Breachers

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Fridge-Fueled Rampage

He hit the apartment complex doors at full speed, shoving through while grabbing his phone and texting his robots, sending an active link of his coordinates. The moment he stepped inside, he heard it—screams, shouting, the wet, wrenching sounds of something being torn apart.

"Shit, shit, shit—" he yelled as he ran as fast as he could, no longer concerned about contacting his companions.

His feet pounded up the stairwell, each step a painful reminder of how wrecked his body was. But he ignored it. He had no time to stop. He passed the first body on the landing—an old man slumped against the railing, his cane on the floor beside him, his torso ripped open like something had dug inside him. The sight barely registered.

Marcus kept moving as more screams rang out from above.

He pushed harder, taking the stairs two at a time, each step bringing more destruction into view. Splintered doors, deep gouges in the walls, trails of blood smeared across the floors.

Then he saw it. A door hung open, shattered at the hinges.

Marcus sprinted inside, spotting a monster crouched over a mangled body, jagged teeth tearing into what was left of a woman's torso. Blood soaked the floor around it.

The second he entered, the monster lifted its head. The monster's single eye locked onto him, narrowing as if weighing its next move. It then gripped the woman's body more firmly before flinging it straight at him.

Marcus ducked, the corpse hitting the doorframe behind him with a sickening thud. He barely had time to move before the monster took off, dashing toward the window.

Glass shattered as it threw itself through the opening, disappearing outside.

Marcus rushed forward, skidding to a stop at the broken window's edge. He caught sight of the thing as it slid down the building's exterior, claws digging deep into the stone, slowing its descent before it landed hard on the pavement below.

Instinctively, Marcus nearly leapt after it but froze at the sound of new screams from above.

'The second one!'

He tore himself from the window, bolting back into the hallway and up the next few flights of stairs until he noticed another broken door, rushing straight through it.

Inside, an elderly couple huddled in the corner, clutching a chair between them like it was the only thing keeping them alive.

The monster leaned over them, its right arm torn off at the shoulder, black ichor still dripping from the wound.

It didn't care. It lifted its remaining hand, claws poised to carve into the old man's skull.

Marcus didn't stop to think.

His mana flared—but something went wrong.

A new pain ripped through his back, searing, like a thousand white-hot needles stabbing into his skin all at once. Air pressure erupted from him, not from his marks, but straight from his flesh—pure, raw force pouring out of his back in a constant blast.

Agony ripped through him, like his spine was being torn open.

Then it launched him, hurling him forward like a human missile..

The world blurred. His body rocketed forward, faster than he'd ever moved in his life. He barely registered the monster's head snapping toward him before impact.

He slammed into it at full force, his shoulder driving into its skull. The monster barely had time to register before they exploded through the wall.

Wood, brick, and drywall disintegrated around them.

They hit the next room like a cannonball, the monster's body slamming into the floor, warping the wood as they crashed through furniture and walls. The force carried them through another wall, sending them skidding into the next apartment over in a tangled mess of debris and broken plaster.

Marcus rolled to a stop, gasping, his back on fire, his skin raw and smoking. His muscles screamed in protest, his breath coming in ragged, shaky gulps. Pain tore through him like wildfire as he struggled to drag air into his lungs. His back throbbed, ribs ached, and every muscle felt like it had been torn apart and stitched back together with burning wire. His vision swam, but he pushed himself up, shaking the daze from his head just in time to see the monster rise from the rubble.

It clawed its way up from the broken remains of the wall, pieces of shattered brick tumbling from its frame. Even through the dust and smoke, Marcus saw the dark, wet mess of its severed right arm, fresh blood leaking from the jagged wound. Its gaze locked onto him, its face twisted in something between rage and twisted amusement.

The monster lunged before Marcus could react, driving a kick straight into his ribs. The impact tore through his body like a sledgehammer, lifting him off the ground before sending him flying backward. He crashed through the open doorway, hitting the floor hard, momentum dragging him across the wood until he slid to a stop just feet away from the huddled couple. His vision flashed white, a sharp, searing ache spreading through his side as he forced himself onto his hands and knees. He spat blood onto the floor, wiped his mouth, and pushed himself upright with a groan.

The monster stepped through the gaping hole in the wall, its hulking frame casting a shadow over the room. The two of them locked eyes, neither one moving, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Then they charged.

Marcus ducked low as the creature swiped at him, its claws carving through the air just inches from his face. He slipped past its guard and slammed a brutal one-two into its ribs, following it up with a sharp kick to its knee. The hits landed clean, but the damn thing barely reacted. Instead, it snarled, caught him by the head, and hurled him into a wall before flinging him across the room.

He hit the wall hard, the impact rattling his spine, but he rolled away just in time to dodge the monster's follow-up strike. Its claws tore straight through the wooden panels, splinters flying in every direction as Marcus shoved forward, ramming his shoulder into its gut and forcing it back a few steps. His eyes darted around the room, desperate for anything he could use. He spotted a metal toolbox, half-buried under a pile of debris, its lid dented but still intact. He lunged for it, gripping the handle tight before swinging it up in an arc.

The metal box slammed into the monster's chin with a dull thud, snapping its head back and sending it stumbling. The lid bent inward from the impact, the latch snapping open as tools rained onto the floor. Wrenches, pliers, loose nails—all of it scattered in a mess of steel and dust. Marcus didn't stop to think. His hands shot out, fingers curling around the first things he could grab—a screwdriver and a hammer.

The monster shook off the blow, its eye fixed on him with raw fury, jagged teeth bared in a snarl. Just as it lunged, Marcus shot upward, driving the screwdriver into its throat. The tip barely broke the skin, sinking in just enough to draw blood.

With a savage roar, he hammered the screwdriver's handle, driving it deeper. The metal shaft crunched through muscle and sinew, burying itself halfway into the monster's throat. It let out a guttural, wet gurgle, its claws twitching as it staggered back.

Marcus didn't stop.

Strike after strike, he hammered the screwdriver further in, each blow sending tremors up his arm. The monster choked, its body convulsing as thick, blackened blood bubbled from its mouth—but it still wouldn't go down. He shifted his aim, smashing the hammer into its shoulder, its skull—anywhere he could reach. Bone crunched under the force, the creature's body jerking with every impact.

The hammer handle snapped on the next strike, the impact jolting up Marcus's arm as the wooden grip splintered in his hands. He barely had time to register it before pain tore through his side.

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The monster's claws buried themselves deep, ripping through flesh like hooked knives. His body screamed at him to recoil, to pull away—but he gritted his teeth and shoved forward instead.

Pain ignited in his back as a blast of wind erupted from his skin, launching him straight into the monster. The force drove them both backwards, the air thick with blood and sweat.

They slammed against the window, the impact rattling through Marcus's bones as more fissures spread through the already weakened pane. He didn't stop. His fists hammered into the monster's face, his knuckles split and raw, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

The claws in his side twisted. Fresh agony lanced through him, but he drowned out the pain with pure anger, imagining what it would've done to those people if he'd been a second too late.

The glass cracked into a spiderweb pattern behind the creature, groaning under their combined weight. He could feel the heat of his own blood trailing down his side, soaking into his clothes, but the only thing that mattered was getting this thing out.

With a guttural roar, he hooked both arms around the monster, heaved with everything he had left, and hurled it.

Its claws ripped free as it went through the window, nearly taking a chunk of his side with it. Marcus staggered forward, almost toppling after it, barely catching himself as his torso hung halfway out the shattered window. The air rushed past him, cold against his sweat-drenched skin.

He could see the monster falling, its body twisting in the air before it slammed into the pavement. In mere seconds, gravity had turned it into a mess of broken limbs and blackened gore. Blood pooled beneath it in thick, unnatural puddles, its shattered bones twisted at angles no living thing could survive.

And yet, it twitched.

Marcus swore under his breath, dragging himself back into the room one unsteady step at a time. He pressed a hand against his side, grimacing as more warmth spilled between his fingers.

He turned his head toward the old couple still huddled in the corner. "You two okay?" His voice came out rough, breathless.

The husband gave a weak nod, eyes wide with lingering terror. Then he hesitated, lifting a trembling hand to point at Marcus's wound. "You're hurt."

Marcus exhaled, glancing down at the mess of blood coating his side. "I'll need a few hundred stitches." His gaze flicked to the side, landing on the refrigerator. "Mind if I grab a drink?"

Neither of them spoke, just shook their heads.

Marcus pushed himself to his feet, swayed, then steadied himself. He grabbed the fridge handle, yanking it open to pull out a cool bottle of water. The first sip was heaven, washing away the dust and blood clogging his throat.

"I'm sorry for this," he muttered, setting the bottle down before grabbing the fridge by its edges. He unplugged it with a sharp tug.

The couple watched in stunned silence.

"It's still alive down there. I need to finish it off with something heavy," Marcus said, adjusting his grip. "I swear I'll pay you back."

He heaved, grunting as he tilted the fridge forward, almost slipping on his own damn blood in the process. He lined up his shot, taking a slow breath. Then, with every ounce of strength he had left, he pushed.

The fridge tumbled forward, tilting over the ledge before plummeting down.

He watched it fall, his heart hammering in his chest. The fridge slammed into the monster with a sickening crunch, the sheer force of impact sending a ripple through the dust below. Metal crumpled, glass shattered, and parts inside the creature burst—a splatter of thick, black gore spreading out from beneath the wreckage.

Marcus stayed at the window for a second longer, watching, almost as if expecting the bugger to push it off and climb back upstairs for round three.

'Please… just be dead already.'

Nothing moved. No twitch, no last struggle, no unnatural attempt to rise. Just a crushed, broken thing beneath eight floors of gravity and an old fridge.

He let out a breath, dragging himself away from the window, his entire body screaming in protest. His knees wobbled as he took a step, and for a moment, he considered just lying down and giving up on moving entirely.

But the water bottle was still there. And his throat was dry as hell.

"It's dead. It can't hurt you anymore," he said as he took another step, then another, gritting his teeth as he lowered himself toward the floor. The mess of blood—his and the monster's—coated the floor in a slick sheen. His balance gave out, and he landed hard, his breath hitching as fresh pain tore through his side.

"Fuck."

He hissed through his teeth, blinking against the spots clouding his vision, before slowly pushing himself upright enough to sit. He reached into his pocket, fingers shaking as he fished out his phone.

He swiped at the screen, found the contact he needed, and hit dial. The moment it started ringing, he let the phone drop onto his lap and leaned his head back against the cabinets.

He forced himself to focus, to keep his breathing steady as he reached for the water bottle again. His fingers wrapped around the plastic, gripping weakly as he turned his gaze toward the couple. The husband still looked shell-shocked, his wife gripping his arm like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Marcus swallowed, his throat still raw. "You don't happen to have a first aid kit lying around, do you?"

The husband blinked at him, then gave a quick, jerky nod before scrambling to his feet. He hurried off, moving through the wreckage of what had once been their home, knocking over broken furniture in his search. His wife hesitated, glancing between him and the blood pooling at his side, then grabbed the nearest clean cloth she could find and knelt down beside him.

She pressed it against his wound, her hands trembling. Marcus winced but didn't push her away.

His phone crackled with noise, voices filtering through the speaker. He sighed, picking it up and pressing it to his ear.

"I need help."

- - -

Marcus moved down the stairs, gripping the railing tighter than he needed to, his body protesting with every step. His torso was wrapped in fresh bandages, the rough fabric biting into his skin, the wound beneath it stinging like hell. He kept moving, ignoring the way his ribs throbbed with each shift of his weight. The building had gone eerily quiet, nothing but the distant wail of sirens filling the space where screams and shattering furniture had echoed moments ago. The fight had ended, but he wasn't sure if that meant the city was safe or if the chaos had just moved somewhere else.

As he stepped outside, the thick scent of smoke, dust, and something metallic hit him, clinging to the back of his throat. The streets were littered with debris, shattered glass reflecting the dim glow of the streetlights, but the destruction wasn't what made his stomach knot. It was the sky.

Five spheres shimmered in the distance, massive and unnatural, pulsing against the darkening sky like fractured stars. Four of them burned a shifting, electric blue, shimmering along their edges like heat rippling off pavement. But the last one was red. A deep, violent crimson that made his skin crawl just looking at it.

He swallowed hard, a slow realization settling in his chest. 'If every monster that ran out of that Sphere was capable of creating a Sphere on its own… New Haven would've been wiped out,' he thought, realizing that, despite the horrible scene in front of him, the city had barely dodged an even worse scenario.

His hands clenched into aching fists as he forced himself to look away, his focus shifting back to the street. The monster's body still lay where it had fallen, half-crushed beneath the refrigerator, an ugly mess of broken limbs and blackened blood smeared across the pavement.

Making his way over, he took in the damage up close. The fridge had damn near caved in its chest, its ribcage split wide open from the sheer force of impact. Its remaining arm still twitched, fingers curling and relaxing in slow, meaningless movements. Its skull was fractured, its lower jaw barely hanging on, jagged teeth still bared in what was left of its snarl. Thick, sludge-like blood had pooled beneath it, the stench clinging to the air, sharp and bitter.

The wail of sirens echoed through the empty streets, distant at first, then steadily growing louder. Marcus barely acknowledged them, his focus still locked on the ruined corpse in front of him. His fingers twitched, resisting the urge to rub the bandages wrapped tight around his ribs. The pain could wait.

The monster's remaining arm gave another slow, lifeless twitch, its broken jaw hanging open at an unnatural angle. And there, nestled deep in the back of its skull, something pulsed— a soft, unnatural glow of light blue against the ruined flesh.

He exhaled sharply and reached out, pressing his hand against the pulsing glow. Warm, almost vibrating beneath his fingers, the Orb hummed with an energy that made his skin prickle. He shoved his fingers into the mess of bone and blood, gripping the Orb more firmly before yanking it free.

Thick, dark gore clung to its surface, streaking his hand as he held it up, watching the pulsing light within swirl and shift. It felt alive somehow, like it was waiting for something, but he didn't get the chance to dwell on it.

Something silver caught his eye.

It glinted in the low light, buried beneath a tangle of torn flesh and exposed bones. His brows furrowed as he leaned in, squinting.

"A locket?"

Carefully, he pried it free, peeling away the ruined chain from where it had been half-melted into the monster's skin. The metal was scuffed and worn, the hinge rusted in spots, but it opened easily enough.

Inside, a faded photograph of two small children smiled up at him.

Marcus stared.

'The hell is a monster doing with something like this?' He swallowed, his grip tightening around the locket as his mind tried to make sense of it. 'Why would it have worn this? Did it put it on?'

A fresh wave of sirens tore through the air, snapping his attention back to the street.

A line of vehicles tore through the city, weaving through wreckage and abandoned cars. Black-armored trucks with gold stripes gleamed under the streetlights, one of them heading straight for his position.

"A guild," he muttered.

His fingers curled around the Orb in his other hand.

Every instinct screamed at him to hand it over—to show them exactly what he had fought, exactly what had happened here. But his legs moved before he could think better of it, carrying him back toward the apartment entrance. He pushed inside, pressing his back against the wall just past the doorway, his breath coming in hard, uneven bursts.

The Orb still pulsed in his hand. He turned it over, watching the swirling light shift beneath the cracked surface. He knew he couldn't hide it, nor throw it away. If he did, it might turn into a Sphere. He wasn't about to take that chance.

His mind flashed to Old Man Pete.

'I want those objects away from cities and stored here—if we even need to store them at all,' he thought, remembering the man's words.

The shouting outside grew louder. Vehicles skidded to a stop. Doors slammed.

"This is a stupid idea that probably won't even work," he muttered.

He lifted the Orb, lining it up to his chest, his other hand gripping the edge of his shirt and yanking it up, exposing the black Marks on his chest. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes before slamming the Orb into his chest as hard as he could.

The second he did so, his world exploded.

A wave of blue light tore through his body, searing, twisting, ravaging him from the inside out.