God Ash: Remnants of the fallen.

The night thickened around them, and Cain moved like a shadow through the alleyways, his senses tuned to the smallest anomaly. Every step of Susan's, every silent glide of Hunter, was a note in a symphony only Cain could hear.

Ahead, the phantom—or what they had been calling it—moved with deliberate care, miscalculating its path by a mere half-step. Cain noted it, committing the error to memory. Mistakes like that weren't insignificant; they were invitations.

"Position yourselves," Cain whispered. His voice carried no fear, only the weight of inevitability. Susan took the street corner, letting her presence bleed into the night. A flicker of torchlight from a distant building caught the edge of her cloak. Already, Cain could see it—the watcher adjusting its path to intercept, unaware it was being funneled.

Hunter melted into the shadows across the opposite side, silent as stone, ready to observe, record, and, if necessary, eliminate. The city became a chessboard, every alley a square, every step a calculated risk.

Steve crouched behind a pile of crates, fingers flying over his devices. A soft hum, almost imperceptible, ran through the alley as small mechanical eyes began blinking, casting faint red dots into the dark. They were lies and signals, warnings and threats, all twisted just enough to mislead the phantom.

Cain smiled faintly, a predator's grin. "They think they are controlling the chase," he murmured. "But we are the currents beneath their feet."

The phantom hesitated at a crossroads, weighing the paths. Its head tilted slightly, a gesture Cain had cataloged as uncertainty. A moment of hesitation, enough for Susan to make a small, deliberate noise—dropping a pebble against the cobblestone. The sound rang just enough to draw attention.

The hunter's prey began to move again, stepping toward Susan's position, oblivious to Hunter lurking on the other side. Cain's pulse didn't quicken; he didn't need it to. Everything was happening exactly as he had anticipated.

From the shadows, Hunter observed the two approaching figures—a miscommunication between cells, nerves stretched thin. They hadn't realized they were walking straight into the corridor Cain had chosen for the first trap.

"Now," Cain whispered.

Susan leaned slightly forward, her figure catching a glint of moonlight. The phantom froze, trying to recalibrate. But Cain had already counted its steps, its rhythm, its expectations. Every movement it thought was its own had been predicted.

Hunter struck first—a silent, precise motion, incapacitating the nearest figure before it could call a warning. The second faltered, eyes wide, realizing too late that they had been played. Cain stepped forward from the shadows, a calm storm in motion.

"Welcome to the game," he said quietly. His gaze swept the alley, locking on the phantom's retreating shadow. "You've been guided. But the hands that guide you are mine."

Steve laughed softly behind him, the hiss of his gadgets mingling with the distant sounds of confusion. "And this is only the beginning."

Cain exhaled, letting the tension drain slightly from his shoulders. The first blood had been drawn without unnecessary noise, without exposing their true strength. The phantom had been baited, the traps set, and the game moved forward.

The City of Monsters slept fitfully, unaware that in its veins, Cain's current now ran stronger, unseen, and lethal.

The night was far from over.

***

By the time the first hints of dawn bled into the city, Cain had already shifted positions twice, guiding Hunter and Susan through narrow corridors and abandoned rooftops. Every footstep was calculated; every shadow accounted for. The phantom—or what remained of its scouts—had vanished into the deeper alleys, but Cain knew better than to believe they were gone entirely.

"They'll come back," Susan said quietly, her voice threading through the morning chill. "And stronger."

"They always do," Cain replied, eyes scanning the streets below. His gaze lingered on the market district, where shutters hung crooked and the scent of rot lingered stubbornly. "And when they do, they'll step right where we want them."

Hunter adjusted the strap of his crossbow, silent and watchful. "We can't let them spread chaos unchecked. Even small errors can cascade."

Cain nodded, already moving toward the edge of a rooftop. The city's expanse stretched below them—a labyrinth of narrow alleys, crooked buildings, and hidden courtyards. Each line of sight, each potential path of approach, had been mapped in his mind. He had already begun layering false leads, hints, and traps.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Roselle appear behind a water tower, twin blades strapped to her back, her stance poised and ready. She didn't speak; she never needed to. Her presence alone sharpened the tension, a silent reminder of the strike they could unleash at any moment.

Cain crouched low, letting the wind carry the faintest shift of sound. Somewhere below, a lone figure moved between the stalls—a scout, testing, looking for patterns. Cain traced its route in his mind, following its gaze and counting the steps. It would lead them to the trap he had already set.

"Everything in place?" he asked, voice low, more a statement than a question.

Hunter's nod was precise. Susan's lips pressed into a thin line, anticipation written across her features. Roselle's gaze didn't waver. They were all extensions of him in this moment, parts of the same lethal equation.

Cain exhaled slowly, feeling the subtle pull of the city beneath his boots, the heartbeat of a place that would either obey him or break under his control. "Then we wait," he said. "And when they move, we strike—not with fury, but with certainty."

A flicker of motion in the distance caught his attention. Cain's lips curved slightly, a predator's grin. The phantom had returned, drawn to the bait exactly as predicted.

"Begin," he whispered.

And in the silent streets of the City of Monsters, the first wave of their chess game commenced, invisible lines pulling taut, corners hiding strikes that no one could see coming.

The hunt had begun.

The phantom moved, unaware it had stepped into Cain's trap.