The smoke hadn't even cleared when Ilya saw it.
From the alley behind the forge, a second beast pushed into the light.
It was smaller, but faster, sleeker in the limbs, leaner in the core. Its back hissed steam in staggered bursts. The jagged plates along its shoulders pulsed with deep orange veins. Its head snapped from side to side, taking in the city like a creature sniffing for heat.
Ilya's eyes caught him at the far end of the square, standing beside a broken stall, scarf loose around his neck.
The boy from before, with the fox-like eyes, was already moving.
He didn't look afraid.
He lifted two fingers in a lazy salute and bolted toward the Maul.
Ilya didn't hesitate.
He jumped from the rooftop, landing in a crouch behind a tumbled rain barrel. His knees jolted, breath catching, but he stayed low, already sliding the rifle off his shoulder.
He wasn't going to throw punches at a creature the size of a forge cart.
He raised the rifle and tracked the Maul's movement, already calculating where it would go, what it would strike.
And then, the boy blurred.
His figure shimmered, color draining into the wall behind him like ink pulled into stone. His coat matched the alley. His boots faded into the frost. Even his shadow flickered.
But it's not perfect.
The Hollow Maul turned immediately.
Its eyes locked on the shimmer, and it lunged.
It could see him.
CRACK.
Ilya fired before thinking.
It hit the Maul's forearm mid-swing, enough to throw the arc wide. The claw slammed into the cobbles beside the boy, carving a deep scar in the stone.
The boy hit the ground and rolled, boots skidding across ash-coated stone.
The Maul reared up, steam hissing from its vents, chest plates clattering as they shifted. Its head twisted, jaw creaking open halfway, not a roar this time, but a mechanical exhale.
The boy moved again, his coat fading as it brushed the alley wall. His shape blended into brick and shadow. Not invisible, not quite, but close. Almost perfect.
Almost.
The Maul tracked him instantly.
Ilya fired his rifle again.
It clipped the beast's outer leg, forcing it to pivot sharply and miss the second strike.
That gave the boy time.
He darted left. His boots barely touched the stone.
From below, a quick flicker of motion, his dagger flashed, slashing at the Maul's hind leg. The blade rang out against metal, shallow but precise.
Another shot.
Ilya's bullet hit just behind the beast's shoulder, forcing it to stumble forward into exposed space.
Not fatal. But the Maul faltered.
The boy reappeared near the broken forge, breathing hard. His eyes glinted, sharp and amused.
"Nice shot," he called.
Ilya didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the beast.
The wound in its shoulder hissed steam in hard, choking bursts. Plates along its spine began to glow brighter, red veins throbbing like a forge about to burst.
Ilya and the boy adjusted without speaking.
The boy blurred, dagger glinting once before vanishing behind a broken pillar.
Ilya fired high, not to kill, but to guide. To disrupt. To force the Maul into exposure.
Then, a voice cut through the square.
"Hey!"
Ilya's head snapped toward the sound.
Yula came from the far side of the square, vaulting a toppled fruit cart, sword tight in her grip, breathing hard.
"Don't!" Ilya shouted. "It's dangerous!"
But she was already charging.
The Maul sensed her. It turned fast. Too fast.
She struck first, landing a clean slash across its flank. Sparks. But not enough to pierce.
The Maul retaliated.
Its tail whipped around low and fast, an arc of iron and muscle.
Yula caught it in the ribs. She flew sideways into a broken wall, stone cracking beneath the impact. Her blade clattered out of reach.
She didn't scream.
She didn't say a word.
She tried to rise once, but eventually slumped back, hand pressed to her ribs.
She was still breathing. Still conscious.
But no longer moving.
The Maul stepped forward, claws twitching, but the boy was already there, drawing its attention again with a dagger feint across its face.
He barely avoided a tail swipe that cracked a nearby wall like dry bone. He didn't vanish this time. He didn't have the breath to spare. His camouflage flickered with every step, unstable under pressure.
Ilya stayed low on the roof, rifle up, barrel steady.
He couldn't shoot yet.
The Maul kept shifting, too fast, too unpredictable. If he missed the core again, it would adapt faster.
He had to wait.
"I'm running low on clever!" the boy shouted, ducking behind a support beam.
Ilya didn't respond.
His rifle tracked. Left shoulder, right step, head recoil.
Still, no opening.
He caught sight of the beast just as it turned toward the fallen chimney.
The boy jumped again, aiming low. His dagger slashed at the Maul's front leg, finally cutting deeper, finding a soft seam. The beast reeled with a pained metallic bellow.
But it didn't slow.
It slammed its claws into the stone floor, launching forward like a battering ram.
The boy didn't dodge fast enough.
A piece of debris caught his side and hurled him sideways. He crashed into a barrel stack and didn't get up right away.
"Damn it," Ilya hissed.
The Maul lifted its head again, mouth splitting open, the orange coil beneath the jaw fully exposed.
But only for a second.
Ilya dropped to one knee, rifle to shoulder, lined up the shot.
The Maul moved again, forcing him to shift, to recalculate.
The boy rose.
Bruised. Bloody. But alive.
He limped forward, dagger reversed in his grip. "Come on, ugly…"
He dashed beneath the beast one last time, dragging the blade across the glowing joint behind its jaw.
The Maul shrieked.
Its mouth opened wide.
CRACK.
The shot hit true.
Right into the exposed coil beneath the jaw.
The Maul's roar cracked off mid-breath, choked in its throat like something yanked the sound out from inside.
Then it froze.
Its limbs twitched once, twice, like a machine stuttering through its last breath.
And then, it collapsed.
Its body crumpled forward into a heap of metal and meat, steam pouring out in great wheezing hisses. The light inside it dimmed slowly, flickering out like the embers of a dying forge.
For a moment, there was nothing.
No cheering.
No screams.
Only the sound of the wind sliding between buildings, and the snow hissing where the heat still touched it.
Ilya let his rifle fall to his side, breath catching in his chest. He looked to the boy, who stood panting beside the corpse, shoulders slack, blade hanging low.
Their eyes met.
Not in celebration.
But in the exhausted knowing it was done—
Or so they thought.
A sound.
Movement.
Low. Scraping. Fast.
More claws.
Multiple.
Ilya's head snapped up.
From the alley behind the forge.
From beneath the broken stalls.
From holes in the stone itself.
They came.
Smaller.
Twisted.
Dozens.
Too many.
The boy turned slowly toward the sound, eyes narrowing.
Ilya tightened his grip.
The battle wasn't over.
It had just begun.