Chapter 9

  For a moment, no one spoke. The distant creak of the amusement park rides groaned through the silence, metal shifting as if something large had brushed past it far away. With Kelix guiding Finn forward, he kept his pace with the group despite the ominous thrumming in the air.

  Halvern was the first to break. "That doesn't make sense," he said, his voice tight, aloof. "If the Fenrir is not yours...it's outrageous! He's too far from his BoundPal."

  Kelix glanced back at him. "His what?"

  "His anchor," Halvern snapped, gesturing vaguely. "The bonded individual. The stabilizing presence. Every Soulbound monster needs proximity to their BoundPal to regulate aggression, cognition, emotional feedback."

  Damian nodded, still staring at Finn like the Fenrir had personally rewritten his textbooks. "Mr. Halvern's right. Distance degradation should have kicked in the moment Finn moved more than a few acres away."

  Celeste frowned. "Mine gets twitchy if I even leave the room."

  "Pollen hates it," Sheryl added. She hugged her purse closer to her chest as the small plant-creature peeked out, sensing her unease. "If I'm not nearby, she starts shaking. Her heart rate spikes, her photosynthesis goes erratic, and she meows in panic. I can't imagine leaving her behind like that."

  Pollen chirped softly, as if agreeing.

  Finn flicked an ear, clearly listening, but otherwise looked entirely unbothered.

  Halvern's gaze hardened as he looked back at Kelix. "So where is his BoundPal?"

  Kelix opened his mouth, then stopped.

  "…That's a good question," he said slowly. How would he know about Dariel's whereabouts? The guy traveled as a software engineer.

  Damian stared at him. "You don't know?"

  Kelix frowned. "I know who he is bound to. I just… didn't realize that was supposed to matter this much."

  Finn let out a low chuckle. "You wound me."

  "This is not normal," Halvern said flatly. "At this range, a Dominant-stage monster should be showing aggression bleed-through, loss of higher reasoning, or at the very least restlessness."

  Finn yawned, and Celeste pointed at him. "He looks like he rather take a nap."

  "That's what scares me," Damian said.

  Sheryl swallowed. "Finn," she said gently, "doesn't it bother you? Being away from the person you're bound to?"

  Finn turned his head toward her, expression thoughtful. His eyes flicked briefly to Kelix, then back.

  "No," he said. The answer landed heavier than expected.

  Damian's fingers tightened around his staff. "That's… impossible."

  "It's inconvenient sometimes. But not distressing," Finn elaborated.

  "That level of self-regulation shouldn't exist." Halvern glanced at his own companion. "Not without active suppression enchantments."

  Finn's gaze slid back to Kelix, something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Maybe I just have good manners."

  Kelix felt all eyes shift to him.

  "…What?" he asked.

  Damian hesitated. "Kelix," he said carefully, "how long have you been working with Finn?"

  Kelix thought back. The walks. The arguments. The way Finn listened, learned, teased, waited.

  "…A while," he said.

  Finn's ears twitched, pleased.

  Halvern's voice dropped. "Long enough for something to change."

  The distant sound echoed again through the park, closer this time. Heavy. Deliberate.

  Finn padded forward, steps faster and lighter, all humor draining from his posture. "Whatever's out there is about to stop sneaking."

  Kelix tightened his grip on the leash. Whatever rules governed Soulbound monsters, Finn clearly did not care for them. He gave the leash a tug, not forceful, just enough to draw Finn's attention.

  "Finn. Sniff it out."

  Finn did not move immediately. The Fenrir remained still, eyes unfocused, breath slow and measured. The silence stretched just long enough to be uncomfortable.

  Halvern's fingers twitched near his watch. "He's not going to—"

  Finn shifted. He lowered his head toward the cracked pavement. Frost mist spilled from his nostrils as he inhaled, then again. His posture changed subtly, predatory focus replacing idle confidence.

  "Oh," Celeste whispered. "He does listen."

  Finn lifted his head and turned toward the deeper end of the park, toward the collapsed food court and rusting rides beyond it.

  "That way," he said. "And it's fresh."

  A shiver ran through the group. Before anyone could respond, something small darted forward in a blur of green and pink.

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  "Wait—!" Sheryl gasped. Too late. Pollen zipped across the ground and skidded to a stop in front of Finn, peering up at him with wide, luminous eyes. The flower petal on her head flared brightly as she chirped excitedly.

  "You're really big," she said. "And cold! How do you not panic without your BoundPal nearby? What kind of bond do you have? Is it emotional or structural?"

  Finn blinked, but continued to look ahead. Then he lowered his head to better see her. "That's a lot of questions."

  Pollen nodded. "I'm very curious."

  Finn huffed a quiet laugh. "I can tell."

  Sheryl hurried over and scooped Pollen back into her purse, mortified. "I'm so sorry. She does that when she meets someone new."

  Finn straightened, unbothered. "She's polite. I like her."

  Pollen peeked out again, visibly pleased.

  Halvern cleared his throat sharply. "Enough. We move as a unit." He tapped his watch, and the construct dissolved back into light, compressing neatly into the device. His eyes never left Finn as he did so. "I'm not wasting resources unless I have to."

  Damian stepped closer to Kelix, lowering his voice. "That command," he said. "The tracking one. Does he always respond?"

  Kelix frowned. "Most of the time."

  "And attack commands?"

  Kelix looked at Finn.

  The Fenrir glanced back at him, one brow ridging slightly in amusement. "Depends," Finn said. "On whether I agree with them."

  Damian went pale. "…That's not how Zeldrimon bonds work."

  Kelix tightened his grip on the leash. "I know."

  Finn turned his attention back toward the darkened park, eyes gleaming. "Whatever you're hunting," he added, "it knows it's being followed now."

  Somewhere ahead, something answered with a low, grinding roar that rattled loose metal and sent birds scattering from the broken rooftops.

  Celeste's grin returned, sharp and eager. "Finally."

  Kelix stepped forward, the group falling in behind him without realizing when that had happened.

  Finn led them without another word.

  The park grew quieter the deeper they went, as if sound itself had learned to stay away. Their footsteps softened instinctively, boots crunching less against gravel, breaths drawn shallower.

  Finn slowed, and Kelix felt it immediately through the leash. Not resistance. Not defiance. Tension.

  They rounded the corner of a collapsed concession stand, and the smell hit them first. Blood. Reptilian musk. Something metallic beneath it, sharp and wrong. Bodies lay scattered across the cracked pavement.

  Lizardmen and crocoraptors. At least sixteen of them, sprawled in unnatural angles, scales split, weapons shattered. One had been crushed so thoroughly that Kelix could not tell where bone ended and stone began. Another lay half-embedded in a broken wall, ribs caved inward. There were no signs of struggle beyond that. No retreat. No mercy.

  Celeste swallowed. "They were wiped."

  Damian crouched, careful not to touch anything. "And not recently. Whatever did this wasn't hunting for food. There was intent to leave the victims' bodies in this condition—to prevent them from decaying into essence when defeated."

  "It was testing itself," Halvern deduced.

  Finn stopped completely.

  His body went rigid, every muscle locking at once. A low snarl crawled up his throat, deep and instinctive, the sound of a predator meeting something it did not want to name. Frost mist poured from his jaws in thick, uneven bursts.

  Kelix frowned. "Finn?"

  The Fenrir did not answer.

  He was shaking. Not from fear, Kelix realized. From restraint.

  The air shifted.

  Something stepped into view from between the skeletal remains of a ride, hooves clicking softly against the pavement. It was tall, taller than Finn at the shoulder, its silhouette framed by twisted steel and hanging lights.

  A magenta-and-black aura bled from its form like ink dropped into water, thick and oppressive, coiling outward in slow, deliberate waves. The colors did not mix so much as grind against one another, producing a pressure that made Kelix's teeth ache.

  It had horns, curved and ridged like polished obsidian. Its wings were torn and ragged, feathers missing in great swaths, the remains dragging uselessly behind it like trophies rather than injuries. Its lower half was that of a two-legged horse, powerful and scarred, muscles moving smoothly beneath dark hide. In its hands, it carried a long axe-staff, the blade nicked and stained, the shaft etched with symbols that pulsed faintly.

  Its eyes were goat-like. Intelligent. Measuring. Amused.

  "Well," the creature said, its voice smooth and cultured, carrying easily through the ruined park. "This is unexpected."

  Finn's snarl deepened, a warning layered with something older, something furious.

  The creature tilted its head, studying him. "Ah. A Dominant-tier Belfenfur," it mused. "Still leashed. How charming."

  Sheryl stumbled. Her knees buckled as if the ground had dropped out from under her, and she caught herself on one hand, the other clutching her chest. Her breath came fast and shallow, eyes wide and unfocused. Pollen in Sheryl's purse squealed in terror, burrowing deep into the fabric.

  "Sheryl," Celeste said sharply, reaching for her.

  "I—I can't breathe," Sheryl gasped. "It's—its aura is suffocating—it's a devil!" She screamed into Celeste's chest as if seeking refuge from the crushing weight of the presence before them.

  "Yes—no!" Damian blurted, then winced. "It's pretty close to such a likeness, but—"

  The creature's amusement only seemed to grow, its lips curling into a twisted smile. "A devil? How deliciously naive." It stepped closer, the air around it warping like a heat mirage. "I have been many things, but rarely have I been referred to as a devil. Perhaps a king, or a harbinger of misgivings; those tend to suit me better."

  Kelix felt the leash in his hand grow heated, as if Finn were trying to burn through the tension with sheer willpower. The Fenrir's eyes blazed with a fury that felt like an electric storm, and Kelix instinctively took a step forward, his heart hammering in his chest.

  "Finn," he said. "Stay with me."

  The Fenrir's gaze remained locked on the towering figure, the muscles in his body trembling with the effort of restraint. "It's powerful, Kelix," he said, his voice low and rough. "This isn't just a monster. It's something else altogether."

  "Damian, what the hell is that?!" the suited man roared, backing instinctively toward his construct, summoned at the press of his watch.

  Damian's visor flared to life unbidden, glyphs screaming warnings across its surface before shorting out entirely with a sharp crackle. "That's not just a Zeldrimon anomaly," he said hoarsely. "That's—"

  The creature smiled. "Careful," it said gently. "Names have weight. And I would hate to rush introductions."

  Its gaze slid to Kelix, lingering there longer than necessary. "You're an interesting one," it continued, voice warm, almost polite. "The human who moves monsters."

  Finn's shaking worsened, frost spilling across the pavement beneath his paws.

  Kelix tightened his grip on the leash, heart pounding, eyes never leaving the horned figure. His instincts were screaming at him to run, to hide, to do anything except stand still under that gaze.

  Whatever stood before them was not just powerful. It was aware. And it had been waiting.

  Kelix's eyes flicked across the field on instinct.

  Aria was gone.

  No shadow at the rear. No red threads. No presence tugging at the edge of his perception. Just an absence that felt deliberate.

  The creature noticed his glance and chuckled softly.

  "Oh, do not worry," it said. "The quiet one simply chose not to be present for this part."

  Kelix felt a rush of anger swell within him, mingling with fear. "What do you want?" he demanded, his tone steadier than he felt. "What have you done to them?" He gestured toward the bodies, grim scenes of chaos and carnage littering the ground.

  The creature regarded him with its unsettling eyes. "What have I done?" it feigned sorrow. "I merely liberated them from their existence. Life and death are but two sides of the same coin; you should be concerned about yourselves."

  The creature lifted one hand, allowing the staff-axe to float lazily in the air.

  The air to its left warped, lines etching themselves into the ground as if burned in by invisible fire. A ritual circle bloomed outward, intricate and precise, symbols interlocking in a pattern that made Kelix's vision slide away if he looked too long. Magenta light pulsed through it, steady and patient.

  "To my left," the creature said conversationally, "an invitation."

  The green aura of several fallen crocoraptors' guttered like a dying candle beneath them. Then their cores collapsed and dissolved, the remnants seeping into the circle.

  "Ah. That will do," it said, then lifted its other hand. "But there is no need for you to share the same fate. I offer more." To the creature's right, the air did something worse. It tore.