Gary grabs a stack of notes from the each tables—ones that he finds good enough—and slips them into his coat. Some chemical containers also disappear into his bag.
Then he turns to us.
"I have enough proof of concept," he says. "Let's leave. Now."
We nod.
"We went down because the first floor is guarded by wardens," Ashlynn says. "How do you plan to get past them?"
A beat.
"Some people were thrown in," Gary replies. "Others dug their way in."
He looks at Ashlynn and winks.
We leave the room and the alchemy section then walk toward the hallway.
At the door before it, we stop.
I crack it open, just enough to look. I scan the hallway, searching for the combat feral.
Small amount of sweat beads appear on my forehead and my heart is pounding. Leechsteel is warm.
"I only see piles of bodies from here," I say.
"We can try talking to it again," Gary says.
"No." I close the door. "This time we need a proper plan."
A moment passes.
Gary moves. Ashlynn follows—on cue.
My heart spikes. Leechsteel loosens, then melts.
From my palm to my forearm, it forms an encasing with segmented joints. My fingers sharpen into hooked claws.
The transformation is faster this time.
I open the door.
Step out.
Alert and on guard as I walk toward the center of the fifth-floor hallway, past the piles of bodies.
Silence first.
Then a moment later, noise. A growl and scratches.
The sound reaches me before the shape does.
A wet drag. Metal testing stone.
I stop.
Not because I'm surprised. Because I was waiting for the confirmation.
"Help… me."
The words come from the shadow ahead—same careful spacing, same patience. Not louder. Not closer either. Just present.
I step forward toward it slowly, holding my right arm forward—leechsteel is ready to fight.
The feral peels out of the dark. Black liquid slips free of its eyes and mouth, falling in slow strands that don't splash right. Its leechsteel arm has changed since last time—longer along the forearm, thicker at the wrist. Less torn. More decided.
It sees me.
The distance locks.
"Help… me."
"I know," I say, and move.
The feral reacts instantly—not rushing, not lunging. It mirrors. One step, then another, claws dragging once across the floor like it's marking a line.
I close in and strike first. My right arm swings diagonally.
Not clean nor it is lethal.
But the feral answers quick enough.
Leechsteel flashes between us. The impact shudders up my arm, heat spiking hard enough to blur my vision. It's stronger than before. Or smarter. Maybe both.
The feral grins.
I strike again, the feral mirrors me.
We trade space instead of blows—circle, test, retreat. It wants me to commit. It wants me to make a mistake.
I don't give it one.
I turn and run towards the open door.
Into the corridor.
The corridor narrows. The floor slopes—barely—but I feel it in my knees. The walls shift from stone to reinforced plating, seams visible where something was meant to seal fast and often.
Behind me, claws accelerate.
"Help… me."
The voice is closer now. Not louder. Just nearer. Right behind my shoulder.
I cut left and slam through the threshold.
The containment chamber opens like a mouth.
I cross its threshold and don't slow.
The inside cell opens around me—one space, brutal in its simplicity. Just a vast reinforced chamber, wide enough, walls rising smooth and uninterrupted to a ceiling lost in shadow.
One door.
I don't look back.
The feral enters like it owns the room.
Its claws scrape once across the floor as it clears the threshold, black liquid trailing behind it in thin, patient lines. The sound echoes here—too clean, too exposed. No corners to hide intent.
Ashlynn pulls a trigger.
The door starts to close.
Gary raises his hand—too late to stop me but enough to warn me.
The feral notices it.
It doesn't rush.
Instead, it angles—cutting me off from the center, herding without haste. It wants me deep. It wants me trapped.
"Help… me."
I sprint anyway.
The feral explodes forward.
The distance vanishes. Its leechsteel arm elongates mid-strike, tearing the air with a sound like fabric giving way. I twist, feel heat rake past my ribs, and keep moving—forcing it to turn, forcing it to overcommit.
The door is almost shut now.
I feint left.
The feral corrects instantly.
Too instantly.
I drop, slide, roll. My ribs scream, but I push on.
Ashlynn shouts something, muffled by the distance. I catch her eye for a fraction of a second—then move.
I'm up and running again.
The path before me is clear.
The feral turns—
—and the door slams closed.
The sound is deafening in the open space.
The feral hits it a fraction of a second later. Leechsteel crashes against reinforced plating. The entire cell shudders. Dust rains down from somewhere high above.
The door holds.
I don't stop moving until I'm far enough from the cell. Regrouping with Ashlynn and Gary.
Inside the cell, the feral freezes.
Slowly, it turns its head—not toward the door, but toward me.
"Help… me."
It steps away from the door.
One step.
Then another.
Not testing the barrier. Not raging. Just repositioning—placing itself where it can see everything at once. Where nothing can approach without being noticed.
Its hand flexes. Leechsteel shifts, retracts, then grows again—different shape this time. More compact. Denser.
Planning.