Sweet and sickly, the smell of a carcass bloated in the sun is familiar to anyone who grew up on a farm. Or the hot, metallic odor of blood during a fresh slaughter for Sunday. One respects these smells. They narrate the cycle where death feeds life.
But what the nostrils caught as the tunnels advanced into the forgotten entrails of São Paulo was not natural.
Flesh burned by electricity. Sulfur. And something deeper, that activated primitive instincts: the smell of fear. As if the air itself was terrified to circulate there.
"Masks."
A thick handkerchief rose to cover Marco's nose and mouth.
"We are arriving at the 'Nest'."
On the screen attached to Glitch's forearm, green light illuminated the cold sweat sprouting on his forehead. His fingers danced over the keys.
"The thermal signal exploded up ahead." The hacker's voice trembled. "Crowd. And in the center, a cold mass. The ambient temperature is dropping, sucked by a spiritual vacuum."
"Umbra." The click of the hammer on Marco's gun being pulled back echoed softly. "They drain heat to feed the shadows."
Under the soles of our boots, the sewage water receded, giving way to the cracked concrete of foundations that city hall maps had forgotten.
Tingling. Not pain, but a tactile alert triggered in my phantom arm. Like an anxious heart, the golden light pulsed, forcing me to bury my fist in my jacket pocket so as not to become a premature beacon in the darkness.
"There." A nod indicated the end of the path.
A rusted iron grate, breached by bolt cutters, marked the entrance. The space opened up into an old underground reservoir, the high ceiling supported by thick columns covered in slime.
But it wasn't the industrial gothic architecture that made my stomach turn. It was the cages.
Dozens of them. Stacked like crates in a warehouse, forming labyrinthine corridors of metal and despair.
Huddled in the corner of a nearby crate, a caramel stray trembled. Its skin, however, resembled shattered glass. Under the sparse fur, black veins pulsed, and where a left eye should have been, a purple smoke orb swirled. Upon seeing me, he didn't growl. He whimpered. A sound of pure agony.
My knees gave way and I found myself on the floor, tears of anger blurring my vision. I remembered the lives I helped take minutes ago.
"What did they do to you, boy?"
"Forced Darwinism." Glitch's voice sounded at my back, loaded with nausea. "They inject Chaos essence. If the beast survives, it becomes a Cursed Weapon. If it dies... it becomes ritualistic fertilizer."
"That's not Darwinism." The impulse put me back on my feet. The sadness evaporated, replaced by a cold and focused Fervor. "That is torture. And where I come from, those who mistreat animals get no forgiveness."
Marco's hand landed on my flesh shoulder, firm.
"Focus, Dayanne. Look at the center. The altar."
Through the gaps between the stacks of cages, the clearing revealed itself.
Complex geometric symbols covered the floor, seeming to writhe when observed for too long. In the epicenter of the circle, a surgical table dominated the space. On it, tied down and thrashing, a creature the size of a calf—a grotesque mass of exposed muscle and bone spikes—whined.
Beside the table stood the executioner. A leather apron stained black covered his torso. In his hand, a metal rod crackled with dark energy. The "Tamer".
"Pain purifies." The man's voice, amplified by the reservoir's acoustics, was a profane sermon. "Pain selects. Only hatred survives."
The tip of the rod touched the creature's exposed flesh. The electric crackle and the subsequent howl tore through the air.
Violent, the vibration ran through my arm of light. The will of Aureus—the imperative to protect, to restore Order—became almost unbearable. Every fiber of my being screamed to advance and smash that man's face.
"Easy." Marco's whisper braked my impulse. "Going in without a plan is becoming dog food."
"The animal can't take it anymore, Marco." The words came out hissed. "He's going to die."
"Or turn into a full demon and kill us." His pragmatism was icy. "Glitch, lights?"
"The system is archaic, but..." Frenetic typing. "Give me thirty seconds. I'm going to overload the board. Total blackout."
"Great." The detective's eyes fixed on me. "Dayanne, in the dark, you are the beacon. But you're also the target."
"I can take it." My voice didn't tremble, though my legs disagreed.
"The plan is simple: Glitch cuts the lights. I flank left and eliminate security. Dayanne... you go down the center aisle."
"Down the middle?" My eyes widened. "Am I the bait?"
"You are the distraction." A half-smile appeared on Marco's calloused face. "You shine. The Tamer is a creature of Umbra; he will viscerally hate your light. Hold his attention and the Beast's. Protect yourself. I'll put a bullet in his head before he understands what happened."
The stale air filled my lungs one last time. Entering the lion's den had ceased to be a metaphor.
A look at the dog on the table. A look at the dozens of glowing eyes in the cages around. They needed a shepherd. They needed someone willing to dirty their hands to open the doors.
"Thirty seconds, Glitch?"
The jacket fabric slid off my shoulders, falling onto the dirty floor and revealing the arm of golden light in all its forbidden glory.
"Twenty now," answered the hacker.
"Then let's go."
The fist of light closed. The glow intensified, bathing the nearest cages with a golden promise. In the eyes of some dogs, fear gave way to a spark of hope.
"This is also a kennel, just way messier and more impure than ours. Time to clean house."
"I feel offended!" Glitch contested.