The first wave came quick.
A pack of six, wild-eyed, painted in ash.
They carried cleavers, rusty machetes, sharpened pipes.
They thought they were predators.
Yichen's threads lanced out, binding their legs before they could even howl. One stumbled into another, knives jerking into friendly flesh under his command.
Two more were yanked sideways and smashed headfirst into the wall.
Anya strode forward, fingers snapping like pistons.
Bullets of bone and blood ripped from her hands, punching holes clean through torsos. The street lit in flashes of heat and gore.
The boys pressed against the wall, covering their heads from the spray.
When it was done, the bodies were twitching heaps. Steam rose from the ruptured meat.
Anya swayed, coughing hard, one hand pressed to her ribs.
Yichen caught her before she fell. "Idiot. You'll kill yourself before they do."
She grinned through cracked lips. "Still better than letting them touch the kids."
