The air shifted as Shen entered the tunnels, damp and thick with the scent of stale water and decay. The underground was silent except for the faint echoes of distant whispers and the drip of water from above. The walls were jagged, old stone—sweating with moisture—and the ceiling arched low, forcing him to stoop.
Kaela Vren walked ahead of him, her steps light and calculated. Shen followed without a word, the hunger gnawing at the back of his mind as the Blood Qi swirled, urging him to take what was rightfully his. His pulse throbbed in his ears, sharp and constant.
She didn't just move with purpose—she moved like someone who was born in darkness and molded by it. Her long black hair spilled loosely down her back, catching shadows like silk, and her icy blue eyes gleamed whenever the light caught them, cool and unreadable. She was beautiful in a way that felt distant—untouchable.
They stopped at a heavy door made of rusted metal and reinforced wood. A makeshift barricade, marked with scratches and strange glyphs.
"Wait here," Kaela said, her voice cold as steel. "I'll talk to them. See if they'll let you in."
Shen leaned against the damp wall, arms crossed. He didn't trust this place, or her—but he respected her instincts. There was strength beneath her calm. A kind of survival that didn't rely on luck.
She returned after a long moment, her expression unreadable.
"They'll let you in. But don't get any ideas. We're not a charity."
Shen gave a faint smirk and stepped through the door.
The room beyond was dim, lit by flickering electric lanterns strung across the ceiling. The air was musty, heavy with sweat and ash. Roughly a dozen survivors lingered inside—some sitting near a fire barrel, others crouched against walls, weapons nearby. All wore the same haggard, wary expression: the look of people who had lost more than they could count.
A stocky man with a scar across his cheek stepped forward. His broad frame suggested leadership, but his eyes were colder than most.
"Who's this?" he asked, glancing at Kaela.
"Name's Shen," she said without hesitation. "He survived topside alone. Killed three rift beasts by himself. Could be useful."
The man's gaze narrowed, studying Shen.
"Useful, huh? We'll see." He turned to Shen. "Name's Darric. I run things down here. We've got rules. Don't break them."
Shen remained silent, simply nodding once.
Another voice, older and sharper, came from a woman near the fire. "We don't need another mouth to feed, Darric. Last one didn't make it a week."
Darric raised a hand, silencing her without turning. "If he can survive topside, he can handle a supply run. That's tonight."
Kaela stepped beside Shen. "I'll go with him."
Darric eyed her with a flicker of annoyance. "You sure? He's not your responsibility."
Kaela's eyes remained locked on Shen. "He's mine to watch."
The statement lingered in the air like a veiled threat or a quiet promise.
Later, as they walked through the deeper tunnels, Shen finally spoke.
"What's your story?"
Kaela didn't turn to him. "Everyone down here has a story. Most of them end in blood."
"I'm not most people."
That made her glance at him—briefly.
"I can see that."
Her gaze lingered a second longer before flicking forward again. "I used to be from one of the clean zones. A walled haven. Safe. Predictable. Until it wasn't."
"Monsters breached the walls?"
"No. People did."
That silenced Shen. He didn't ask further.
When they emerged into the night again, the air was thicker, more hostile. The red hue of the sky twisted above, casting a bloody glow across the broken streets.
Darric led them toward the remains of an old marketplace—a half-collapsed district known to have hidden caches. But as they advanced, the scent changed. The air was wrong.
Shen's instincts flared. Kaela's shoulders stiffened at the same moment.
"We're being watched," she muttered.
Then came the sound—low, guttural. Not a roar. Not a growl.
A laugh.
Shen's eyes darted toward the source, but it was already too late. Shadows lunged from the buildings—creatures with crimson eyes and jagged claws.
The fight was brutal.
Shen moved with grim efficiency, his body guided by hunger and the whispers of the Blood Qi Manual. Each kill fed something inside him. Not just strength—but clarity. Like the world became slower, his enemies easier to read.
Kaela fought beside him, agile and precise, using two short knives like an assassin. Her movements were clean, controlled—every strike calculated. She wasn't just a survivor.
She was a predator.
And Shen liked that.
As the last beast fell, silence reclaimed the night.
Darric, wounded but alive, nodded at Shen.
"You earned your place."
But Shen wasn't listening. He was watching Kaela—her chest rising with each breath, blood trickling down her cheek, her gaze distant as she wiped her blade clean.
There was something in her eyes—pain buried deep beneath the ice.
He didn't trust her.
But he understood her.
And that was enough—for now.
---