Music recommendation: Who's There by Peter Sandberg on Spotify.
"Anna!" Lyra called out to the retreating figure.
Lyra was light on her feet as she fought through the crowd and turned to every alley. The woman was always a corner away from her, eluding her at every turn.
She contemplated whether that woman was really Anna, but couldn't shake the feeling that it was her. Being held captive and tortured together formed an unmistakable bond, and she wouldn't doubt she recognized her hair and stature—the features were uncanny.
When Lyra rushed to another alleyway, it was a dead end. The elusive woman was cornered. The woman stood motionless at the end of the wall, her back facing Lyra.
"A-Anna…It's you, isn't it?" Lyra tiredly placed her hand on the wall to catch her breath and panted.
The woman tilted her head and finally turned to face Lyra, forlorn etched in her expression.
"Lyra…" Anna croaked, fighting back the tears that began to pool in her eyes.
Shock, delight, and anguish whirled in her mind as Lyra stared wide-eyed at her. Silence. She failed to realize how far she ventured from the bustling town to a deserted place void of people. The silence was deafening, and her heart raced.
How can Anna be here? How did she escape? What is she doing here? Unless…
Dread hit the pit of her stomach as she felt a presence creep up behind her.
"Lyyyyrraaa—" a low, husky voice murmured behind Lyra as she twirled and backed away from the foreboding figure.
Lyra staggered back as she paled to see Troy, who gave a beguiled smile. He stood tall, pulling his hand from his pockets to stretch out to her, opening his arms as if to embrace her. His black vambraces glinted in the light. Upon close inspection, fresh blood gave it a light shimmer.
"I've missed you, Lyra," Troy spoke dejectedly.
Lyra crept back as he slowly advanced toward her. Her eyes quivered as her muscles tensed on instinct.
Troy enjoyed seeing her cower and drawled, "We had so much fun together, you and I." He paused as his red eyes darkened by the following words and uttered, "Until you decided to ruin it by escaping."
Lyra was overwhelmed with dread. it was suffocating.
'This can't be happening.' She thought. Pleading this was only a nightmare. Not a pinch on her skin would break her free.
"St-stay back! D-Don't come any closer," Lyra stammered. Her false bravery keeping distance did nothing. Her eyes darted for any possible exit. Anna stood motionless next to her as the man stalked closer. The click of his boots echoed with the impending doom looming over her.
He chuckled, "But I come bearing a gift. Even your friend Anna is ecstatic to see you again," he said, noting how different his way of thinking was from Lyra's.
"How thoughtful…now leave us alone. Go find your precious prophecy elsewhere!" Lyra exclaimed.
Troy broke into a fit of laughter. Who would've thought Lyra could jest.
"You haven't figured it out yet?" He laughed. "Ah, Lyra…you are amusing, indeed," Troy sighed as he tilted his head, his long hair cascading over. he patted his stomach to quell his laughter.
"I'm not going back there," Lyra affirmed as she glared at him.
"And what of your dearest friend, Anna?"
Lyra glanced at her friend as she noticed something off about her. She didn't tremble before Troy and held a blank look. Hollow.
"Lyra…" Anna murmured. Her dispirited eyes trailed up.
"You left her all alone…to suffer," Troy chimed in, a hint of mockery.
"No…you're wrong!" Lyra denied, glaring at Troy.
Lyra felt her insides tighten as she heard Anna say, "Why, Lyra? Why did you leave me?"
Turning back to face her friend, "No-No. Anna, I didn't!" Lyra pleaded, but Anna's expression turned ugly in contempt.
"You left me to suffer…Aria suffered because of you…this is all because of YOU!" Anna screeched. Lyra staggered back, noticing how thin and frail she had become. Her eye sockets were sunken, and her face didn't hold much flesh and color, and more bone.
"I didn't mean—" Lyra spoke, but Anna wailed and screamed at her while Troy watched the scene unfold.
"Don't deny it! You liar! How many more lives must be killed for you to realize?!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Lyra denied every claim thrown at her. Her heart racing. Her body shook by the confrontation.
"Ha! Don't play coy with me, Lyra," Troy chimed in this time, and he narrowed his gaze.
"EVERYWHERE YOU GO LYRA…DEATH FOLLOWS!" Anna bellowed.
An explosion shook their surroundings the next moment, and distant screams echoed in the distance. Lyra felt her heart plummet to the pit of her stomach as she looked up. A plume of smoke came from the neighboring buildings.
Oh no. All the color drained from Lyra's face.
***
"Quickly! Evacuate the civilians, hurry!" Viktor's command cut through the smoke and screams. His voice carried the weight of an Alpha, and his pack obeyed instantly, darting into the chaos to usher the townsfolk out of danger.
His silver eyes blazed as he surveyed the carnage. The once-bustling streets were now cracked with fire and littered with bodies—demonic and mortal alike. The acrid scent of sulfur thickened the air, and in the distance, shadows swarmed over rooftops like carrion birds.
"Fucking demons." His lip curled, muscles straining under his skin, his wolf begging to rip free.
One of the creatures lunged at him—a twisted thing with elongated limbs and a gaping jaw lined with teeth too many to count. Viktor caught it by the throat mid-leap, his claws digging into its slick hide. With a sharp squeeze, cartilage snapped. He tossed the body aside like refuse, already scanning for the next.
He tore his tunic away, his chest heaving, ready to shift. But before the bones cracked, a voice snapped his attention.
"Where is she, Viktor?"
Leo.
Viktor turned, his blood still roaring for battle. Leo's expression was colder than the steel in his grip, but beneath it simmered something Viktor hadn't seen in centuries—fear.
"Lyra is back at the packhouse, is she not?" Viktor growled, but even as the words left his mouth, doubt gnawed at him.
Leo's face paled, a rare falter. "I was there the entire time. She never returned."
The realization hit them both like a blade.
"Damnit!" Viktor cursed, his claws extending fully now, his body trembling with the need to tear apart every demon until he found her.
"Go, Viktor," Leo ordered sharply.
"What about you?"
"I'll catch up."
There was no hesitation in Leo's tone, only cold certainty. The air around him was already shifting, humming with restrained power. His staff materialized in his hand, dark metal gleaming, its blade thirsting.
Viktor gave a single, tight nod. "Fine. Make it quick." Then he dashed into the smoke, a massive blur tearing down anything that crossed his path.
Leo was left alone.
The demons turned as one, their attention drawn to him like moths to flame. Snarling, clicking, wings unfurling, claws scraping stone. They smelled his power—hungered for it.
Leo's red eyes narrowed, and for a heartbeat, he almost pitied them.
"Let's see if you're up to my standards."
They rushed him. A tide of grotesque bodies, shrieking with inhuman cries.
Leo moved like water poured into flame. His staff whirled in his grip, each swing carving arcs of destruction. The first wave didn't even reach him—he split them apart mid-leap, bodies cleaved into ribbons that rained blood across the alley. He spun, flicked the gore from his weapon, and met the next with surgical precision.
A demon tried to flank him. Too slow. His staff impaled its chest, and with a twist, he ripped through bone and sinew, sending the corpse crashing into its kin. Another lunged from above; Leo tilted his head just enough to let its claws graze air before slashing upward, bisecting it cleanly in two.
Blood sprayed across him, spattering his white shirt and streaking through his long hair. He looked like an angel dipped in carnage—ethereal, terrifying, untouchable.
Yet his scar burned. Every swing was like pulling fire from his soul. His curse writhed beneath his skin, whispering for release. But he pushed it down, grinding his teeth, forcing each movement into controlled brutality.
He couldn't fall. Not now. Not when Lyra's scent was nowhere near, and the thought of Troy finding her first made his chest constrict.
"Out of my way," he growled, his voice echoing with celestial command as he cut down another cluster. Limbs and wings scattered across the stones, demons writhing as their black ichor seeped into the cracks of the street.
For every body that fell, two more appeared, drawn by the storm that was Leo. They swarmed over the walls, their guttural chants and laughter drowning out the cries of townsfolk. The entire district seemed to darken beneath their numbers.
Leo tightened his grip on the staff. His breath fogged in the shifting heat of battle, the curse gnawing, the scar aching like fire in his veins. Still, his expression remained stoic, even as blood rained down on him.