CHAPTER 8: THE WAREHOUSE

35 Minutes Later – Grey Palmer Street

The abandoned textile mill loomed against the twilight sky, a skeletal mass of rusted metal and broken windows. The chain-link fence around it was cut, the lock hanging open. The air here was colder, smelling of stale water, mold, and something else—something metallic and wild.

We stood across the street, tucked into the shadow of a derelict auto shop. The team was in dark gear now, looking less like confused kids and more like… well, confused kids in tactical clothing. Emma had his hand in a sleek med-brace that Amy had fitted him with. It glowed softly, administering painkillers and bone-knitters.

Northstar gazed at the warehouse, his head tilted. “Guess we’re here. Doesn’t look as shady as I expected.”

Emma shot him a disbelieving look. “You kidding me? This is the exact description of a scary building in every horror movie ever. Abandoned warehouse, check. Creepy silence, check. Weird vibes, double-check.”

Classy was scanning the perimeter, his eyes sharp. “I thought we were going to meet someone here. Where is she?”

Northstar didn’t turn. “She’s been standing right in front of you. Glancing.”

We all looked. There was nothing but a pile of collapsed pallets and a puddle.

Then the puddle shimmered. The air above it twisted, and a girl simply stepped out of nowhere. One second empty space, the next, a person. She was about our age, with hair the color of cold ash and eyes that were a startling, pale violet. She wore practical black clothes, but they seemed to blend with the shadows around her.

She frowned at Northstar. “Why did you blow my cover, Shadowalker?”

Northstar finally looked at her. “First things first, your aura is almost like mine. It’s loud. And how do you know I’m the Shadowalker?”

The girl smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was a familiar, weary smile. “We’re both children of Lucifer. Different mothers, same cursed father. And you always spoil the fun out of everything because you have a vast amount of knowledge and zero patience for suspense.”

At the word “Lucifer,” the rest of us stiffened. Bryan’s hand sparked briefly.

Northstar—no, his posture shifted, his voice dropping into something smoother, older, laced with dark amusement. “Long time no see, Cara.”

The girl’s name was Cara. She gave a slight bow of her head. “It’s good to see you. Still the same old carefree guy.”

Classy, ever the one to break tension with sheer social obliviousness, stepped forward. “Sorry, but I’m…”

“I’m Cara,” she said, her violet eyes flicking to him. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Classy. It’s nice to meet your acquaintance.” He paused, then added with a hopeful grin, “Ummm, can we get ice cream later?”

A real smile, small and surprised, touched Cara’s lips. “Sure. I don’t mind at all.”

Classy’s grin widened. “Hope you don’t mind me hitting on your sister, perhaps?”

The Shadowalker’s presence receded, and Northstar’s more detached tone returned. He shrugged. “I don’t mind. Besides, she’s got her own life to live. We’re related by curse, not by choice.”

Emma was shifting from foot to foot, eyeing the warehouse. “Are we going to do this mission? This place has a weird vibe, and I don’t like it. It’s worse than the base.”

My comm crackled. Elliot’s voice came through. “Confirmed monster activity inside. Thermal shows multiple hostiles, no human heat signatures. Your objective is to clear the warehouse and identify the source of the manifestation. Cara will guide you to the epicenter.”

Shadowalker’s voice spoke over him, flat and sure. “No hostages. Eighteen anomalous life forms. And one… sinister figure lurking. Not human.”

Bryan cracked his knuckles, a fierce grin spreading across his face. “No hostages, huh? I can smash my way through without fear of hurting someone.”

Willz hefted his scythe. “So, what’s the plan?”

Classy looked at the warehouse, then at us. “Should we divide and conquer, or should we attack them with just one coordinated move?”

Bryan’s grin turned mischievous. “You guys are no fun, but I have a plan.”

Amy, who was linked in via comms, asked, “What is your plan?”

“It’s simple,” Bryan said, puffing out his chest. “Instead of staying here wasting time and planning, why don’t we…”

Shadowalker interrupted, a dry note in his voice. “Crazy idea coming with a good backup excuse.”

“…Attack without any strategy!” Bryan finished, triumphant.

Amy’s gasp was audible in all our earpieces. “What?!”

“I know it seems dumb,” Bryan said, undeterred. “Northstar, check the monsters’ IQ.”

Northstar’s eyes glazed over for a second. “They’re pack hunters. Instinctual. Not smart by human standards, but they coordinate through hive impulses.”

“Exactly!” Bryan said. “If we don’t have a plan, there’s no way they can predict us or coordinate against us! They work on patterns. We’ll be chaos! Besides, with Amy on comms and Cara here for the first time in combat with us, I don’t think our teamwork will be perfect anyway. So why don’t we rely on our special skills to help each other on the fly, rather than sticking to a script that falls apart in five seconds?”

Emma pouted. “I don’t mind being on the sidelines. I can be the moral support.”

Bryan shook his head. “Quiet, Emma. I know what’s best for you.”

Northstar stared at Bryan for a long moment. The rest of us waited. Finally, he smirked. It was a rare, genuine expression of amusement. “You know what? It’s so stupid it might work against simple-minded beasts. I’ll give this plan a try.”

Cara’s thoughts, clear as if she’d spoken them, brushed against my own perception: Shadowalker listening and not suggesting a plan? Hmm. You’ve changed a lot since that day.

Bryan whooped. “So, what are we waiting for? Let’s go and kick some ass!”

Inside the Warehouse

Chaos. That was the only word for it.

Bryan’s “no-plan plan” worked for about thirty seconds. Then it devolved into pure, unadulterated chaos.

The interior was a cathedral of decay. Rusted machinery cast long shadows in the light filtering through broken roof panels. The monsters were… wrong. They looked like boars, but their skin was scaled and glistening, their tusks dripping with a saliva that smoked where it hit the concrete. Their eyes were milky white, blind but somehow tracking us.

Bryan was in his element, launching fireballs and laughing maniacally as he kited three of them around a giant, dead loom. “C’MON, UGLIES! RIGHT HERE!”

Emma was living his worst nightmare. He was sprinting around the perimeter of the vast space like a cartoon character, a single, particularly relentless boar-monster snorting and squealing as it chased him. “HELP! AHHHHHHH! IT WANTS TO EAT MY LEGS!”

Cara had gone still just inside the entrance. Her violet eyes were wide, unfocused. She was breathing fast, her hands trembling. She was having a vision—a psionic trance. She was useless in a fight, completely vulnerable.

Northstar sighed. He was, once again, not in the thick of it. He’d summoned a comfortable armchair—where does he get these?—and was sitting in a relatively clear corner. But when he saw Cara’s state, he waved a hand. A dome of shimmering dark energy, like polished obsidian, snapped into existence around her, protecting her while she was catatonic.

Classy was having a different problem. He’d cornered one of the creatures near a stack of rotting fabric bales. He had his hand raised, ready to dismantle it, but he was hesitating. “It’s… it’s alive,” he muttered, conflict written on his face. “It’s a living thing. It’s just… twisted.”

Mello and Willz had formed an efficient, silent partnership. Mello, his sketchbook clutched tight, would quickly draw a weapon—a spear, a net, a cluster of caltrops. It would materialize, and Willz would use it in tandem with his scythe, creating brutal combos. They were holding their own, but they were being pushed back toward a wall.

I was trying to support Bryan, using concentrated fire streams to sear the creatures’ legs, but there were too many. They kept coming from side rooms, from under collapsed catwalks.

Bryan, after blasting one into a wall, looked over and saw Northstar sitting in his chair, watching. His rage boiled over.

“YOU KNOW WHAT?” he screamed, his voice echoing. “I’M TIRED OF FIGHTING BATTLES I CAN’T WIN! AND ARE YOU EATING WHILE WE RISK OUR LIVES FIGHTING THESE BEASTS?” He gestured at Northstar’s empty hands.

Northstar looked at his own hands, then back at Bryan. “No. I’m conserving energy. Is there a problem?”

“OF COURSE, THERE’S A PROBLEM!” Bryan dodged a charging beast. “YOU’RE SITTING DOWN HERE, WATCHING US FIGHT FOR OUR LIVES WHEN YOU KNOW YOU CAN END THEM EASILY WITHOUT A SCRATCH!”

Northstar shrugged. “I thought you wanted to finally enjoy a real battle. To test your ‘no-plan’ strategy.”

“I WANTED TO WIN!” Bryan roared, unleashing a wave of fire that forced two monsters back. “PLEASE, JUST GET RID OF THEM ALREADY!”

Northstar looked at him. Then at Classy, struggling with his conscience. At Emma, running for his life. At Mello and Willz, tiring. At Cara, trapped in a waking nightmare.

“Fine,” he said, as if agreeing to take out the trash.

He didn’t stand up. He simply snapped his fingers.

The air in the warehouse tore open. Not a portal to somewhere else, but a window. Through it, we could see a bizarre, alien landscape—purple sky, jagged crystal trees, and moving shapes that were far, far larger than the boar-things.

A brilliant, hungry light shone from that landscape.

The boar-monsters stopped. They sniffed the air, their milky eyes turning toward the portal. They seemed confused, then intrigued. One took a step toward it.

Then, as if a dinner bell had rung, dozens of thin, whip-like tendrils shot out from the portal. They wrapped around the nearest monster and yanked it, squealing, into the alien world. The others, driven by some primal panic, tried to run, but the tendrils were everywhere. One by one, the eighteen monsters were snatched, dragged through the window, which snapped shut with a sound like a thunderclap.

The warehouse was suddenly, deafeningly quiet, except for our ragged breathing.

Bryan stared at the spot where the portal had been. “Holy…”

“Hey,” Mello said, pointing. “You forgot one.”

In the far corner, one last boar-creature cowered, having been hidden behind a generator. It was smaller than the others, trembling.

Shadowalker’s voice filled the space, deeper and resonant. “I know. Classy. That one is all yours.”

Classy looked from the terrified creature to where Shadowalker’s voice seemed to emanate. “I… I can’t. Not like this. It’s scared.”

“You could have killed all of them,” the voice boomed, not unkindly, but with immense pressure. “But a bond is still holding you back. A sympathy for life. Even twisted life. Sever that bond and become the badass superhero you’ve always wanted to be!”

Classy clenched his fists. “But I don’t know what’s holding me back! Maybe if I say what my problem is, I’ll be able to solve it.”

“You’re too weak-hearted,” Shadowalker stated, matter-of-factly. “You still feel emotions and sympathy for a monster that wants to kill you. And let me just boost your spirit—it’s not human. It’s a construct. A puppet of festering energy given flesh. It feels no pain, only hunger. You would be granting it mercy.”

Classy’s eyes hardened. The conflict drained from his face, replaced by cold resolve. “You just gave me the right answer.”

He walked toward the cowering creature. It bared its tusks, but the threat was feeble. Classy didn’t touch it. He simply looked at it, held out his hand, and made a gentle squeezing motion.

The creature didn’t scream. It just… compacted. Its form collapsed in on itself with a soft crunch, folding and compressing until all that was left on the filthy concrete was a smooth, grey pebble.

At that exact moment, Cara woke up.

She didn’t just open her eyes. She jolted awake as if electrocuted, a scream ripping from her throat that was pure, unadulterated terror. The protective dome around her shattered like glass. She fell to her hands and knees, gasping, her violet eyes wide with a horror so deep it chilled my blood.

Shadowalker was at her side instantly, his chair gone. “Cara. What’s wrong? What did you see?”

Cara looked up at him, tears streaming down her face, her voice a ragged whisper. “Dracula… he’s on…”

She never finished.

There was a rush of air, a blur of movement too fast to follow, and a man stood in the center of the warehouse.

He was tall, gaunt, dressed in an anachronistic black coat that flowed around him. His skin was pale as moonlight, his hair dark as a raven’s wing. His eyes were a deep, soul-sucking crimson. He held an air of ancient, terrible elegance.

He smiled, revealing elongated canines.

“My apologies for the interruption,” he said, his voice a smooth, accented baritone. “But I couldn’t let the party end without making an appearance.”

Before anyone could react, he moved. Not super-speed—this was something else. He teleported in a flicker of shadow, appearing right behind Amy, who was covering us from the doorway.

His hand shot out, gripping her shoulder. She gasped, turning.

“A pretty one,” Dracula murmured. And he bit down.

Amy’s scream tore through the warehouse, a sound of shock and agony. He held her for a second, then let her crumple to the ground, two puncture wounds on her neck already weeping dark blood.

Time froze.

Bryan’s face went from shock to a rage so profound the air around him burst into flames. “AMY!”

Dracula wiped a drop of blood from his lip, his smile widening. “A vintage with… surprising spark.” He looked at the rest of us. “A gift from my master. We’ll meet again, children of chaos.”

He dissolved into a flock of shrieking bats that exploded outward, shattering the remaining windows as they vanished into the night.

Bryan was already at Amy’s side, pulling her into his lap. Her skin was deathly pale, already cooling. “No, no, no, no… Amy! Stay with me!” He looked up, his eyes wild, blazing with fire and tears. “WE NEED TO GET HER BACK NOW! SHE’S HURT REAL BAD!”

Shadowalker didn’t speak. His face was a mask of grim understanding. He simply raised both hands and ripped a portal open in the middle of the air—this one showed the familiar white corridor of our med-bay.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Bryan whispered, his voice breaking as he gathered Amy up. “Everything will be alright. I promise.”

He ran through the portal, clutching Amy to his chest.

Shadowalker looked at the rest of us, his black eyes meeting each of ours. “Come. Now.”

We didn’t need telling twice. We ran after Bryan, leaving the silent, blood-spattered warehouse behind.

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