you explode."
"Comforting," Hannah whispered dryly.
"You got this," Maria said, nudging her with a gentle smile.
Hannah steadied her breath. The dagger felt heavier now—but in a way that filled her with purpose, not fear.
"I got this,"