Page 73 of Third

No screech. No charge. It lunged with horrifying silence, ablur of darkness and too many limbs.

And they braced for impact.

The corridor behind them had already sealed. But now another sound came—asecond groan, lower and closer. Somewhere deeper in the corridor—nearer to the creature than to them—athick slab of alloy began to descend with a deep, grinding drag. Whether it was triggered by the creature’s presence, their motion, or something watching them from unseen systems, Anya didn’t know. But it moved like a warning. Or a cage. It moved slow, deliberate, cutting off even the illusion of retreat.

A shudder ran through the floor, like the structure itself understood what was about to happen. Dust sifted down from above. The light dimmed. Every escape vanished in that sound, every second forward sharpened into a single truth:

They were trapped.

And whatever happened next, there would be no one else. No reinforcements. No way out. Just them, the stabilizer, and the nightmare blocking theirpath.

Tor’Vek was the one who moved first.

He didn’t wait for the creature to strike. Didn’t hesitate. His body reacted with the clean, violent grace of instinct honed by war. The monster lunged—and Tor’Vek lunged back, not to meet the blow, but to beat it to the centerline. To own the moment before impact.

They collided in a blur of movement, motion made flesh and steel androt.

No clash of blades. No dramatic impact. Just raw speed and the sickening sound of bone snapping under pressure. He dropped low, swept the blade up with a force that should have carved the thing in half—

—but it twisted.

Toofast.

Too fluid.

The blade sliced clean through one of its many limbs, sending a black arc of fluid hissing against the corridor wall. The smell that followed was worse than before—acid and decay and somethingalive. The creature screamed without sound, its torso pivoting in a way no spine shouldbend.

Anya watched in horror as the creature’s claws tore into Tor’Vek’s forearm, shredding through his sleeve and into his skin. Blood welled fast, bright against the black fabric. He didn’t cry out—but she saw the way his body jolted, the brief stumble in his step, the flash of raw pain that crossed his face before he forced it down. He was still fighting—blade slashing to the creature’s midsection, an elbow to its ribs, abrutal kick to its knee—but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Not fast enough. Not critical enough.

And Anya couldn’tfire.

Tor’Vek was too close. The corridor too narrow. All she could do was wait, her finger tight on the trigger, eyes darting for an opening. She moved along the wall, keeping distance between herself and the stabilizer strapped across her chest. If she fell, if it cracked—if the stabilizer shattered against the corridor floor—it wouldn’t just end the mission. It might kill themboth.

She couldn’t think aboutthat.

The monster twisted again, one clawed hand swiping toward hernow.

Tor’Vek turned in an instant. He didn’t block—it was too far. Hethrewhis body into its side, slamming it against the corridor wall. Flesh slapped alloy. Anya stumbled back as black fluid sprayed.

“Now!” he shouted.

She fired.

Twice.

The impact slammed into the creature’s shoulder, spinning it just enough for Tor’Vek to strike again. This time his blade drove deep—through muscle, joint, bone. The creature shrieked, this time audibly, awet, splitting wail that echoed like static in her skull.

It thrashed.

One massive limb caught Tor’Vek in the ribs and threw him against the wall with a sickeningthud.

“Tor’Vek!”

He dropped but didn’t stay down. Blood smeared the wall where he’d hit, but he was already rising, blade still in hand. Limping. Focused.

The creature staggered. Anya saw its movements slow—fluid leaking from multiple wounds, its limbs spasming. It was dying.

It knewit.

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