The beast's talons came down like meat hooks.
Philippa twisted hard, her newly enhanced legs propelling her sideways. The hooked claws slammed into the pavement where she had stood a heartbeat earlier, cracking the concrete with a sharp report and sending shards flying. One jagged piece nicked her calf, drawing a thin line of fresh blood that trickled warm down her skin.
She didn't waste the opening. Gripping the kitchen knife with both hands, she drove it upward into the creature's exposed throat again. The serrated blade caught on tough cartilage and tore through with a wet, ripping sound. Thick, dark ichor sprayed in a pressurized arc, splattering across her face and chest. The metallic stench mixed with the coppery reek of her own blood made her stomach roll, but she kept pushing, sawing the blade deeper until something vital gave way with a sickening pop.
The monster convulsed. Its milky eyes bulged, and a gurgling roar escaped the ruined throat. Hot fluid poured over her hands, sticky and burning where it touched the cut on her forearm. She yanked the knife free with a gruesome sucking noise and staggered back, breathing hard.
[Sacrifice System Notice: Minor Strength Evolution stabilized. Echo Ripple detected — faint emotional residue may transfer to nearby survivors for the next 30 minutes.]
Philippa wiped ichor from her eyes with the back of her wrist, leaving a dark smear. Great. Now random strangers might feel her leftover panic and embarrassment. Just what the apocalypse needed — contagious stage fright.
A low chuckle almost escaped her. She swallowed it down. This was no time for laughing at how ridiculous her first sacrifice had been. Trading a failed math exam for the ability to actually fight back? The System had a cruel sense of irony.
Shouts erupted from further down the street. More rifts had opened while she was busy. Smaller skittering creatures — jointed things the size of large rats with too many barbed legs — poured out of a violet tear and swarmed a group of panicked survivors. One man tried to stomp on them; a creature latched onto his ankle and burrowed upward. He screamed as its barbs tore through muscle, blood welling up in rhythmic pulses around the wound. Another victim went down as three of the things ripped into his abdomen, spilling loops of intestine across the road in a glistening, steaming mess. The wet tearing sounds and the sudden, sharp stink of opened bowels filled the air.
Philippa's grip tightened on the slippery knife. She couldn't save everyone. She knew that. But standing still meant dying with them.
She sprinted toward the nearest cluster, legs still buzzing with the unnatural strength. As she closed in, one of the larger skitterers turned on her. It leaped, mandibles clicking. She swung the knife in a wide arc. The blade caught it mid-air, slicing through chitin and soft tissue alike. Pale pus mixed with dark blood exploded outward, spraying her shirt and face again. The creature's body hit the ground twitching, legs curling inward with a series of soft, wet clicks.
Not enough. More were coming.
A deeper, heavier growl rolled from the largest rift yet. Something bigger was pushing through — thicker limbs, heavier breathing that sounded almost human. Philippa's pulse spiked. She risked a glance toward her apartment building. Her brother was still upstairs. She had to clear a path back or get him out.
Before she could move, a new voice cut through the chaos — calm, mocking, and far too composed for the bloodbath around them.
"Well. Look at the little trader wasting her soul on kitchen knives."
Philippa spun. A tall young man stood on the hood of an abandoned car a short distance away, arms loosely crossed. His clothes were already stained with someone else's blood, but he wore it like a badge. Sharp features, dark hair falling across one eye, and an expression that said he found the entire apocalypse mildly amusing. Sylcath.
She didn't know his name yet, but the way he moved told her everything. He wasn't panicking. He wasn't sacrificing anything. He was watching.
One of the skitterers lunged at him. Sylcath didn't even uncross his arms fully. His hand shot out, fingers splaying. A crimson glow flared around the creature. It froze mid-leap, body jerking violently as invisible force tore at it. With a wet crunch, something inside the monster gave way. Its carapace split open along the back and a chunk of glowing essence ripped free, streaming into Sylcath's palm like smoke. The creature collapsed in a twitching heap, legs still scraping uselessly against the ground while dark fluid leaked from the fresh wound.
Force Wielder.
Philippa had heard rumors of them even before tonight — people who could rip Gifts straight out of others in bloody rituals. Seeing it up close made her skin crawl.
Sylcath flexed his fingers, the stolen essence dissolving into his skin. He finally looked directly at her, lips curving in a lazy smirk.
"Interesting System you've got there, girl. Trading pieces of yourself for scraps of power?" He hopped down from the car, boots landing in a puddle of blood with a soft splash. "Seems… inefficient. Why not take what you need from someone else instead?"
Philippa's jaw tightened. She could feel the faint ripple from her earlier sacrifice still leaking out — a thread of her own lingering dread brushing against him. For a split second his smirk faltered, as if he'd tasted something unpleasant.
She didn't answer with words. Instead she charged the next cluster of skitterers, knife raised. The blade sank into the nearest one with a juicy crunch, splitting its head open and releasing a spray of foul-smelling fluid that splattered across her cheek. She twisted the knife free and moved to the next, breath coming fast, muscles burning with the borrowed strength.
Behind her, she heard Sylcath laugh once — low and mocking.
"Keep wasting yourself, then. I'll be here when you run out of things to trade."
One of the larger rift beasts finally pushed fully through the biggest tear. It was massive, hunched shoulders rippling with corded muscle under slick, veined skin. Its eyes locked onto Philippa as she finished off the last skitterer, her knife buried to the hilt in its body, dark blood running down her arms in thick rivulets.
The creature roared and lunged forward, heavy footsteps shaking the ground. Philippa yanked her knife free with a wet schlick and spun to face it, heart slamming against her ribs, the taste of copper thick in her mouth as she prepared her next desperate sacrifice—