They emerged from the sewers near Clawdiff’s riverfront, coughing into the cool night air as the stink of sugar rot and stagnant water gave way—barely—to rain, smoke, and the metallic tang of the city.

The river beside them was choked with bloated candy-zombie corpses, their warped bodies bobbing against the embankment and drifting lazily beneath the bridges, carried by the sluggish black water toward the heart of the capital. Pink froth clung to the stone walls. Broken wrappers, snapped bones, and sugarglass limbs knocked softly against the piers with every ripple. It looked less like a river now and more like the city itself was trying to spit out the dead.

Survivors who had stumbled free of the sewers did not stay together for long. Some fled at once, vanishing into alleys, across cracked roads, and into the dark skeleton of Clawdiff beyond, desperate to find family, shelter, or simply someplace to hide. But the hybrids and mythics lingered close together near the riverbank, uncertain and shaken, as though the open city was somehow more frightening than the tunnels beneath it. Their eyes kept drifting toward the skyline and then back to one another, each silently asking the same question.

Where now?

The gang, however, was still buzzing with the impossible thrill of survival.

They had done it.

Mandibite—the centipede horror, one of the candy zombie generals—was dead.

That truth crackled between them like live current, half disbelief and half exhilaration. Even filthy, bruised, and stinking of sewer muck, they carried themselves differently now. A little straighter. A little louder. Like victory, however small, had put breath back into their lungs.

Lumina stayed close at Celeste’s side as they climbed the last slick steps from the tunnel mouth, her small hand wrapped tightly around Celeste’s, as though letting go might make any of this vanish. Celeste squeezed back without thinking, her own fingers shaking with leftover adrenaline.

Then—

“Celeste!”

Carys came bolting toward her, nearly tripping over a broken bit of pipe in her haste before throwing her arms around her.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re alright!”

Celeste blinked, startled by the force of the hug, then gave a faint, tired smile and patted her awkwardly on the back.

“Told you I would be.” She hesitated, lowering her eyes. “Well… to be honest, I didn’t know that. But I tried my best.”

Carys pulled back just enough to look her over, as though checking for missing limbs. “You absolute maniac.”

Cosmo stepped up behind her, brushing grime from his coat. His golden mane had lost most of its shine under the sewer dust, and there was a tear in one sleeve, but he still carried himself with the same easy confidence.

“I’ll take the other mythics back to the industrial estate,” he said. “There may be survivors hiding there. But don’t worry—I’ll put in a good word for your crew.”

Carys glanced toward the distant skyline, her ears flicking nervously. In the distance, Clawdiff loomed like some wounded mechanical cathedral, its gothic towers and iron-ribbed bridges lit in pieces by flickering wardlights and failing streetlamps.

“While you were gone,” she said carefully, “some of the pipes around Clawdiff burst. Council droids started showing up… and a carriage wasn’t far behind them.”

Pitch straightened at once, Lady Luck resting against his shoulder. His eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his hat.

“A council carriage?” His voice dipped lower. “That’s only for real high-ups.” He glanced toward the city with visible distaste. “So it’s serious.”

Celeste bit her lip.

“Should we check it out?”

Arcade nearly dropped his tool pack.

He whipped around so fast a spark snapped from one of his quills. “Are you kidding me?” he demanded. “We just risked our necks fighting a centipede nightmare in a sewer of weaponised confectionery, and your first thought is to go poke our noses into council business?”

“Sounds exactly like her first thought,” Ray muttered.

Cosmo gave a short whistle, gathering the survivors who had followed him up from the tunnels.

“Right then,” he said. “We’ll head back to the industrial estate. If the Council’s sniffing around, we don’t want stragglers caught in the middle.” His gaze flicked back to Celeste, softening for just a second. “Stay sharp. And… thank you.”

The mythics began to melt back into the night with him, ushering the others away from the riverfront in small nervous groups. Soon only the Knights and a few close allies remained on the cracked roadside.

Carys wrung her paws together and looked between Celeste and the looming city.

“If you’re really thinking of chasing that carriage, I’ll… stay here,” she said. “I can guard the car. Make sure we still have a way out if this all goes wrong.”

“Good call,” Arcade muttered, rubbing both temples. “Finally. Someone with a functioning survival instinct.”

Ray hefted her hammer onto her shoulder and smirked.

“Oh, come on, Static. When have we ever chosen survival instinct? Where’s the fun in that?”

Mezzo barked a laugh, his accent thickening with amusement.

“Aye, Ray’s got the right of it. Council droids, carriages, high-ups—smells like trouble to me.” He flashed a grin. “And I do love trouble.”

Pitch rolled his eyes and thumbed a fresh shell into his shotgun.

“Brilliant. We’re about to go spy on the deadliest politicians in the city and you’re treating it like a pub crawl.”

“Not my fault your sense of humour died with your fashion sense,” Mezzo shot back, flicking his dog tags with theatrical offense.

Pitch gave him a look. “At least I don’t wear shorts to a gunfight.”

Lumina timidly raised her free hand, still clinging to Celeste with the other.

“Um… I think we should go too,” she said softly. “If we don’t look, then we won’t know what they’re hiding. And if we don’t know, then maybe it’ll sneak up on us later and…” She flushed, fumbling over the rest of it. “And that would be worse hmmm.”

Celeste tapped her fingers anxiously against her sleeves, then nodded.

“She’s right. If the Council’s here, it means something big. We can’t just walk away from that—not after everything.”

Arcade tipped his head back and groaned at the sky.

“Why do I even bother? Fine. Fine! We’ll check it out. But when we all end up in tiny council-approved coffins, remember this exact moment where I said don’t.”

Mezzo grinned and slapped him on the back hard enough to jolt his whole pack.

“Knew you’d come around, Static!”

Lumina perked up at once. “Static! Static! Static!”

Arcade let out a long sigh that sounded suspiciously like his soul leaving his body.

Pitch snapped his shotgun shut.

“Right then. Let’s get this over with.”

Ray rolled one shoulder and grinned. “About time. Let’s go kick the wasp’s nest.”

Carys leaned against the car door, watching them gather themselves.

“You’re all insane,” she muttered under her breath.

But her eyes stayed on Celeste a moment longer, full of worry and pride in equal measure.

Hughes let out a grunt as he adjusted his cane and rolled a stiff shoulder.

“Aye, you lot go on ahead,” he said. “That last scrap did my knees in, and someone’s got to keep the lass company anyway.” He jerked his chin toward Carys. “I’ll hold the fort here and radio Bracer. Let him know you’re all still in one piece. More or less.”

Celeste opened her mouth like she meant to protest, but Hughes cut her off with a pointed look.

“Don’t fret. I’ve fought my wars. This is yours. Off you go, before the wasp finds a proper sting.”

Celeste gave him a small, sheepish nod. “Thank you… really.”

He waved the gratitude away. “Don’t thank me till you’re back alive.”

So they left the riverfront behind, stepping from the stink of the sewers into the hollow streets of Clawdiff.

The city spread around them in all its eerie grandeur—towering gothic facades stitched with glowing mana lines, wrought-iron bridges, cracked tram rails, and gaslamps struggling against the dark. Beyond the central skyline, barriers shimmered faintly around the cathedral-like council district, pale and cold as moonlit glass. Somewhere high above, hidden behind steel spires and smoke, something vast still watched the city breathe.

The gang crept along sugar-slick streets, weapons humming faintly with residual mana.

Then—

gunfire cracked through the air.

Ahead, a high-tech carriage—sleek and plated in gilded steel, its sides etched with glowing conduits—had been brought to a halt in the middle of the road. Council soldiers in polished armour fought desperately around it as wave after wave of candy zombies surged from alleys and shattered shopfronts.

Their rifles spat bright beams, dropping the first few monsters cleanly.

It wasn’t enough.

The swarm only thickened.

One soldier vanished under a snapping tide of gummy wolves. Another was dragged screaming from the steps. The whole street had become a kill-box of sugar teeth and splintered light.

Then one of the carriage windows shattered outward.

A black-smoke Maine Coon leaned through the opening, cloak torn, a tech-flintlock pistol blazing in her paw. Every shot rang with authority. Every movement screamed training, lineage, command.

But the sharpness in her eyes told the truth.

They were losing.

Mezzo’s jaw dropped.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. “That is a Council ride. The fancy kind. What the feck’s it doing out here?”

Ray froze, her hammer only half-summoned now.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, voice turning hard. “That’s Council. We use mana in front of them, we don’t get medals—we get flogged.”

Arcade adjusted his glasses, expression flat with disbelief.

“Yes, because if the undead eat them, I’m sure they’ll politely pause mid-bite to file the paperwork.”

Celeste stared.

She could see the soldiers dropping one by one. Hear the panic in their commands. See the carriage shaking under claw strikes and candy-coated jaws.

Her chest tightened.

“We can’t just watch this,” she whispered.

Ray rounded on her. “They wouldn’t save us. They see hybrids using mana, we’re dead anyway. Think, Celeste.”

Another soldier screamed.

The Maine Coon fired again. The pistol roared. A zombie’s head burst into pink shards—

then three more took its place.

Celeste’s throat bobbed. Her fists trembled.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and stepped forward. “But I can’t.”

Then she moved.

She burst from cover in a streak of motion, twin katanas snapping into her hands as ribbons of light flared alive behind her.

“Celeste!” Ray shouted, fury and disbelief tangling in her voice. “You’re out of your mind!”

Mezzo dragged both paws through his hair.

“Feck me sideways, she’s really doing it—alright then, let’s go!”

He charged after her, guitar blazing with a discordant chord that tore through a knot of sugar mice in a burst of sound.

Arcade sighed the sigh of a man being betrayed by mathematics itself.

“Every statistical model ends in catastrophe,” he muttered, following anyway. “And yet here I am.”

CHIP unfolded beside him with a bright, cheerful beep, shifting into combat mode.

Skye swallowed hard, slid a card into his launcher, and glanced once toward Lumina.

“Fine,” he said. “But if I pull the wrong summon, it’s not my fault.”

Ray cursed and surged after them, hammer flaring violet.

“You’re all suicidal,” she snapped. “Idiots. Absolute idiots.”

Together, the gang crashed into the swarm—blades, hammers, riffs, cards, bullets, and hardlight colliding against sugar-flesh and bone.

Celeste vaulted onto the carriage step in a spray of crystal shards, cutting down the nearest zombie with a flash of silver.

She turned, breathless—

and found herself face-to-face with the woman inside.

Caedrix Umbranox Arcturus.

The Matron of Sight sat in the carriage with her pistol still smoking in one paw. For once, the cold authority in her sharp eyes gave way to something rarer.

Surprise.

She said nothing.

She simply stared.

And Celeste, covered in sewer filth and zombie sugar, stood between one of the most powerful women in Caerfaen and the horde outside, blades crossed, ready to defend the very last person she had ever imagined protecting.