God Ash: Remnants of the fallen.

Cain moved through the alleys of City Z with measured steps. The sun had not yet risen. Shadows clung to the corners, stretching from broken shutters and leaning walls. The streets smelled of wet stone and rot. He didn't flinch. He didn't hurry. Every step was deliberate.

Hunter followed behind, crossbow ready. He paused at each intersection, scanning, listening. Nothing moved in the emptiness, but the city never stayed empty for long. Cain knew it. He always knew it.

Susan kept to the rooftops. She was a dark figure against the dim sky, watching, waiting. Cain could sense her presence even without turning. She moved quietly, as if the city itself parted to make way.

Ahead, the flicker of movement caught Cain's eye. Not fast, not deliberate—hesitant. A shadow moving with purpose but uncertain of its own steps. He noted it and didn't speak. He didn't need to. Hunter and Susan understood. They had moved in sync before. They would move in sync again.

Steve's voice came from the far end of the alley, faint and mechanical. "Signals up. Sensors active. You've got roughly four minutes before the patterns start to overlap." Cain didn't answer. He didn't need to. Time was measured in breaths and steps here, not in words.

Cain raised his hand slightly, signaling. Susan dropped from her perch onto the ledge across from the target's path. Hunter slid into the shadow behind the crates, his crossbow loaded. Cain stepped forward from the corner, blade drawn, but low. His eyes followed the phantom like a hawk tracking movement on a field.

The shadow hesitated. Cain had expected it. He had counted its steps from a distance, noted the rhythm, the inconsistencies. It was a small error, but enough. That half-step too far, that pause too long. Errors built layers. Layers built patterns. Patterns built traps.

The figure moved again, drawn toward Susan's position. Cain's pulse didn't quicken. He cataloged the movement, stored it. He was not surprised. They were never surprising. Not him. Not City Z. Not life in this section of the continent.

Hunter acted first. The crossbow fired, silent, precise. The scout nearest to Susan dropped, motionless. The second faltered, realization dawning too late. Cain stepped from the shadows, blade moving with exactness. No hesitation. No flourish. Just efficiency.

"Welcome to the game," Cain said, voice low. Not a warning. Not a challenge. A fact. His gaze swept the alley. The phantom froze, then darted. Mistakenly, predictably.

Steve chuckled faintly behind the crates. Small gadgets blinked. Red dots appeared and disappeared, marking paths, signaling traps, sending false threats. Cain didn't look at them. He didn't need to. The city itself provided every cover, every obstacle, every advantage he required.

The phantom's movement shifted, trying to adjust. Cain tracked it, noted every footfall, every misstep. It had no idea. It was being guided. The guide did not need to reveal himself. He simply let the city do the work.

Susan moved next. A step to the left. A slight turn of the wrist. The phantom responded exactly as Cain had predicted. It was a wave in a pond. Its ripples were already accounted for.

Hunter advanced, silent. Blade replaced crossbow. The second scout collapsed without a sound. Cain's path to the phantom opened like a drawn curtain. He stepped forward.

"Everything in place?" he asked. Not a question, more an acknowledgment.

Hunter nodded. Susan's lips pressed thin. Steve's head tilted back slightly. All understood the rules. All understood the game. Cain exhaled. Patience, observation, timing. All he required.

From the distance, a new figure appeared. Another scout. Its steps were cautious, its head tilting as it measured the alleys. Cain didn't flinch. He waited. Its hesitation was noted. Its error cataloged.

The new scout entered the trap. Cain didn't move until the path was fully open. He stepped into the alley, blade swinging. The scout had no time. It didn't need any. Hunter and Susan completed the circle. Every path, every escape, every option covered.

The city remained quiet. The phantom tried to adapt, but Cain had already adapted two moves ahead. Its pace slowed, its motions jerky, calculated, but wrong. Cain struck at the perfect moment. It faltered. The first trap hit. The second followed. Its path was a spiral, predictable, constrained.

Cain's blade moved again. No flair. No shout. No declaration. Just contact. A half-step miscalculated. The phantom faltered, then fell. Not dead. Not yet. But disoriented. Broken. Marked.

Steve whistled softly. "Pattern complete. Signals hold." Cain nodded. He had anticipated the reinforcement. He had anticipated the escape attempts. Every movement had been noted, recorded. City Z itself had been part of the execution.

"Keep moving," Cain said, voice low. Not an order. Not a command. An observation. Hunter and Susan adjusted. They moved in the rhythm of the hunt, in the rhythm Cain had set.

The phantom tried one more time. Desperation slowed its reflexes. Cain met it again, blade low, eyes tracking, mind noting. Every strike, every dodge, every minor twitch was logged. He struck precisely where he had calculated. The phantom's retreat faltered.

Silence followed. Only the faint hum of the city, the distant clatter of shutters, and the slow drip of water from a broken pipe. Cain exhaled. He did not smile. He did not celebrate. He simply stepped back into the shadows.

Hunter checked the phantom. It was not dead, but it was contained. It would not escape this area without leaving tracks Cain could follow. Susan checked the perimeter. Steve's devices flickered, signaling everything remained within predicted parameters.

Cain looked up. Dawn was breaking. Pale light touched the rooftops, but the alleys remained in shadows. The phantom would move again, eventually, but the city had already shifted. Its paths, its corridors, its escape routes were now his to manipulate.

He exhaled. Not relief. Not triumph. Observation. Calculation. Preparation.

The hunt had not ended. It had only begun again.

Cain's mind cataloged every move, every step, every pause of the phantom. By the time the city fully awoke, he would know everything about it. Every weakness. Every hesitation. Every instinct.

"City Z doesn't forgive mistakes," Cain murmured. No one responded. They didn't need to. He was the city in motion. They were extensions of him.

Steve adjusted his mask, blinking devices into life. "Next wave could come from multiple directions. Grid's picking up anomalies."

Cain nodded. He did not worry. Not yet. He waited. He had already seen the path. Already accounted for the mistakes the next wave would make.