The rain had stopped, but the air was still cold and heavy, charged with the static electricity of a storm that refused to die. Every step was a physical reminder of my weakness: my left hand burned with the letters carved in—NORTH SLAUGHTERHOUSE. Anima hadn't just left me an address; he'd branded me like cattle so I wouldn't forget the target.
I look at Sergeant Méndez's badge in my pocket. A corrupt cop. An enemy with a network I, a 26-year-old insomnia-ridden student, cannot face. Fear is justified, it's logical, but I'm using it as fuel.
I arrive at the North Slaughterhouse complex. It's a maze of dirty brick, rusted pipes that look like dead veins, and abandoned refrigerated rooms. The place is huge — an industrial scar on the city's edge.
"Be methodical, Eduur. Be methodical," I murmur, taking a deep breath. "You're not a mercenary. You're an investigator."
I crouch behind some empty oil drums. I use my eyes, trained to notice details in lucid dreams. I study the security cameras blinking a dim red, the loading doors chained shut, and the only side entrance guarded by two goons smoking under a corrugated roof.
This is a high-level operation. If I force my way in, I'll be dead before I take three steps. Or worse, I'll have to summon Anima and he'll kill everyone before I get the exact location of Sofía inside the complex. I need a surgical plan.
I crawl along the perimeter wall, avoiding puddles that reflect the moonlight. I feel fatigue in my bones. My body is still at fifty percent after last night's invocation at the bar. I don't have Anima's brute strength or his inventory of magical weapons. I only have my fractured mind and my will.
I find a broken window in the back that opens into the loading area. It's narrow, coated with rust and shattered glass. It's my entry point.
"Come on," I tell myself, but the lie tastes heavy on my tongue.
---
I calculate distance and noise. I'm about to jump through the window when I hear a sound behind me. It's not a guard patrolling. It's the unmistakable scrape of heavy boots on wet gravel with intent.
I look back.
Three men. They're not security uniforms. Leather jackets, neck tattoos, metal bars in their hands. They have the cold stare of people who don't stop to ask questions. They were waiting for me.
"There's the idiot who caused a ruckus at El Ancla," the leader says, a man with a scar across his eyebrow, flashing a grin full of yellow teeth.
They'd tracked me from the alley. The Syndicate moved faster than I'd thought. They're efficient.
I try to step back, searching for an escape route, but they're already on me. The first one smashes the metal bar into my ribs.
"Argh!"
The pain is real, immediate, paralyzing. It's not dream pain. I double over as the air is knocked out of my lungs. Eduur's body is weak, fragile.
The second grabs my jacket collar and slams me against the brick wall. My head bounces off the stone and I see stars.
"Where's the money you stole, you piece of shit? And the sergeant's badge?" he screams in my face, spitting.
Rage rises in my throat, mixed with the metallic taste of blood. I didn't steal anything! Anima took the trophy from a kidnapper!
I get punched in the face. I feel my nose bone crunch. Warm, thick blood floods my mouth, choking me. I can't fight three trained thugs. I'm just a psychology student who wanted to save the world.
"They're going to kill me!" my mind screams in panic. "They'll kill me here and Sofía will die alone!"
I can't allow that. If I die, the girl dies. If they take me, the network wins.
With my last breath, eyes full of blood and impotent tears, I project my will into the abyss of my mind. It's not a rational decision; it's a cry for help.
"ANIMA! I SUMMON YOU! SAVE ME!"
The physical pain turns into a distant buzzing. My vision clouds. The ground spins. Consciousness goes out.
---
[PERSPECTIVE — ANIMA]
I open my eyes.
What a nuisance. I was about to rest in the void.
I feel warm blood dripping from Eduur's broken nose. And anger. Pure, distilled, hot anger from being attacked. It's great fuel, better than fear.
"Cowards. Three to one," I murmur, spitting a clot of blood to the ground. My voice sounds different, like a diesel engine turning over. "And they wake me up in a bad mood."
The three thugs freeze. They see me standing where Eduur was, and the instant I open my eyes the primal fear in my aura hits them like a physical wave.
The one holding me by the collar utters a choked scream and drops me as if I burned him.
"The… the monster!" he stammers.
"I'm the result of your boss's stupidity," I say calmly, stooping to pick up the metal bar they dropped. It feels feather-light in my hands. "Eduur wanted to interrogate. I just want to break things."
I don't need to summon anything from the dream. I already have a real weapon.
I strike.
The fight is quick, dirty, brutal. No dance — just predatory efficiency.
The first tries to raise his bar, but it meets the metal across his forearm. The bone snaps with a dry crack that echoes through the alley. The scream is music.
The second pulls a knife. Fool. I teleport behind him, grab his throat and press until his eyes go white and his body goes limp. I let him drop. Unconscious.
"You see, Eduur, I follow your stupid rules."
"He's not dead. He'll just take a long nap."
The leader tries to run towards the complex entrance. I teleport directly in front of him, cutting him off.
"The girl. Where is Sofía?" I demand.
"In… on the third level! Meat freezer number three!" he babbles, shaking uncontrollably, wetting himself. "I swear!"
"Who?"
"The Syndicate! They're traffickers! We just sell them 'merchandise'!"
I smile. "Thank you."
I kick him in the chest, lifting him off the ground and slamming him against the brick. He collapses like a broken doll.
I feel the tug in my chest. Eduur's fatigue returns with the force of an anchor. The nose bleeds profusely, making breathing hard. The ribs ache. The body is damaged, at its limit. If I pass out now, we bleed out.
"Shit. I don't like pain. And this body is paper."
I crouch beside the unconscious leader. I put my right hand on Eduur's broken nose and my left hand on the fallen thug's chest.
I concentrate my dream energy. But not to summon an object.
I call the Transfer.
It's a dirty trick. Something the "Supreme Being" of Eduur would hate.
I absorb the thug's residual vitality. I don't kill him, but I leave him dry, stealing weeks of recovery. I feel the energy flow like a hot river into me.
Eduur's nose snaps back into place on its own. The hand wound closes, leaving only a pink scar. The rib pain vanishes.
"Repair complete," I whisper. "I'm not going to die because of your weakness, boy."
Satisfaction leaves my consciousness.
---
[PERSPECTIVE — EDUUR]
"Ah!"
I wake up with a jolt, falling to my knees on the filthy ground.
The pain… it's there, but it's a ghost. A memory.
I touch my nose frantically. It's swollen, yes, but it no longer bleeds. It's straight. I breathe fine.
I look at the palm of my left hand, where Anima carved the address. The skin is red, but the deep wound is closed. It healed at an impossible speed.
"Healing…?" I gasp, terror turning into guilty wonder.
I look at the thug beside me. He's pale, breathing shallowly, as if he aged ten years in a minute.
I understand with horrible clarity. Anima didn't heal me with divine magic. He healed me by stealing energy from this man. It's parasitic healing.
A bitter taste rises in my mouth. The energy left in my body is low, but functional. Anima repaired me enough to keep going.
I stand. Third level. Meat freezer number 3. Sofía is there.
I move toward the broken window and climb in.
The slaughterhouse smells of rust and old blood. I climb a metal staircase that creaks under my boots. I reach the third level. The air grows icy.
I walk down a long, dark corridor lined with steel doors. At the end, one is ajar. Chamber 3.
The static hum of a TV fills the silence.
I enter the room. It's huge, dark, cavernous. Empty meat hooks hang from the ceiling like metal question marks.
At the far end, lit by the blue light of the television, there's a small makeshift bed with old blankets.
And Sofía.
The seven-year-old girl huddles against the wall, clutching her pink unicorn backpack like a shield. She's dirty, hair messy, terrified—but alive.
"Sofía…" I whisper. Emotion wells up, briefly cleansing the filth from my soul. A tear of relief escapes me. "I'm Eduur. I'm here to get you out."
I take a step toward her, hands raised so I don't scare her.
But then, from behind a row of hanging plastic sheets, I hear a sound that chills my blood.
Clang-clack.
The metallic, unmistakable sound of a shotgun being chambered.
A figure moves in the shadows and steps forward. A big, burly man in a butcher's apron stained with dried blood. He wears a surgical mask across his face, but his eyes… his eyes are cold and calculating.
"Thought the Syndicate would let you get this far, Vance?" the figure says.
And then I see it.
Hanging from the butcher's belt, shining under the TV's blue light, is a second police badge. Identical to the one in my pocket.
"Sgt. Méndez…" I whisper. He wasn't dead. Anima took the badge, but not his life.
The black barrel points directly at my chest. I'm alone. Unarmed. And Anima has just spent his energy healing me.
"Say goodnight, hero."