[03:54 AM – Derelict Foundry | South Industrial Row]
CENO Field Agent Marla Cruz knelt beside the corpse, gloved fingers drifting an inch above the parchment-like skin. "Subject is fully exsanguinated," she said into the mic hidden at her collarbone. "No arterial trauma. No cranial breach. No surgical trace." She peeled back the hoodie. The flesh sloughed like rotten bean paste. "Orgone drained," she murmured. "Full siphon. Imprint suggests targeted exposure—contact initiated through thoracic puncture. Claw-based."
Behind her, Koba and other agents in matte-black armor fanned out, lenses scanning, weapons drawn. Marla ignored them. She touched the ribcage. Closed her eyes. The static was still there. Not electrical. Not magnetic. Residual soul burn. Something had fed. But this wasn't feral. Not necessarily a Genome Beast. Not a rogue genome construct. No. This was something new. She stood and looked to the wall.
A smear of bio-plasmic residue. Blue-violet. Roped across rusted steel. Still glowing. She walked toward the vent pipe. Blood. Bone. Teeth. The aftermath of something precise. "The kill was surgical. The feeding, instinctual." Her jaw clenched.
"Host Subject Ash Cross is learning." The coffee was jet black, bitter, scalding. Just how I needed it. I sat at the kitchen table. I hadn't worked up the nerve to wear anything else yet—and stared into the coffee steam like it owed me answers. My heart still thumped too hard. My body still buzzed in places I didn't want to think about.
The dream wasn't just a dream. I could still smell her. Felicity. And worse, I could still feel Herja's fury in the back of my skull—like ice under the skin. "You let her in," Herja had snarled in the dream. But she hadn't stopped it. Couldn't. That meant something. I showered again. Scalding. Scrubbed my skin until it stung. But Felicity's touch? Still there. Under my skin. On the inside.
I dried off and dressed black today. leggings, tank, and oversized training jacket. If Felicity showed up at the dojo I decided that I would play it cool. If she shows up at class, I'd keep it professional. Neutral. Dead calm. Yeah, right.
The dojo opened at 9:00 AM sharp. I'd barely slept, but Herja's body ran like a machine. No fatigue. No caffeine crash. No soreness from the alley beatdown. Just... readiness. The mats felt like home. Mai, Kevin, and Big Marcus rolled in groggy but game. They bowed. I nodded. We got to work.
Basic breakfalls. Flow drills. A few light live rounds. I corrected Kevin's grip during a hip throw and watched him flush—probably still wondering how "Ash's cousin" moved like a black belt wired to a railgun. Then the bell over the door jingled. Felicity walked in like she owned the moment. Black cropped jacket. Combat leggings. Sports bra that wasn't subtle. Hair up. Eyes sharp. That same raven braid, loose today, like a handle. She bowed in silently and joined warmups like nothing had happened.
But when we locked eyes? I felt it. The dojo felt normal. Too normal. I had gone through the motions—warmups, drills, counting cadence with a perfect voice I still didn't recognize as my own. Felicity was late. On purpose. She wanted attention. She got it.
"Hello, Sensei," she purred. "Can we roll?"
My core went tight. My face stayed calm. Professional. "If I didn't know better, I would think we already did" I muttered under my breath. But she knew. The others were busy drilling hip throws. She dropped to the mat in front of me, chest heaving from a few fake jogs, posture loose and cocky.
"C'mon," she teased. "One round."
I nodded. We bumped fists. The second her palm touched mine—
A switch got flipped. Something deep in my gut rolled. Not nausea. Not fear. I felt myself grow drowsy. My breathing slowed. My spine straightened—imperceptibly, but with intent. The eyes were first. I saw it in hers—Felicity flinched. Not fear. But recognition. My amber irises flicked to purple. Cold. Serene. Herja had come to the surface submerging me into the cradle. "Hey there, little succubus," Herja said in a voice only Felicity's in-human ears could hear. So, you like games, huh?"
Felicity's smirk twitched—but didn't break. They engaged. Felicity rolled in fast—hips high, aggressive, testing balance. Herja didn't react. She let Felicity get close.
Then reversed her motion with a shoulder-drop that turned into a body clamp and shucked her clean off balance. Felicity hit the mat hard. Scrambled. Herja was already mounting. Smothering. Fluid. Inevitable. Felicity twisted her hips—tried to bridge out. Herja floated with her, a predator coiling around a lesser beast.
Felicity went for wrist control. Herja let her grab the wrist—then snapped her other arm around Felicity's throat. No full choke. Just pressure. A reminder. Felicity's pupils dilated. A flicker of heat. Herja dropped her mouth to Felicity's ear. "Ash is mine."
Felicity twisted—tried to break free with a pulse of beast-mode aura. Herja matched it. Doubled it. The scent of pheromones shifted. No longer flirtation.
Challenge.
Felicity tried a sudden reversal—Herja let her almost escape—then spiked her again. Hard. The mats shook. Kevin looked over. Mai froze. Big Marcus blinked.
But Herja was already standing, offering Felicity a hand. "Tap," Herja said, not unkindly. "Or bleed." Felicity tapped. Herja stood and offered her a hand; Felicity took the hand. She rose. Dusty. Rattled. Flushed. She leaned close, lips brushing Herja's cheek. "Welcome back, war goddess," she whispered. I missed you."
Herja's mouth didn't smile. But Ash, deep inside, screamed something halfway between "What the hell just happened" and "Do it again." She didn't press. Not yet. Class ended at noon. Herja sank And I rose back to the surface again, taking control of the reins. Everyone bowed out, wiped sweat, grabbed water. Kevin gave me a fist bump. Mai asked about an upcoming seminar. And Felicity?
She stayed. Leaning against the doorframe. Waiting. "You free?" she asked, voice casual. "I'm starving." I hesitated. She smirked. "C'mon, Coach. Lunch. My treat." Lunch ended up at a quiet noodle shop three blocks from the dojo.
We sat across from each other in a dim booth, sunlight cutting in through cracked blinds. She sipped her broth like it was nothing special. I tore through the dumplings like I hadn't just fed on blood the night before. Halfway through my second beer, I asked, "So... why the invite?" She smiled. Coy. "I figured you might need something normal after all that... body trauma."
"You made Herja watch," I said flatly. She didn't deny it. Felicity grinned a naughty grin, "And did you get off on it?" She laughed lightly. "What I get off on is potential." I said casually. She leaned forward, her voice low now, serious. "I didn't ask you here to flirt, Ash."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, maybe I did. But not only that." She traced the rim of her glass with one finger, then looked me dead in the eye. "I want to show you something. Underground. Dangerous. Beautiful." "The Vein." My pulse kicked. "You want in?" she asked, softly now. "I can take you. Not as a tourist. Not as a victim. As... one of us." I swallowed. My throat dry. My hands tense. "Why me?" I asked. "Because you're the bridge," she said. "Between what they want... and what they fear." Her meaning wasn't clear. But I nodded anyway.
'Yes."
Because whatever the Vein was—I had to see it. And Felicity? She was going to take me deep. The entrance Felicity chose wasn't marked. Just a rusted freight elevator behind an abandoned warehouse by the river. She keyed in a code on a pad I hadn't noticed. The doors groaned open. We stepped inside. "Hold tight," she said. "The Vein doesn't like strangers at first." The elevator plunged. No lights. No sound but the metal scream of ancient cables. My ears popped. My blood buzzed. Herja stirred in the back of my skull like a predator waking up at home.
Then—
Light. Heat. Sound. The doors opened to a world beneath the world. Beast City level one of the Vein. It was massive. Multi-leveled stone streets lit with bioluminescent lanterns and vein-glass tubing. Creatures of every shape—fanged, scaled, feathered, armored—browsed stalls. Vendors hawked everything from arcane tomes to beast pelts to living weapons. A two-headed hyena-beast man bartered with a merchant for vials of "distilled rage."
A child with antennae and goat legs sold psychic bubblegum that focused intent when chewed. Felicity led me through it all like she'd done it a thousand times. She didn't explain much. We descended a staircase hidden behind a waterfall-pillar. Here the architecture changed—sleek. Sharp. Surgical.
Glowing signs marked different shops:
THISTLEWIRE. SPLICE. NERVEGLEAM. ZAVANNA.
Body mod clinics, armoring labs, nerve-weaving boutiques. People walked by with biomechanical tails, extra limbs, magnetic bone plating. Others emerged mid-modification, still dripping in graft fluid. I saw a woman with a mantis exoskeleton get fitted with illusion cloaks by a floating jellyfish artisan. Felicity just winked.
"Someday." Here the Vein changed again. Stone. Steel. Firelight. Massive doors lined with beast sigils. Echoing halls. You could smell the power here—feral, proud, ancient. Clans guarded huge, sealed gates that pulsed with dangerous heat. One clan trained with molten-chain whips in the open. Another marched in armored procession. Felicity steered me past them all. And brought me to a wide, glowing board set into obsidian tile.
The Beast Bounty Board. Lines of quests shimmered in pulsing red-orange glyphs:
[Tier 1] CULL THE SPINE-WEASELS Low Threat - 3 Orgone.
[Tier 2] RECOVER LOST TAIL CORE FROM LEVEL 4 Moderate.
[Tier 3] SLAY ZERASK, THE FERAL BROODMOTHER High Threat - Territory Cleared Reward.
Some were marked with symbols I didn't recognize—skulls, eyes, spiral glyphs. Others had names attached. Beast tags. Clan emblems.
It was a leaderboard. "Pick one," Felicity whispered. "Prove you belong. You've got five minutes," Felicity said, tapping the board. "Spine-Weasel nest, outskirts of the ventilation under-chutes. One Orgone shard per confirmed tail."
"Is this a joke?" I asked. "Weasels?" She smirked. "Vein weasels." She tapped her temple. "You'll see." We passed through a side gate manned by horned sentries in bone-sleeved armor. They scanned me, then her, then stepped aside. "New blood trial," Felicity announced. "Tier-1. Tag on me." They let us through. The under-chutes were worse than I expected—tight stone corridors slick with condensation, lined with rusted metal veins and whispering ducts. Something clicked in the shadows.
Herja stirred in my head. "Be ready. They like to ambush from above."
"You're talking now?" I whispered.
"When your life's at risk, yes."
Then they came. Spine-Weasels. Not animals. Infections with teeth. Each one maybe five feet long, sinuous, bone-armored, covered in quill barbs like serrated spines. They moved like muscle memory and smelled like rot. The first one dropped from the ceiling. I barely dodged it. It hissed—Just wet sound and hunger. I kicked it mid-air. Felt ribs crunch. It bounced back, skittered, charged again. Another came from the side! I ducked. Slammed my elbow down—Herja's strength cracked its spine. Bio-plasma hissed across its back.
Then three more. "They don't stop," Felicity called, watching from above on a ledge. "They swarm. Keep moving." I dropped low. Spun. Caught one by the neck—tore it in half. A third leapt at my leg and bit—hard. Blood sprayed. Herja roared in my skull. My skin darkened and as my bio-plasmic ridges condensed and hardened, my talons extended tail flared. My eyes went gold. I went feral. I snatched one from mid-air and slammed it into the wall four times!
Another tried to wrap around my neck. I grabbed it, twisted it into a knot, and snapped it into a wet coil. The nest stirred.
Twenty more? Thirty? "Back!" Herja snapped. "Too many—tier's been bumped!"
"It's a trap bounty," Felicity hissed, suddenly serious. "Someone posted bad intel."
"So help me!"
"I can't," she growled. "Not until you kill ten."
"WHY?"
"Because this is your claim. You want in the Vein, you earn your blood-right." Felicity tilted her head, "C'mon Master you can do this, you did it thousands of years ago." Felicity muttered.
My eyes snapped to hers, "What does that mean!?" Felicity simply smiled a strange smile. I turned my attention back to the task at hand. I didn't count anymore. I just moved. Claws out. Fangs bared. Backflips, takedowns, chokeholds that turned into crushes. I bit one open by reflex. Blood sprayed like motor oil.
I stabbed another with its own tail spine. Time slowed. Then stopped. A silence fell. My chest heaved. My arms shook. My tongue tasted copper and adrenaline and something... better. "That's ten," Felicity said, breathless. She jumped down.
"You are now blooded."
I stood panting over the pile of corpses. Covered in cuts. Slick with gore. High on Vein combat.
And grinning like a beast. Felicity led me back to Layer 2—down into the mod shops and Splicer warrens. We bypassed the fancier clinics and went straight to a brutalist hole-in-the-wall with no sign, just glowing bone glyphs above the door. Inside, the smell was sharp. Metal. Resin. Burnt muscle. A thin, four-armed woman with obsidian goggles and wire-hair stepped forward. "First shard?" she asked, already scanning me. "I can feel it humming in your blood."
I nodded, breath shallow. She took the glowing red-orange shard Felicity handed her and pressed it against my chest. It sank in like hot stone into butter. No pain—just pressure. Then fire. White-hot orgone flared through my veins. My tail spasmed. My heart skipped. Then something deeper pulsed—Herja's beast-code syncing with the shard. Accepting it. "You'll hold more soon," the splicer muttered. "This one's just the beginning."
When I stood again, I felt heavier. Faster. Like a system had booted in the background I didn't know I had. Felicity grinned. We sat in a low-lit chamber above the Vein's market tier. Private alcove. Vein-glass window glowing with arterial light. She offered me a drink—cold, spicy, and green. I took it. She sat close. Not teasing. Not seductive.
Serious. "I didn't bring you down here just to show you the shiny parts," she said. I need your help." I waited. She traced a rune into the table with her fingertip.
"There's something I need deeper in. Past the clan ring. Layer four. Layer five, maybe. But I can't get past them alone."
"What's past the clans?" I asked. She shook her head. "Things that shouldn't exist. Knowledge they've buried. Tech. Codes. My bloodline ties me to something down there—I can feel it."
"But to move freely, we need to get picked up by a clan. Or at least noticed."
"So we fight?"
"We compete. The Beast Ring."
She leaned in. "Two-on-two. Tag-Team-based combat. Not death matches—but close."
"And if we win?"
"The clans notice. They back us. Sponsor us. Unlock access to deeper zones."
I grinned. "You had me at fight club."
Felicity actually laughed. Genuine. A sound I hadn't heard from her yet. "I knew you'd say yes." She raised her glass. I raised mine. We drank. I was in.
Next stop?
The Ring.