The first thing Ren felt wasn't pain—it was the vibration. A wet, rhythmic grinding sound traveled up the bone of his right leg, vibrating against his hip. He forced his heavy eyelids open. The sky was a cruel, amber, and the sun was a golden hammer beating down on the bank’s interior.

  [STATUS: SHADOW WEIGHT PASSIVE TRIGGERED]

  [HP: 8/17]

  [HP: 7/17...]

  He looked down. Two Level 1 Scavenger Lynxes—mangy, feline-like creatures with elongated fangs—were latched onto his right boot and ankle. One was gnawing on the reinforced leather of his heel, while the other had found the soft flesh of his calf, its teeth sinking in with a sickening squelch.

  Ren tried to kick. His leg felt like it was encased in ten tons of lead. He tried to reach for his ceramic shard, but his arm wouldn't even lift from the creature’s gore-slicked meat. He was Level 4. He was the "Slayer of the Vault." And he was being eaten alive by the lowest-tier trash in the city because the sun refused to let him move.

  Is this it? Ren thought, a hysterical bubble of laughter trapped in his chest. Kill a god, die to a stray cat because I’m too heavy to exist.

  He watched his HP bar tick down again. [5/17]. The Lynxes were getting bolder, their growls turning into hungry purrs as they realized the "statue" wasn't going to fight back. One of them pivoted, preparing to leap for his throat. Ren stared into its yellow eyes, his indigo vision fading as the blood loss from the gnawing combined with the previous night's impalement.

  Then, the world blurred.

  A flash of steel whistled through the air. The Lynx at his throat didn't even have time to shriek before Chloe’s flaming sword bifurcated its skull, the speed-buffed girl appearing like a vengeful spirit.

  But the second Lynx was already leaping. Before it could land on Chloe, a sharp, concussive pop echoed through the hall. An invisible hammer—a concentrated burst of atmospheric pressure—slammed into the creature’s ribs, mid-air. It didn't just fall; it was launched ten feet away, its chest cavity caving inward. A second pop followed instantly, a focused needle of air piercing the creature’s brain as it hit the floor.

  Ren’s eyes shifted to the edge of the mound. Mel was standing there, her mic stand held like a rifle, her chest heaving. A faint shimmer of distorted air lingered around the tip of the metal pole.

  [SKILL: AIR SHOT (ACTIVE)]

  "Well, well," Mel said, her voice shaking despite her attempt at sarcasm. She didn't look at the Lynxes; she looked at the colossal, hollowed-out carcass Ren was sitting in. "I go through all the trouble of mourning you, and I find you letting the local wildlife use you as a chew toy. You’re ghost, Lexington. Act like it."

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  Chloe didn't say anything. She dropped to her knees beside Ren, her hands hovering over his blood-soaked clothes, afraid to touch him. She was shaking so violently that her teeth were chattering. "Ren," she whispered, her voice breaking into a sob. "You idiot. You absolute, reckless idiot."

  "Chloe... get me... out of the light," Ren rasped.

  Mel stepped forward, tucking her mic stand away. "Alright, Ghost. Let's get you home. I’ve got the muscles, you've got the—" She reached down to hook her arms under Ren’s shoulders, but the moment she pulled, her knees buckled. "What the hell?! What are you made of, collapsed stars?"

  "Shadow Weight," Ren groaned. "Sun hits me... I weigh... ten times more."

  "Great. Fantastic. You’re literally plastered to this thing's back," Mel grumbled.

  The next hour was a grueling exercise in desperation. Chloe and Mel had to grab Ren’s arms, effectively dragging his massive, heavy body across the marble floor of the bank like a piece of industrial machinery. Every inch was a struggle. They had to stay in the long shadows cast by the pillars, moving him in short, exhausting bursts.

  The moment they crossed the threshold of Mel’s building—entering the cool, sunless gloom of the lobby—the "Weight" evaporated.

  Ren gasped as the crushing pressure on his joints vanished. He stood up, his legs shaky but functional. He didn't even have time to steady himself before Chloe was on him.

  She didn't start with the hug. She started with a punch.

  It caught him right in the solar plexus. Because of his [PAIN NULLIFICATION], he didn't feel the sting, but the force of it sent the wind screaming out of his lungs.

  [HP: 3/17]

  Chloe buried her face in his chest, her small fists still clenched against his shirt. She was crying—hard, ugly sobs that soaked into the blood-stained fabric. She didn't say a word of forgiveness. She didn't ask if he was okay. She just held on as if the world would end if she let go.

  Mel stood by the stairwell, leaning on her mic stand with a knowing, tired smile. "She thought she was going to be burying a body today, ghost. That punch was three hours of grief finally finding a target." She jerked her thumb toward the stairs. "Up. 12th floor. We’ve got company coming—I can hear the the other monsters scrambling. They know the Level 8 wraith is dead. They’ll be here by sunset."

  The 12th-floor camp was silent for a long time. Ren sat in the lounge chair, his arm bandaged with Mel’s salvaged cloth, his HP slowly recovering as he ate a piece of the "Wraith Meat" Mel had insisted on carving out.

  Chloe sat by the window, staring at the bank, her back turned to him. The anger in the room was thick enough to choke on.

  "I had to do it, Chloe," Ren said, his voice quiet. "The Watchers would have taken the substation. If I didn't kill the Wraith, we’d have been caught between a Level 8 and a player war for the monolith. This was the only way to clear the board."

  Chloe didn't turn around. Her shoulders remained stiff, her silence a wall he couldn't climb.

  "So," Mel cut in, leaning against a filing cabinet. "Now that the domestic dispute is on intermission... let's talk about the room at the inn."

  Ren looked up. "The inn?"

  "The Lexington substation," Mel said, her playful tone gone. "I want in. I’m asking for a slot in your Monolith team."

  Ren narrowed his eyes. "You’ve spent four days telling me how much you love your 'private concert' up here. Why the change of heart?"

  "Look at the street, Ren, was it?" Mel said, gesturing to the bank. "The Wraith was my landlord. It was a monster, sure, but it was a monster that ate everyone else. It kept the 'wolves' away from my door. Now that it’s dead? There’s a power vacuum. Every Level 2 and 3 predator in this district is going to be sniffing around that carcass tonight. And then they’re going to look up and see the light from my fire."

  She gripped her mic stand tighter. "I can handle a few Lynxes. I can’t handle a siege. Without the Wraith to guard the street, I’m just meat in a glass box."

  "Yes," Chloe said suddenly, turning around. Her eyes were still red, but her voice was firm. "She stays with us."

  Ren looked from Chloe to Mel. He couldn't deny the logic. Mel’s hearing was a strategic asset they couldn't afford to lose, and her [Air Shot] proved she could hold her own. "Trial basis," Ren said finally. "You listen to my calls. No questions. The moment you start looking for a 'better pull' with another group, you’re out."

  Mel let out a breath she had been holding, a lopsided grin returning to her face. "Deal. It’s not the first time I’ve joined a band, Ghost. Just try to keep the suicide missions to a monthly schedule, okay?"

  Ren didn't smile. He looked at his stomach—the wound from the mahogany table arm now sealed from his [SYPHON] only noticeable through a fresh scar, a dark, pulsing network of veins that seemed to glow under his skin.

  "We have three days until the War," Ren said. "Tomorrow is the day the watchers come, I suggest we go hunting tonight. If they're gonna take that monolith, we gotta make them earn for it."