The old Meridian Stadium squatted against the twilight sky like a concrete colosseum, its broken lights casting irregular shadows across the abandoned parking lot. What had once hosted tens of thousands of cheering football fans now served as a hunting ground for creatures that should have existed only in nightmares.
Erel crouched behind the rusted hulk of an overturned delivery truck, binoculars pressed to his eyes as he studied the stadium's exterior. Three years of abandonment had taken their toll--vines covered the lower walls in chaotic spirals, windows gaped like missing teeth, and weeds pushed through cracks in the concrete. But it was the unnatural elements that made his skin crawl.
Thick, ropey vines had grown across the main entrance, their surfaces gleaming with an oily black substance that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The vines pulsed with a rhythm that was almost but not quite like a heartbeat, and where they touched the concrete, the stone had begun to warp and bubble as if heated from within. This wasn't normal plant growth; this was mythic contamination.
The air around the stadium felt different too, thicker somehow, like breathing through wet cloth. Erel's enhanced senses could detect traces of something that wasn't quite a smell, wasn't quite a taste, but registered as fundamentally wrong on some primal level. It was the same sensation he'd learned to associate with places where reality had been stretched thin, where the boundaries between the normal world and something else had begun to blur. Where Imaginarium hummed in the air.
"Count?" Lyra's voice was barely a whisper beside him. She'd positioned herself behind a concrete barrier, her own binoculars scanning a different section of the stadium.
"Seven prowlers on the outer perimeter," Erel murmured back, not lowering his binoculars. "Maybe eight--there's movement in the northwest loading dock, but the angle's wrong to get a clear view."
The prowlers were easier to spot once you knew what to look for. At first glance, they might have passed for large dogs or wolves, especially in the fading light. But their movements were wrong--too fluid, too coordinated, like they were connected by invisible strings to a single puppetmaster. Their eyes reflected not yellow or green like normal animals, but a deep crimson that seemed to glow with its own internal fire.
More tellingly, they cast no shadows.
Erel had learned to notice things like that. When you'd died as many times as he had, you developed an eye for the details that separated the merely dangerous from the actively mythic. Mythic creatures followed different rules, and those rules could kill you if you weren't paying attention.
He watched one of the prowlers circle around what had once been a food vendor's booth. The creature moved with perfect silence, its paws somehow making no sound even on the broken glass and debris that littered the parking lot. Its head turned with mechanical precision as it scanned the area, nostrils flaring as it tested the air for threats or prey.
"The vines are moving," Lyra observed, her voice carrying that particular tension it got when she was cataloguing threats. "See how they're repositioning across the main entrance? It's probably due to that kin."
Erel shifted his focus and immediately saw what she meant. The black vines were indeed moving with purpose, creating new patterns across the entrance like a spider adjusting its web. As he watched, one of the prowlers approached the vine barrier and seemed to communicate with it--the vines parted to allow the creature passage, then closed seamlessly behind it.
The implications were disturbing. These weren't separate entities working together; they were components of a single organism, or at least a single intelligence. The kin wasn't just commanding the prowlers, it was connected to every part of this infestation, from the smallest vine to the largest predator.
They watched in silence for another twenty minutes, mapping movement patterns and noting behaviors. The prowlers seemed to patrol in pairs, never leaving their assigned zones but maintaining clear sight lines between groups. Every twelve minutes, they would stop and turn toward the stadium's interior, remaining motionless for exactly thirty seconds before resuming their patrol routes.
It was during this observation period that they first glimpsed the kin.
The creature emerged from what had once been the stadium's main concourse, moving with a grace that was beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Where the prowlers resembled corrupt animals, the kin looked almost human, almost. It stood upright, wore what might once have been clothing, and its proportions were close enough to human normal to be deeply unsettling rather than obviously monstrous.
But the details were wrong in ways that made Erel's vision ability spike with warning sensations. The kin's limbs were slightly too long, its fingers ending in claws that gleamed like polished obsidian. Its face was human in shape but wrong in expression, too still, too focused, like a mask worn by something that didn't quite understand how faces were supposed to work. Most disturbing of all, it moved without making any sound whatsoever, its feet seeming to glide across broken concrete and scattered debris as if physics simply didn't apply to it.
The creature's skin had an odd quality to it, seeming to shift between textures as Erel watched. Sometimes it looked normal, if pale. Other times it appeared to have the consistency of oil or smoke, rippling and flowing in ways that hurt to observe directly. And its eyes, when they caught the fading light, they reflected not red like the prowlers', but a deep violet that seemed to contain swirling depths.
"That's our primary target," Lyra breathed, and Erel could hear the mixture of anticipation and apprehension in her voice. She'd been hunting these things for years, but kin entities were rare enough that each encounter was a learning experience.
The kin paused in its movement, its head turning with mechanical precision to scan the surrounding area. For a moment, Erel had the unsettling feeling that it was looking directly at him, despite the distance and cover between them. The creature's gaze seemed to linger on their hiding spot for several seconds longer than random chance would account for.
Then it continued its patrol, disappearing back into the stadium's depths with that same unsettling silence.
"It's not just coordinating the prowlers," Erel realized. "It's using them as an extension of its own senses. That's why they're positioned for maximum coverage, they're its eyes and ears."
Lyra nodded grimly. "Which means taking out the prowlers first won't work. It'll know the moment we engage any of them."
"Worse than that," Erel continued, pieces of the tactical puzzle falling into place. "If it's really connected to all of them, it might be able to see through their eyes in real time. We could be under observation right now."
They both instinctively shifted deeper into cover, though Erel suspected it was probably too late for such precautions. If the kin had spotted them through its network of servants, it was likely already preparing countermeasures.
They spent another thirty minutes mapping the full extent of the infestation. The prowlers had claimed the entire stadium complex, with pairs stationed at every entrance and a larger group patrolling the field itself. The black vines covered not just the main entrance but several other access points, creating what was essentially a living security system. And somewhere in the complex's interior, the kin entity moved through its domain with the confidence of something that had never known defeat.
The abandoned concession stands and ticket booths had been transformed into something resembling organic growths, their concrete and metal surfaces bulging with the same black substance that coated the vines. What had once been geometric architecture now flowed in curves that followed no earthly design principles.
"Movement pattern suggests it's based in the old coaching offices," Erel observed, tracking the kin's appearances and disappearances. "Underground level, probably the old locker room complex. Gives it central access to the whole structure while keeping it protected from aerial observation."
"And escape routes," Lyra added. "Those underground tunnels connect to the city's storm drain system. If this goes badly, it won't be trapped here."
They retreated two blocks from the stadium before stopping to plan, taking shelter in the hollow shell of what had once been a family restaurant. The interior was a monument to abandonment--overturned tables, broken glass crunching underfoot, and faded murals depicting happier times when the biggest worry was whether the home team would make it to the playoffs.
Lyra spread a hand-drawn map of the stadium complex across a table they'd righted, weighing down the corners with chunks of broken concrete. The map was incredibly detailed, showing not just the building's layout but also utility tunnels, maintenance shafts, and even the routing of the electrical and plumbing systems.
"How did you get blueprints this detailed?" Erel asked, studying the precise notations and measurements.
"Concordat is quite thorough when posting jobs for Anomalites." Lyra replied with a slight smile.
"Eight prowlers confirmed," she continued, marking positions with small stones. "The kin is using a patrol pattern that keeps it in the underground sections during daylight hours, probably an instinctive behavior from whatever mythology spawned it. That gives us an advantage if we move now, it'll be operating in its secondary comfort zone rather than optimal hunting conditions."
Erel studied the map, his fingers tracing possible approach routes. Every path into the stadium's interior led through areas controlled by the prowlers or blocked by the vine barriers. The creature had chosen its territory well, creating natural chokepoints that would funnel any attackers into predetermined killing zones.
"The vine barriers are the real problem," he said. "Even if we take out the prowlers quickly, trying to breach those things will give the kin time to either escape or call for reinforcements."
"Not necessarily." Lyra produced a small obsidian feather that seemed to materialise in her hands. The object seemed to absorb light like the kin's claws, its surface so dark it was difficult to look at directly. "Fragment ability," she explained, noticing his questioning look. "Basically, it will work like a tracker. Keep it with yourself and I'll know exactly where you are at all times."
Erel had seen Lyra's Fragment abilities before, but they never failed to impress him. Where his own powers were largely internal and defensive, hers manifested as tangible tools and weapons that seemed to appear when needed. He'd never quite understood how she created them, but the results were undeniably effective.
The feather felt warm in his hand, and he could sense some kind of connection forming between it and Lyra. It was like having a thread of awareness linking them, allowing her to track his position even when physical sight was impossible.
They spent the next hour working through contingencies and backup plans. Lyra's background was evident in her systematic approach to tactical planning--primary objectives, secondary objectives, failure conditions, and extraction protocols were all mapped out with methodical precision. It was the kind of thoroughness that kept people alive in dangerous situations.
Erel found his attention drifting to the philosophical implications of what they were about to do. The creatures they were hunting had emerged from some Paradox Plane where they served as antagonists in whatever story had given them form. Now they were here, in the real world, following their nature to hunt and kill. Were they evil, or just doing what their narrative nature compelled them to do?
It was a question that had bothered him since he'd started learning about mythic entities. If these things were essentially living stories, did they have any choice in their actions? Or were they as trapped by their nature as he sometimes felt trapped by his own abilities?
They made their final preparations as the sun disappeared behind the urban skyline. Lyra's equipment was military-grade but modified for mythic threats--body armor that gleamed with embedded crystal fragments, ammunition that sparked with its own internal light, and a dagger that seemed to drink in available light rather than reflect it. Apart from her main weapon being a dagger, she also carried a compound bow that rested on her back, its arrows fletched with what looked like genuine phoenix feathers.
Erel's preparations were simpler but no less important. He checked his own protective gear--lighter than Lyra's but sufficient for his role in the plan. His sword had been blessed by three different religious traditions and etched with symbols that hurt to look at directly. What he really needed to prepare was something completely different from Lyra; it was his mind. The last thing they needed was for him to freeze up in the middle of combat because his power decided to show him every possible way the mission could go wrong.
The fragment feather pulsed gently against his chest where he'd secured it beneath his armor. Through their connection, he could sense Lyra's calm determination, her absolute confidence in their ability to complete the mission. It was oddly reassuring to know that whatever happened, Lyra could without a doubt take care of it.
If she wanted, she could probably wrap up this entire gig within one hour. How dutiful of her to go over the details just so that I can learn.
They moved through the abandoned streets toward their objective, two figures in the growing darkness carrying weapons and hopes in equal measure.
Ahead of them, the stadium waited like a trap designed by something that understood human nature all too well.
The hunt was about to begin.