The four-piece lunge began, but the target wouldn't stay where the manual grid expected.
The Void-Kin Scout didn't dodge but rather, its physical structure simply broke sequence. The creature let out a high-pitched, metallic shriek. It vibrated through the huge, rib-like pillars. Then, it moved in jerky, unnatural ways. It didn't track through space smoothly. It stuttered. In one moment, it was three strides away, ember-eyes locked on him. Then, in an instant, it slipped inside his guard. There was no time to react, almost as if something was erasing the seconds between. It flickered in the sickly green light from the obsidian cracks. Its shape danced across the dark plaza floorboards. It glitched with every step. The joints moved a half-beat late, following the limbs' arc.
To an ordinary climber, the trajectory would have been a fatal blur. Marcus's silver eyes followed the strange distortions in the mist. His investigative mind decoded the creature's mechanical glitches. He didn't predict its next move; instead, he noted what didn't fit, like he did with a suspect's tells in a two-way mirror.
And a disconnect remains.
A thin line of light cut through the Scout's dark skin. It showed violet rift-scars pulsing along its ribs. These markings are signs of past battles. They hint at a mysterious origin, standing out from the rest of the surface. The rift-scars glowed a pale, bruised violet. They reminded me of other Spire-spawned predators. But this one felt colder and sharper. Each jagged mark flared on its own. It looked more like a brand stitched under the skin than a natural formation. As the Scout turned his shoulder in the mist, the light flickered. It was there for a moment, then vanished before he could catch it. Still, Marcus's eyes, honed over ten years to detect anomalies, noted this fleeting detail.
That's not native, some quiet, procedural part of him noted, even as his body kept moving. Everything else on this thing pulses. That mark flares. Different signature. Different source.
His brow furrowed as he paced, searching for the right words that eluded him. He had no time to explore the thought further. The Scout was already adjusting for another attack, and a half-formed idea wasn't worth the risk. He filed the sigil-signature away like he used to file an unmatched print. They left it unresolved but did not forget it. Meanwhile, he let the rest of him respond to the creature's immediate question with its claws.
The Scout snapped to his left flank, its obsidian needles loaded to deliver a system purge.
Marcus didn't hesitate. He released his conscious intent and let his left-dominant muscle memory take over. It claimed his center of gravity. His right arm fell back for balance. Meanwhile, his left hand raised the runic dagger in a swift, bright arc. It aimed at the spot where the scout's shifting form would land.
The silver steel sliced through the liquid-shadow hide with precision.
The Scout shrieked again, its metal voice echoing. Its ember-like eyes lit up as the blue sigil on Marcus's palm revealed its core frequency. It staggered across the sea of spilled ink. Its jerky movements slowed. Gray ash seeped from the rift onto the obsidian floor. For a moment, the creature's drooping skin showed a cold, jagged mark on its ribs. It flared bright and bold. Then, the shadow-flesh closed over it, hiding the wound like stitches.
"Marcus!" Taryn called, her voice sharp as she steadied the unstable alchemical vial. She sensed the grid locking again.
"Stop! Don't shoot!" Marcus urged, his voice firm as he shifted into his southpaw stance. He observed the struggling tracker. Cracks spread through its shadowy form. Beneath his focus, one thought nagged at him. The loose end he hadn't voiced yet. Someone marked this thing before it ever found us. The file is almost closed but somebody else opened it first.