God Ash: Remnants of the fallen.

Cain moved through the ruins like smoke trailing a fire, the last notes of violence still humming in his blood. The city had not quieted; it never did. The echoes of their clash bled through the alleys, swallowed by a thousand other sounds—screams too far away to matter, the hollow bark of vendors already awake, the mutter of machines grinding behind locked shutters. City Z had a way of masking carnage, of tucking it into folds no outsider would ever notice.

Susan fell into step behind him, her cloak dragging grit. "You could've killed it sooner," she said, not as accusation but as observation.

Cain didn't slow. "I wanted it to show me its limits."

Hunter stalked along the opposite wall, eyes scanning, crossbow loose in his hands. "It wasn't at its limit."

"No." Cain's voice was steady. "But now I know."

They moved like a unit through the bleeding dawn. Steve trailed at the rear, his hands twitching over a box of blinking lights strapped to his chest. He didn't talk much after a fight. His silence was filled with the whir of his devices syncing to the grid, trying to stitch together whatever Cain tore apart.

At the mouth of an alley, they paused. Cain lifted a hand, and all three halted like marionettes. Ahead, across a stretch of cracked stone, City Z's market square opened in broken silence. The stalls were shattered, some burned, others abandoned in half-collapse. A single cart tilted on its side, fruit rotting in the dust.

Susan's hand went to her knife. "Empty."

Cain crouched low, eyes narrowing. The air smelled wrong—sweet, coppery, clinging to the throat. Not blood exactly, but something kin to it. He scraped two fingers along the ground and found residue: black dust, glittering faintly.

"Phantom residue?" Steve asked, breaking silence.

Cain didn't answer. He rolled the dust between thumb and forefinger, then let it scatter to the wind.

Hunter shifted uneasily. "It's bait."

Cain stood, wiping his hand clean on his coat. "Then it's working."

They moved into the square. Every step echoed against stone walls, too loud, too obvious. Cain didn't care. He wanted them to hear. The square was a trap, yes—but so was Cain.

From the rooftops, something stirred. A shape leaned too far into shadow, then darted back. Cain's eyes caught it. He raised his hand, and Susan slid into the cover of a broken stall. Hunter took the flank, vanishing behind a burned-out shop. Steve sank to his knees, opening a panel on his chest-rig, fingers flying over switches.

The silence fractured.

A ripple spread through the square, as if the air itself were a pond disturbed by stone. Out of the ripple stepped three figures—phantoms, their forms shifting like oil on water. Their eyes burned pale green, their limbs wrong in proportion, arms too long, spines too bent.

One hissed, a sound like metal tearing.

Cain drew steel. The blade hummed faintly in the dawn light, not magic, not tech—just steel sharpened so fine it whispered when moved.

"You don't belong here," Susan said, her voice cold, carrying in the stillness.

The phantoms tilted their heads. The one in the center stepped forward, its form snapping from fluid to rigid in an instant. Cain read the shift for what it was: attack.

"Hunter," Cain murmured.

The crossbow thrummed, a bolt slicing the air. It struck the phantom in the chest, pinning it to a wall. The creature writhed but didn't scream. Its body dissolved into dust and reformed two steps to the side, bolt clattering to the ground.

"They're learning," Hunter growled.

"Good," Cain said. He moved, faster than thought, blade cutting arcs through air. Steel met phantom flesh with a noise like splitting wood. Ichor sprayed, vanishing before it touched stone. The second phantom lunged, claws scraping across Cain's coat, sparks flying.

Susan struck from behind, knives flashing. She carved into its spine, twisting as she pulled away. The phantom collapsed, twitching, then burst apart in a rain of black ash.

Steve's devices screamed to life. Red beams lanced across the square, crossing paths into a web. "Got them pinned!" he shouted. "Grid won't hold long—thirty seconds at best!"

Cain pivoted. The last phantom hesitated at the web's edge, body flickering. Cain advanced, each step deliberate, cutting off its retreat. His blade rose once, fell once. The phantom came apart in silence, vanishing into dust that scattered on the dawn wind.

The square went still.

Breathing steady, Cain sheathed his weapon. "Count it."

"Three," Susan said.

"Three too many," Hunter muttered.

Steve slapped his chest-rig closed. The lights dimmed. "They'll know we hit them. Grid just lit up like fire."

Cain looked past them, past the ruined stalls and broken stones, to the horizon where City Z sprawled like a beast waiting to wake. His eyes narrowed.

"This was a probe," he said. "The real storm hasn't begun."

Cain crouched for a moment, letting the air settle around them, listening. The city was deceptively quiet now, the kind of quiet that pressed against your ears, a weight that promised it was only temporary. Somewhere far off, a bell tolled lazily, announcing the start of the morning market as though nothing had occurred.

"They'll regroup," Hunter said, his voice low, carrying the same tension Cain had learned to recognize in him. "Smarter, faster, angrier. And they'll bring others."

Cain's gaze swept over the square, taking in every detail: the cracked stones, the discarded cart, the faint residue of phantom dust still lingering like a promise. "Let them come," he murmured. "We'll teach them patience."

Susan straightened, scanning the rooftops instinctively. "We can't stay here," she said. "Not if they send scouts while the city wakes."

Cain nodded. "Move," he said. "We vanish before the sun fully touches these streets. Let them find nothing but shadows and dust."

Steve packed away his devices, muttering about recalibrating the grid. "They'll be back faster than you think," he warned. "The real hunt is beginning, and we're the bait."

Cain's lips curved faintly, a predator's smile barely perceptible in the dim light. "Then let them learn the rules," he said. "Because every step they take, every mistake they make, I will be there to mark it."