"Drop the blade or I'll carve your eyes out through your skull," the patrol leader barked.
Jace didn't drop it. He didn't even flinch. He felt the cold metal of the knife vibrating in his grip, but it wasn't fear. It was a hum. A hunger. The air around the Sleepless Patrol tasted like ozone and old blood, and to Jace, it smelled like a feast.
Lira’s hand clamped onto his shoulder, her fingers digging into his jacket. Her voice was a frantic whisper, barely audible over the wind. "Jace, for the love of everything, just do it. They don't take prisoners. They just erase people."
"Let go, Lira," Jace snapped, shaking her off. He stepped forward, the grit of the dead zone crunching under his boots. "I'm done running."
"You're a dead man walking!" the leader yelled. He was a towering wall of blackened armor, his visor glowing with a sickly violet light. He didn't look human—nothing in the Deep really was. He raised a heavy, serrated glaive, the blade humming with a frequency that made Jace's teeth ache. "Last warning. Kneel, or be dismantled."
Jace grinned. It wasn't a friendly look. It was the look of a man who had just realized the guy threatening him was actually a snack.
"I don't kneel," Jace said. "But I do eat."
Before the patrol leader could react, Jace lunged. He didn't go for a clean strike; he went for the gap in the armor, the soft joint at the neck. The leader roared, swinging the glaive in a wide, lethal arc. The wind from the blade nearly knocked Jace flat, slicing through the sleeve of his jacket and leaving a thin red line across his forearm.
Jace didn't care about the cut. He was too close now. He could feel the patrol leader's terror—not the fear of death, but the shock of someone actually fighting back. It was a sharp, acidic flavor that flooded Jace's senses.
[Skill Triggered: Fear Consumption] [Absorbing Dread... +10 EXP / +2 Strength / +2 Agility]
He felt a jolt of electricity snap through his spine. His muscles tightened, his vision sharpened. The world slowed down. He twisted his body, sliding under the second swing and driving the knife deep into the joint of the leader's armor.
There was a wet, metallic crunch. The leader screamed—a sound like grinding gears—and stumbled back.
"What the hell are you?" the leader gasped, clutching his neck.
"Your worst nightmare," Jace whispered. He didn't pull the knife out. He leaned in, his face inches from the violet visor, and inhaled. He could practically see the fear leaking out of the man in gray wisps. He sucked it in, feeling his own power swell, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Kill him!" another patrolman screamed, charging forward with a shock-baton.
Lira didn't stay idle. She dove for a piece of fallen debris, swinging a heavy iron pipe with a desperate, guttural yell. She caught the second soldier in the side of the helmet, sending him sprawling.
"Jace! Behind you!" she shrieked.
Jace spun, narrowly dodging a thrust from a third soldier. He didn't retreat. He stepped into the soldier's space, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it with a strength that shouldn't have been possible for his frame. A loud *pop* echoed through the ruins. The soldier howled, dropping his weapon.
"You're not scared," Lira panted, stepping over the fallen body. She looked at Jace, her eyes wide. "Why aren't you scared? This is suicide!"
"I'm not scared," Jace said, his voice sounding deeper, rougher. He looked at the remaining patrolmen, who were now hesitating. For the first time, the power dynamic had shifted. They weren't hunting prey anymore. They were being hunted. "I'm starving, Lira. And these guys are just full of the good stuff."
He turned back to the leader, who was struggling to stand, his armor leaking a dark, iridescent fluid. Jace stepped on the man's chest, pinning him to the ash-covered ground. The weight of his boot crushed the breastplate.
"Who do you report to?" Jace asked, his voice cold. "Who's in charge of this sector?"
"The... the High Warden," the leader wheezed. "You... you're a glitch. A mistake. He'll find you. He'll strip your soul and use it for fuel."
Jace leaned more weight onto the boot, enjoying the way the man's breath hitched. "Tell me where the nearest outpost is. Now. Or I start taking pieces of you home as souvenirs."
"East... three miles... the Iron Spire," the leader coughed.
Jace pulled the knife out of the man's neck with a slow, deliberate twist. He didn't kill him—not yet. He needed the fear to linger. He stepped back, looking at the carnage. Three soldiers down. One broken.
Lira approached him slowly, her gaze flickering from the bodies to the look in Jace's eyes. There was something different about him. The desperate, broke guy who had stumbled into the Deep was gone. In his place was something leaner, harder, and far more dangerous.
"We need to move," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "The noise... it'll attract things. Not just the patrol. Things that don't talk before they eat you."
"We're not moving until we secure the Anchor," Jace replied. He looked at the massive, dormant pillar of stone and metal behind them. "Lira, get back to the console. If we can get even a flicker of light out of this thing, we have a perimeter. Without it, we're just dinner in an open field."
"I can't do it alone," she argued, though she was already moving toward the machinery. "I need a power source. Something stable. The Anchor is dry, Jace. It's been dead for decades."
"Then use me," Jace said. "I don't know how it works, but I can feel the pull. It wants something. Give it what it wants."
Lira stopped, looking at him like he was insane. "You want to plug yourself into a Deep Anchor? You'll be drained dry in seconds. You'll be a husk."
"Better a husk than a snack," Jace shrugged. "Do it."
Lira hesitated, then her jaw set. She grabbed his hand, her skin cold against his, and pulled him toward the Anchor's base. As they neared the interface, the air grew heavy. The ground began to vibrate, a low-frequency thrum that rattled Jace's bones.
She pressed his palm against a jagged, crystalline slot in the stone. "If I feel your heart stop, I'm pulling you out," she whispered, her face inches from his.
Jace could smell the salt and copper on her breath. He could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes, but also something else—a spark of curiosity. A pull. He didn't pull away. He pressed harder, forcing his energy into the stone.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, a surge of white-hot agony ripped through Jace's arm. He gasped, his back arching, his fingers locking into the crystal.
"Jace!" Lira screamed, reaching for him.
"Don't... touch me!" he roared.
Suddenly, the Anchor groaned. A single, thin line of gold light cracked through the gray stone, climbing upward like a vine. It wasn't a full activation, but it was enough. A dome of faint, shimmering energy rippled outward, pushing back the oppressive fog of the Deep.
Jace collapsed to his knees, breathing hard, his arm numb and smoking. He looked up at Lira. She was staring at the light, her expression one of pure awe.
"You did it," she whispered. "You actually did it."
Jace tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. He looked around. The perimeter was safe for now, but the silence that followed was worse than the noise. It was the silence of something waiting.
Then, a sound echoed from the fog.
*Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.*
Heavy boots. Not one man. A dozen. Maybe more.
Jace froze. He looked down. The boots weren't coming from the perimeter. They were coming from the direction of the dead zone they had just crossed.
And then he felt it. A boot—heavy, armored, and smelling of old blood—landed directly on top of his hand, pinning his wrist against the cold stone of the Anchor.
"Found you," a voice hissed from directly above him.