The world outside Yan Yue's tiny apartment lab was coming apart—again.
Sirens howled through the maze of Star City as the Gate breach alarm blared. In the moments before disaster, Yan Yue tossed Qiren a battered lab coat ("Emergency camouflage! Just don't button it up backwards!"). Her hands trembled, not just from nerves, but the electric blue of ancient runes pinging on her arcane map. "West Gate's flaring. Monsters—D through B-class—are flooding in. This isn't a drill."
Qiren, clutching the suppressor talisman over his pulsing red mark, tried to look less like a fugitive relic-thief and more like someone who belonged in a research building. "Think we'll make it to coffee break alive?"
Yan Yue grinned weakly, already packing her satchel with relics, half-written field notes, and what looked remarkably like a haunted lunchbox. "Rule number one: don't die. Rule number two: don't damage my samples."
Before they reached the stairwell, chaos burst through the walls. A D-class banehound—a wolf of ashen bone and blue fire—skidded into their corridor, jaws foaming with magic. Behind it, Ministry patrols in rune armor shouted half-formed spells and "ID, now!" as if that could slow down supernatural disaster.
In reflex, Qiren's sinwave system flared—energy surged from his palm, launching a shimmering shield. Unfortunately, it propelled the banehound into one of Yan Yue's enchanted cleaning golems, which immediately retaliated with a barrage of glowing brooms, soap bubbles, and—humiliatingly—a stray sock that landed on Yan Yue's head.
Given a second to panic, Yan Yue threw her hands up, barked a shielding incantation, and tugged Qiren toward a fire escape. "We'll die in this corridor—move!"
Down two half-collapsing flights, out a side door, and straight into an alley full of monster screech, they barely stopped to breathe. The city's backup generators fizzed overhead, casting everything in ghostly neon flashes. Qiren's mark ticked—hot, itchy—like it was itching for more trouble.
Above the chaos, a tiny Rune Wisp—a flickering ball of glyphs and light—drifted down, eyeing Qiren with open curiosity. As he blinked, it zipped in a lazy spiral, perching on his shoulder and broadcasting a wispy, emoji-like smile. "You really do attract weird luck," Yan Yue gasped, holding her knees after their sprint.
Before another laugh could break the tension, a new crash exploded down the street—a B-class Thunderjaw, half-tiger, half-charging storm, barreling through the city blockade. Its roar toppled a row of vendor carts. Guardians flung spell-laced nets and fireballs, but nothing slowed the beast; even the Guardians' bravest split as it thundered closer.
"Qiren!" Yan Yue yelled, shoving a relic into his free hand, "If your mark is going to do something unpredictable, now's the time to risk it!"
He didn't argue. Panic and the wisp's gentle pulse unlocked something inside him—a connection between his system and the world's wild magic. As the Thunderjaw raised a lightning-wreathed claw, Qiren's thoughts blurred with system windows:
[System Alert: Deflect, Attempt Tame, Monster Link. WARNING: Overuse may cause system corruption.]
Gulping, he focused on the link—calling not on raw force, but the odd calm he'd felt from the wisp. For an insane second, the world froze; the Thunderjaw's eyes flickered, then softened, its storm mane sinking flat as if under gentle rain. Qiren's mark blazed crimson-gold, channeling both the wisp's stabilizing aura and something fierce within him: empathy.
Yan Yue, halfway between awestruck and terrified, whispered, "Are you—are you taming it?!"
"Or dying inventively!" Qiren answered as the monster settled, blinking at him like a giant, spiky kitten. The Guardian squads cheered and netted the dazed beast, sparing Qiren and Yan Yue incredulous stares as they stumbled away.
They ducked back behind a row of lab dumpsters, chests heaving. The Rune Wisp landed now on Yan Yue's shoulder, proudly humming. Yan Yue wiped monster slime from her cheek and shook her head. "You really are a living Gate anomaly. If anyone asks, you're officially my most successful research accident ever."
Qiren, unable to help himself, grinned. "Beats getting eaten." Then he sobered as alarms warbled louder, new emergency signals pinging across the air: hydra cubs—smaller, but vicious, multi-headed monsters—snaking through the streets. The city, their fragile refuge, teetered toward chaos.
Yan Yue, still not at ease, checked her scanner. "The Gate breach is still active. Something powerful is holding it open from the other side." She traced a rune on Qiren's hand, her touch sending sparks. "Your system—are you okay?"
He was shaky, drained, but alive. The rush settled into a fierce, new determination. "I think…" He looked at the Thunderjaw's faint trace in his system window—a borrowed jolt of power and the wisp's calming song embedded as options. "I'm not just a target. I can help—for real. If the Gate is open, we close it."
Together, they set out—Yan Yue armed with wits, Qiren with his unpredictable, evolving power, both trailed by a baby hydra (suddenly docile) and a Rune Wisp singing atop a broom-handle. Everywhere around them, monsters battled Guardians, relic researchers raced for safety, and the wild pulse of Gate magic made every step dangerous.
But as Qiren caught Yan Yue's gaze in the flicker of city fires, he realized for the first time: they weren't running anymore. They were fighting—awkwardly, bravely—side by side.
Just then, the Gate flashed, casting a giant Crown-shaped shadow across the sky, promising greater horrors to come.
"Yan Yue," Qiren said, voice fierce with wild hope, "Ready to break the rules?"
She squeezed his hand, blue eyes dancing with challenge. "Always, research subject."
And above them, the neon sky burned brighter, daring them to survive.