A few minutes earlier.
Inside the open wound carved into the mountain, seven kilometers from the coast.
At the mine's entrance, men and women waited. Half the crew was still inside, somewhere deep within the tunnels, and those left outside couldn't tear their eyes from the sun as it began to sink into the sea that shaped the horizon, staining the sky a sickly red.
With every dying minute, the shadow climbed the mountainside above them—slow, relentless, like a creeping tsunami.
The foreman, a thin man with sharp cheekbones and receding hair cut short, checked his pocket watch for what must've been the tenth time.
Each tick of the hands struck louder than the last, as if marking not the passing seconds but the shrinking odds of making it out alive.
"Where the hell are they?" he muttered through clenched teeth. "We're running out of time!"
Silence stretched, broken only by the restless murmur of the youngest in the group—a boy with pale eyes and unsteady breathing.
"We're running out of sunlight," he whispered, staring at the horizon, where the last sliver of light trembled between the clouds.
His companion, a weathered man with coal-blackened hands, struck him on the shoulder.
"Shut it," he growled. "You think we don't know that?"
The young man swallowed hard, not daring to answer back. There was no need to say it. Everyone knew what happened once the sun set and night claimed the forests...
The veteran turned toward the foreman, his voice rising in irritation.
"Olier! If the other team wants to come back in the dark, that's their problem. I'm not planning on ending up Drexer dung!"
"Ahh…" After a heavy sigh, Oier was just about to give the order to pull out when the rails deep inside the tunnel began to tremble.
Underground attacks were rare, but his reflexes kicked in instantly—he drew his Luger P08.
The weapon, a modernized relic of the Holy Germanic Realm, embodied humanity's longing to reclaim what had been lost after the arrival of the Monoliths.
Thanks to progress in various fields, this piece far surpassed its ancestor from two centuries prior—lighter, more accurate, deadlier. On its wooden grip, a sharp-edged Christian cross served as a grim reminder of faith, even when wielded as a weapon.
The rest of the miners tightened their hold on their picks and tools, knuckles whitening under the dim glow of the lanterns. A tense silence settled over them... until, from the darkness of the tunnel, a light emerged.
Moments later, a booming voice rose above the screech of metal wheels grinding against the rails:
"See?! Told you they wouldn't leave without us! Hahahaha!"
The burst of laughter came from the second foreman—a burly man with a kind face despite the years of coal and exhaustion. He led the stragglers, riding atop the platforms of more than thirty carts loaded with coal and ore.
"Cael…" Oier murmured, torn between relief and exasperation at his old friend's carelessness.
When the second team's carts reached the first convoy, Cael raised his hand, bringing the line to a halt. The accusatory glares came instantly. Oier, brow furrowed and jaw set, was the first to speak.
"Prepare everything for departure!" he barked, then turned to the latecomers. "What took you so long? The barges are about to leave! We've got less than twenty minutes!"
Cael didn't flinch. He smiled with that maddening calm of his that always got under Oier's skin.
"We found a vein we couldn't just walk past. Besides—if we hurry, everything will be fine… hahaha!"
"Cael, we've got only minutes until sundown!" Oier shot back, frustration edging his voice. "You're putting everyone at risk—not just your own men."
The foreman's words struck deep. Cael's smile faded, replaced by the grim look of a man who'd seen too much.
"We're just three barges short of meeting the quota," he said firmly. "If we don't take the risk, Oier, it's our families who'll pay for it."
His gaze drifted past Oier, toward the miners waiting behind him."Do you want your mothers, your wives, or your children sent on the Pilgrimage of Saint James? Or worse… to the southern front?"
The glares of reproach vanished at once, swallowed by an icy silence. Cael's men stood with hardened faces, reminding everyone why they'd stayed behind.
The tension broke with the trembling voice of a boy barely fifteen.
"R-ready for departure, foremen!" Lus reported, his voice still caught between childhood and manhood.
Before moving, seeing the answer written on their faces, Cael closed the matter with a sharp:
"Thought so."
Then he exchanged a long look with Oier, and without a word, they moved forward together—shoulder to shoulder—bound by a shared purpose despite their differences.
At the end of the tunnel awaited the heavy iron gate. It served to keep out what prowled beyond… or to keep anything from nesting inside once they were gone.
Both men pulled the crucifixes hanging from their necks—the same ones they used as credentials—and fitted them into the socket embedded in the wall. They turned them in unison, unlocking the weapons cabinet beneath the red button at the center.
"Go on, do the honors," Cael said with his usual mocking grin.
"Tch…" Oier grunted, slamming his fist down on the button.
An old generator came to life with a mechanical growl, vibrating under their boots.Along the rails that cut through the sequoia forest toward the coastal cliffs, crimson lights began to flicker on one by one—like ancient beacons.
The circuit ended with the flare of a single shot streaking skyward, trailing an orange tail through the dusk — a signal for the barges waiting offshore… and for the Forest Rangers.
Yet Cael and Oier's men were not the only ones who lingered until the last light of day, for the sake of their families and loved ones.
From the dense forest that stretched between the mountain and the coast, another flare — green this time — rose against the horizon.
-
The echo of the flare still hung in the air when a sharp whistle shattered the silence of the valley.
A small but powerful locomotive began its descent down the mountainside, dragging behind it more than fifty ore-filled wagons.
The clatter of wheels on the old rails echoed like a mechanical heartbeat — deep and steady. With every strike of metal against metal, the nerves of the sixty miners tightened a little more.
Men and women rode in pairs, spread across the personnel sections of each wagon.
The steel plates on the sides and front offered partial protection from the outside, leaving only narrow slits through which the barrels of the old rifles — handed to them by the foremen before leaving the mine — jutted out.
The rumble of the convoy as it descended the slope echoed like a metal drum marking the rhythm of fear. And when the tracks leveled out and carried them into the valley, the sun slipped behind the branches and leaves of the redwoods, casting long shadows that devoured the road ahead.
That was when they felt it.
First, a low growl.Then, a faint rustle among the trees.Something was moving between the tall trunks, following them.
The miners glanced at one another, tense, holding their breath.One by one, they raised their weapons and aimed them through the firing slits, peering into the thickening darkness around them.
The rattle of the wagons and the pounding of their own hearts were all they could hear.No insects. No wind. Nothing.
Until a trembling voice broke the silence:
"Do you… see anything?" whispered one of the younger miners.
His companion turned sharply and clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Shhh!" he hissed through his teeth, eyes wide open.
But it was already too late. The clatter of the train — the very sound that had concealed them until now — broke off abruptly.
A dry branch snapped.
Leaves fell, stirred by something that wasn't the wind.
And then came a tearing sound — claws sinking deep into the bark of a tree.
Before anyone could react, something burst from the undergrowth in an impossible leap.
It landed atop the wagon of the young man who had spoken.
The air filled with the screech of metal — and of fear.
Whatever had been watching them from the trees no longer hid.And it was grotesque.
Tall and gaunt, its colorless skin stretched to the limit, as if barely able to contain the writhing skeleton beneath. Its ribcage jutted outward like an open cage, tapering down to an unnaturally narrow waist.
Its ears — long, sharp, and curved backward like blades of flesh — quivered, catching every echo, every held breath between the cars.
But worst of all was its head.
Smooth. Eyeless. Faceless.
For an instant it seemed to scent the air, tilting that blank surface from side to side — and then the flesh folded in on itself like a torn veil.
The retractable membrane that covered its mouth peeled back with a wet, tearing sound, revealing a double row of serrated fangs. Thick, dark saliva dripped onto the wagon's metal, sizzling on contact.
Even the miners in the last cars caught the stench — a dense reek of burnt and rotting flesh that made them gag.
Silence lasted a single heartbeat.
Then — a scream.
"A Drexer!" Oier shouted from the locomotive, raising his Luger.
Cael reacted instantly, his voice booming over the roar of the train:
"FIRE!"
The valley lit up with orange flashes, and the air around the train filled with the smell of gunpowder and hot iron.
Hundreds of bullets tore into the Drexer, puncturing its gray hide and the dark, pulsing flesh beneath. Each shot ripped off viscous fragments that splattered against the metal wagons and sizzled away with an acrid hiss.
The creature screamed.
A shrill, piercing wail — so sharp and discordant that the nearest miners clapped their hands over their ears by instinct.
But it didn't stop.It didn't fall.Its cry was not of pain.It was rage.
Before the stunned eyes of the men, the bullet holes began to close.
The charred flesh bubbled, tightening and sealing shut in a matter of seconds.
"Shit!" Cael growled, reloading as fast as he could when he saw the Drexer move.
A gray blur lunged onto the wagon.
The veteran miner — the same one who had silenced the rookie — barely managed to turn his head before the Drexer's black claws tore through his stomach.
The impact was so violent that his body was thrown backward.
It hit a tree at the edge of the tracks with a sound both sharp and wet, then crumpled into a lifeless heap among roots and fallen leaves.
The rookie screamed his name… and that scream sealed his fate.
The Drexer turned its head toward him — a sharp, animal movement.
In an instant, the claw punched through his shoulder, shredding flesh and bone with a wet crack.
The young man was lifted off the ground like a broken doll, kicking and screaming, struggling to pry away the monstrous hand that held him.
Blood poured down his arm in heavy spurts, dripping onto the metal plating of the wagon. The creature held him there, motionless.
Faceless. Eyeless. Only a thick silence, as if it were listening to the desperate heartbeat of its prey.
But before the Drexer could vanish back into the shadows with its prey, the train crossed one of the last rays of sunlight filtering through the branches.
The beam struck the creature full on its flank.
It screamed — a high, metallic shriek — as its gray skin began to blister where the light touched it, bubbling and bursting instantly, releasing a thick smoke and an unbearable stench, a mixture of burned flesh and rot.
The Drexer dropped the miner, who hit the wagon with a dull thud, and staggered backward toward the forest. Its silhouette still smoked as it disappeared among the shadows.
The rookie lay there in shock, trembling.
He tried to move, but a spasm of pain shot through him, from his shoulder to his chest. Only then did he realize he was still alive.
Yet survival was a fleeting mercy. His luck — like everyone else's on that train — had just run out.
The sun kept sinking, and the last threads of light that filtered through the branches — the very ones that had saved him — faded away.
The tracks ahead fell into utter darkness. And the moment the locomotive crossed that threshold, the forest around them… reacted.
Branches cracked — and two Drexers leapt from the trees.
The first, similar to the one before, landed atop the locomotive.
But the other… it fell upon the last wagon.
A female.
Unlike the males, who were monstrous in every possible way, the females… were something worse —for they still clung to a trace of humanity.
When the Drexers hunted, they devoured the men. But the women…
They suffered a fate far crueler.
They were infected. Transformed.
Turned into something trapped halfway between what they once were and what they were never meant to be.
Through them, the Drexers prolonged their kind —breeding in horror.
When she looked at the miners, her jaw, stained with the crust of dried blood, opened in a gesture at once human… and utterly monstrous.It revealed crooked fangs and a long, twisted tongue that writhed like a restless serpent.
Her figure was almost skeletal, her pale, ashen skin stretched tight over bone like aged leather.Her eyes —white, blind, and pupil-less— burned with a primitive, ravenous hunger.
Her hands, thinner and longer than those of the males, ended in black, razor-sharp claws ready to rend flesh.Her large, pointed ears twitched at every sound.
Her torso, deformed yet disturbingly familiar, lay bare —a cruel mockery of what had once been a woman's breasts: withered, hanging, revolting.
Before any of the Drexers could move, every single miner pulled the trigger.
Again and again —even after their guns ran dry.
They managed only to stall them for a moment, as bullets tore through their bodies.
When the storm of lead was over, the Drexers lunged forward.
The male lunged at the foremen.
Cael barely had time to react. He shoved Oier with all his strength, throwing him to the ground just as the Drexer's claws came down. The impact made Oier's head strike the furnace of the locomotive; the searing metal split his forehead, and blood clouded his vision.
Dazed, he caught glimpses —flashes of red— as the Drexer lifted Cael by the throat, dangling him in the air like a rag doll.
Unlike the first one, this creature didn't toy with its prey.
It pulled back the membrane of skin that covered its face, revealing an unnatural mouth —rows of long, curved fangs gleaming with thick saliva and a stench of rotting flesh.
Cael struggled, kicking wildly as the jaws opened over his collarbone, ready to take the first bite…
But then, a sharp click followed by three whistling streaks through the air broke the moment.
Three bolts shot out from the shadows of the forest with surgical precision.
The Drexer didn't even flinch. It slowly turned its head, its long, whip-like ears angling toward the bolts embedded in its chest.
Ignoring them, it refocused its attention —and its fangs— on the prey trapped between its claws.
But it was already too late.
The bolts came to life.
From their feathered ends, a mechanism triggered, launching three braided wires downward, burying into its pale flesh and anchoring themselves like the lines of a tent.
Then the tips began to spin, drilling into its flesh with a mechanical, grotesque sound that chilled the blood.
Both parts of the mechanism worked in perfect sync: while the tips bored deeper, the rear ends retracted the wires, keeping the tension tight.
The Drexer screamed in agony as the drills burrowed inside him —but his cry was cut short when the explosive charges at their tips detonated within.
The sound that followed was a ghastly cacophony of tearing flesh, shattering bone, and sizzling nerves.
The upper half of the Drexer —now an unrecognizable mass of violet blood and black tissue— was blown clear off the train.
The lower half —its arm and the man it held— fell safely onto the cart below.
At the same moment the bolts drilled in and exploded…
A mechanical roar erupted from deep within the forest, so low and powerful it made the leaves and branches tremble.
An instant later, a metallic grapple shot out from between the trees, whistling like a projectile before piercing through the shoulder of the female Drexer.
The impact stopped her cold —her claws freezing literally inches from her prey.
The Drexer shrieked, a high-pitched, tearing sound that mingled hunger with furious helplessness.
Before she could break free, the owner of the grapple burst from the forest at full speed, propelled by violent jets of flame erupting behind him —like wings of violet fire.
Fifteen-year-old Lus could barely process the wet, hot sensation sliding down his face and inner thighs.
The claws had come so close that, feeling no pain at first, his mind —in a desperate act of self-preservation— convinced him that the Drexer hadn't actually touched him.
Paralyzed by fear, he barely registered the movement: a pair of dark, cracked leather boots with steel-capped toes cut across his vision horizontally, slamming into the Drexer's face with a sharp, bone-snapping crack.
Then he felt it —and smelled it—: the dense, acrid smoke of crystallized diesel filling his nostrils, the searing heat of violet flames expanding opposite the kick, halting the man who had burst from the forest.
The force of that double kick distorted and crushed what little human shape the female still possessed —just before sending her flying off the railcar.
Meanwhile, her attacker —using her monstrous face as leverage and the thrust from his Jump Kit— finished bleeding off his speed by spinning midair.
Before he could plunge off the train in a fall that might have killed him —or at least shattered every bone— he extended his arms and caught the metal side of the last car, completing the turn and planting his still-vibrating boots firmly against the steel hull.
Fortunately or unluckily —depending on how one looked at it— the Drexer crashed against a nearby tree. The impact impaled her at a right angle on a splintered branch, with a wet, resonant crack.
Even then, the creature kept moving. Her claws tore at the air in longing, reaching for the departing carts. The hunger burning inside her was so ravenous it made her ignore the pain of the branch that skewered her… and, in a way, filled her stomach.
The grapple buried in her shoulder snapped shut with a metallic click and retracted toward the gauntlet it had been fired from, slithering through the air like a strand of living steel.
The miners stood frozen, wrapped in a heavy silence. Their chests rose and fell quickly, exhaling all the breath they'd been holding —a mixture of relief and disbelief— after witnessed the work of one of the two remaining forest rangers in the area.
Pulling off the lifeless arm that still around his neck, "someone" finally spoke, barely managing the words —recognizing the newcomer by the faint emerald glow leaking from beneath his hood.
"Ashliath, boy!" Cael called out, his voice strained but full of gratitude.
Clinging to the side of the last railcar, the young man answered in a flat tone —devoid of emotion or panic, and yet touched by a faint sorrow.
"Looks like I'm late…" Through the screen of his visor, the emerald lens turned the blood into a bright spot. "I'm sorry."
"I don't care!" roared Cael from the locomotive, fully aware that most of the blame was his own. "You just saved my damn hide!"
Almost imperceptibly, a faint glow tinged the ranger's flat voice. "If something were to happen to you, the—" A metallic rattle split the air, sparks raining from the rails. "—your daughter might end up tasting worse…" His words were cut short, almost deliberately.
Cael aimed at him from the locomotive, his arm taut as a wire. "You'd better be talking about her food!" he spat, eyes blazing.
Hanging from the side of the last carriage, Ashliath tilted his head, confused. "Of course… what else would I mean?"
There was no mockery in the words —but Cael caught the meaning anyway.
"If you lay a finger on my Tessa, I'LL KILL YOU!" Cael bellowed. "Do you hear me? Even if the Church sends me to the front as a sinner!"
His fierce threat only made the faint emerald glow under the hood turn away, ignoring him completely.
Between the rattling against the rails and the creaking of the branches, Cael scratched his dirty short mane and forced a change of subject. "Where the hell's your old man?"
The young forest ranger, hanging from the side of the last wagon —his left encased in a plated gauntlet that reached up to the elbow, his right—the one that pulled the trigger—lighter, half-gloved—replied in the same calm tone:
"He went to protect the lumberjacks."
As he scanned the dark shapes watching them from the woods, he finished with...
"They also pushed their luck to the very last light."
Cael spat on the floor, muttering under his breath,
"Damn greedy bastards…" perfectly aware of his own hypocrisy, after having done the exact same thing.
Their conversation was cut short as more howls and growls echoed around them, accompanied by quick movements through the branches.
Just as another pack of Drexers was preparing to leap onto the train… a howl unlike any before thundered through the forest.
It was deep, guttural, and filled with a primal authority that made the betas on the branches flatten their ears and flee in panic.
The silence that followed was even more terrifying.
For a single second, the miners—already on the verge of panic—froze, their weapons trembling as they aimed into the surrounding darkness.
Before they saw it, they felt it.
Something massive was approaching.
The ground quaked beneath the weight of its steps, and the sound of splintering trunks and branches being torn apart filled the air.
Each step grew faster, heavier, as if the creature were gaining speed. The echo of its strides pounded in their chests, as though the forest itself were shaking.
Before it was too late, the young ranger moved.
With a fluid motion, he pushed off from the outer wall of the wagon and leapt into the open air.
From his left gauntlet, the built-in grappling hook shot upward, latching onto the roof of the carriage. The line went taut, catching his weight and swinging him in a wide arc. Using the momentum, he released at the perfect instant—landing atop the narrow roof in a low, steady stance, his weapon already aimed.
With no time to waste, he didn't reach for the sword or the rifle strapped to his back. Instead, he drew the crossbow from beneath his cloak—a handcrafted marvel, its mechanism exposed like the inner workings of an ancient clock. The stock, grips, and part of the body were made of dark wood, carved with intricate Celtic patterns that wound their way to the base of the barrel.
When Ashliath pulled the trigger, the cylindrical magazine beneath the crossbow's barrel began to spin, feeding it with bolts that fired in rapid succession.
A green laser traced their path beneath the barrel, guiding each shot.
They struck the massive figure charging toward them without difficulty—yet none of them pierced through. The bolts ricocheted off its thick hide as if it were clad in natural armor.
The young forest ranger, without easing on the trigger, slid his thumb along the grip and flicked a small switch.
The next bolts fired drew an enraged howl as they detonated on contact against the creature's tough hide.
Though its advance slowed, it did not stop.
Ashliath didn't hesitate—he aimed at the creature's massive feet and fired toward the score of bolts scattered across the ground, still unexploded…
Forcing them to.
This time, the creature screamed not in fury, but in pain.
The chain of explosions briefly lit up the forest section, forming a wall of fire and shrapnel that halted the beast's charge.
Holding his firing stance atop one of the last wagons, one knee pressed against the metal roof, the young forest ranger shouted—in his usual, flat tone:
"Accelerate!"
Increasing the locomotive's pressure was dangerous—but not as dangerous as the Alpha Drexer emerging from the forest. A beast over four meters tall, driven mad by the ceaseless detonations.
Unlike the Beta Drexers, all bone and sinew, this one looked swollen to the limit—as if fed on pure rage and an excess of anabolics. Its muscles bulged beneath the skin, each fiber straining like coiled steel.
As with other Alphas, an incandescent glow pulsed within its chest, beating in rhythm with its heart. The overflowing energy of its cells seemed to gather as heat, dyeing the flesh of its torso a deep, scorched crimson.
With a guttural roar that rolled like thunder, it slammed its arm against the trunk of a redwood beside the tracks. The wood groaned under the impact, then burst apart in a spray of splinters that scattered in every direction—some even reaching Oier and Cael in the locomotive.
The two foremen exchanged a glance, and without a single word, began shoveling coal into the furnace.
The engine growled under the strain, speed climbing—but not fast enough.
The Alpha hurled itself at them in a low, horizontal leap. Its massive claws sank into the last freight car, tearing half the structure apart as though the metal were paper.
By sheer luck, the "lost" section was the one carrying the minerals. Poor Lus—who would surely have nightmares after this—and his partner were left staggering on the wrecked remains of the car, one step away from the clattering void below.
The impact was so fierce that the remaining cars and the locomotive jolted violently. Wheels screamed against the rails, and the whole convoy swayed at the brink of derailment.
The Alpha had narrowly missed its true target: the human who had wounded it, perched atop the last car.
Despite its monstrous size, the Alpha rose swiftly and gave chase, covering ground with terrifying speed, closing the gap with every stride.
Ashliath knew he couldn't let the creature touch the train again. He slid the crossbow beneath his cloak and reached for the Blitz-Breaker resting across his back.
The weapon combined the brutal power of the Germanic Kingdom's anti-tank rifles—like the Tankgewehr—with the functional aesthetic of the Britons. Designed by his aging master to hunt things tougher than tanks, the Blitz-Breaker (or B/B) was a beast in its own right.
Its magazine, keeping the wedge-shaped silhouette of the Lee-Enfield, was extended to fit the massive 13.2×92mm anti-tank rounds. The body, crafted entirely of wood, gave it a sturdy yet familiar look, while the barrel—thanks to advances in metallurgy—was not overly long. Compact, but strong enough to withstand its monstrous caliber.
Its horizontal muzzle brake was a last-ditch attempt to tame the savage recoil of a weapon as dangerous to its wielder as to its target.
So much so that the young forest ranger anchored himself to the roof of the freight car with four cables trailing from the harness of his Jump Kit, each ending in a hook—the same type built into his gauntlet.
With a click on the small red button inside his half-glove, the cables tightened, locking him to the metal plate and ensuring that neither the weapon's recoil nor the train's sway could throw him off balance.
When he pressed the Blitz-Breaker's stock against his shoulder, the rifle's weight became familiar—an extension of his own body.
He exhaled slowly, lifting his visor. Through the narrow horizontal slit of his helmet, a pair of calm green eyes aligned with the rifle's sight.
No telescopic lens. Just iron sights. No unnecessary luxuries. Just as the old man had taught him.
Knowing that not even a direct headshot would be enough to bring down an Alpha, he slid the bolt closed.
His world shrank to the iron post at the end of his barrel—and the monster's leg just beyond it.
Hearing his pulse echo in his eardrums, his bare finger tapped the trigger in time with his heartbeat.
"One... Two..."
And in the space between heartbeats—
A sharp click broke the silence.
E
The roar of the Blitz-Breaker wasn't just a gunshot—it was a dry, earth-shattering thunderclap worthy of its name.
The recoil was a beast in its own right, strong enough to wrench the shoulder of an untrained marksman. Yet the young ranger redirected it with practiced grace. He absorbed the blow through his collarbone, guided it down to his hip, and let it flow through the cables anchoring him to the roof, bending the metal edges of the structure under the weapon's force.
The 13.2×92mm round crossed the distance in the blink of an eye. Upon impact, flesh burst into a violet mist, bone splintered, and the knee vanished in a rain of shattered fragments and shredded tissue.
The monstrous limb was hurled away—torn off by sheer violence.
The beast didn't roar; it wept in pain.
Yet the miners, who had just begun to cheer, fell silent as the crimson glow in the Alpha's chest intensified.
The light flowed downward through its body, tracing the path along its thigh to the ruined knee. It seeped into the last thin thread of purple blood still connecting the mangled leg to its body... and then, the blood began to writhe.
Its cells multiplied wildly, thickening into sinewy fibers that wove together in unnatural patterns. As if driven by will alone, they contracted and fused the severed limb back in place with a grotesque, wet snap.
Undoing the damage—as though time itself had recoiled.
Its regeneration was so swift that the Alpha never even fell. It only stumbled once before slamming its newly restored leg back into the ground.
With a weary sigh, the young forest ranger realized they wouldn't be able to lose it. He turned toward the miners.
Through the slits of his helmet, they caught a glimpse of lifeless eyes—so calm they became unsettling, making them wonder whether the person before them was even alive.
At last, he broke the heavy silence. His voice, perfectly flat, did not waver.
"Be careful for the rest of the way."
Without waiting for a reply, he worked the rifle's bolt, chambering another round before firing again.
The blast shook the forest.
The 13.2×92mm round tore through the Alpha's other knee, sending it staggering. The impact was so powerful that the roof of the freight car buckled upward, nearly tearing away from the rest of the train.
The ranger seized the moment. He triggered the grapple hook on his left gauntlet, anchoring it to a redwood beside the tracks.
Using the train's speed against the direction of his new tether—and one final burst from his Jump Kit—the metal plate that formed the car's roof groaned at the edge of collapse.
With a deafening screech, the metal ripped free and shot forward like a projectile, dragging the forest ranger along with it.
The miners said nothing...
They could only watch, in a blend of awe and horror, as the young forest ranger used the torn metal sheet as an improvised battering ram, slamming into the Alpha mid-stride.
Stopping it—and vanishing with it—into the crushing darkness left behind by the passing train.
A piercing howl echoed through the forest, followed by sudden showers of sparks that, for a fleeting instant, cast the long shadows of two battling figures across the wide trunks of the redwoods.
Cael cursed himself inwardly for sending someone his daughter's age to face such a monster alone. He gripped the cross hanging from his wrist until it pierced his skin—bathing it in his own blood.
And though he despised himself for it, the worst part was knowing... he would have made the same choice.