Chapter 97: Procedure Wrapped in a Threat

The first thing Jagger noticed was that the monsters were no longer only coming from the front.

They were spilling in from every side street now, drawn by the blast, the blood, and the half-melted remains of the Herald. Ghouls scrambled over abandoned cars with that same sick, jerking speed. Goblins shrieked from the rooftops and dropped down in twos and threes. Smaller things slithered low through the smoke, too fast and too ugly to properly name in the dark.

The second thing he noticed was the sound.

Engines.

Heavy. Layered. Fast.

It rolled through the street beneath the screams and gunfire like distant thunder closing in. Jagger’s head snapped toward it at the same time Ulna’s did. Jung shifted his stance, shield rising. Abdul’s sword came up. Nico, still breathing too hard, looked from the incoming swarm to the road behind them with wide, bloodshot eyes.

Three pairs of headlights tore through the smoke.

“Humvees,” Abdul said.

Three armored vehicles burst into view at speed, grinding over broken glass and monster corpses as they barreled down the street in tight formation. Their engines snarled, their frames were thick with plated steel, and mounted turrets sat on top like hunched iron predators turning to face the chaos ahead.

A voice barked from the speakers mounted on the lead vehicle.

“GET DOWN!”

There was no time to question it.

Ulna dropped first, dragging Rhea with her. Lyra and Mara hit the pavement a heartbeat later. Jagger grabbed Nico by the back of the shirt and yanked him down as Jung and Abdul did the same.

The turrets spun.

Then they opened fire.

The street erupted in a deafening wall of muzzle flashes.

Normal rounds tore across the road in streaming bursts, stitching through smoke, shattered storefronts, and the front line of incoming monsters. Ghouls jerked violently as bullets hammered into them, flesh bursting, bones cracking, their bodies thrown sideways by sheer force. Goblins shrieked as rounds slammed into their torsos and limbs, bruising, breaking, knocking them from walls and roofs.

But they did not die cleanly.

Not like they would have from mana.

The bullets punched, tore, and battered, but the monsters still crawled, twitched, and dragged themselves forward where they could. The tougher ones took rounds to the chest and shoulders, only to stagger back with snarls, flesh dented and bruised and bleeding, but not finished. One ghoul took a burst full across the ribs, its torso snapping sideways as it spun and smashed into a storefront. It hit the ground, spasmed, and still tried to rise.

“Conventional,” Jagger muttered, watching the thing jerk and drag itself another foot before a second burst finally drove it under a wrecked car. “No mana.”

The fire did not kill the wave.

It crushed it enough to break the push.

That was all the Humvees seemed to need.

As the area was mostly cleared and the surviving monsters were driven back into alleys and smoke, the three vehicles roared forward another ten meters and came to a sharp stop. Doors flew open at once.

Soldiers poured out first.

Men and women in dark field gear hit the street in disciplined bursts, rifles raised, boots splashing through blood and rainwater as they spread into practiced lines. Some secured the flanks. Some moved to the Herald’s remains. A few peeled back toward the Humvees and checked the mounted guns. Everything happened quickly, efficiently, without wasted motion.

Then two more figures stepped down from the lead Humvee.

They moved more slowly than the others, not because they were relaxed, but because they carried the kind of confidence that assumed the street would wait for them.

A man with a cigar between his teeth dropped from the passenger side. A woman with a matching cigar stepped from the driver’s side. Their hands were already cutting through the air, flicking out sharp signals to the soldiers who had exited before them.

“You know the drill,” the woman called.

“Everyone get to their jobs,” the man added brightly.

They were almost identical.

Both wore large black overcoats with epaulettes that swayed around their thighs as they walked. Beneath them were black crop tops, black jean shorts, and black high-top sneakers that looked absurdly casual against a battlefield still steaming from acid and blood. Their hair was pure white. His hair fell long past his shoulders in a loose, glossy sheet. Hers was cut short around her jaw in a blunt, severe line. Both had striking green eyes that seemed far too bright for the dead city around them.

And hanging behind them, partly concealed beneath their overcoats, were katanas strapped diagonally across their backs. The hilts jutted just over their shoulders, black-wrapped and worn smooth with use.

The difference was in how they treated themselves.

The man moved like he was stepping into a party he had been late to, all easy smiles and bright-eyed amusement despite the cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. The woman carried herself like a knife in a velvet sheath, polite on the surface, rigid everywhere underneath.

’Twins,’ Jagger thought at once. ’Weird fucking twins.’

’Swords on their backs. Guns in their convoy. Smiles on their faces,’ Ophilia murmured. ’They came prepared for every answer.’

Ulna saw them and closed her eyes for one second.

Rhea let out a long, tired sigh.

Lyra, the heavy gunner, did not visibly react, but there was the faintest tightening around her eyes. Mara, the silver-haired lancer, dragged a hand down her face like she had just found out her night was somehow about to get more annoying.

Jung blinked at them.

Nico stared openly. “What the hell am I looking at?”

Abdul looked no less confused. “I was about to ask the same thing.”

The twins were already crossing toward the Valkyries.

The man spread his arms as if greeting old friends. “Ulna.”

The woman continued, puffing out smoke. “Rhea.”

“Lyra.”

“Mara.”

“You all look like shit. I mean that affectionately,” the man finished with a wide, cheerful grin.

“You look late,” Ulna replied flatly.

The woman exhaled smoke through her nose. “We were busy cleaning up your mess.”

“Our mess?” Mara said, one brow lifting.

“Your exploding street,” the man corrected with a grin. “Your half-melted Herald. Your absolutely tragic distress call. Honestly, Ulna, you do know how to set a scene.”

Rhea pressed a hand to her newly healed abdomen and muttered, “Please tell me Mission Control did not send both of you.”

“Mission Control always sends both of us,” the woman said.

“Because without us, this whole operation would have all the charm of a funeral,” the man added.

“No,” Lyra said calmly. “We would get more work done.”

That actually made the man laugh.

Jagger watched the exchange in silence, every instinct still sharp. The soldiers had spread wider while the twins talked. Not random. Deliberate. He could feel the shape of it forming around him and his group.

A perimeter.

’There,’ Ophilia said. ’Now you see it. They’re not here to thank you. They’re here to take inventory.’

For a moment, the twins continued speaking with the Valkyries, lower now.

“Status?” the woman asked.

“Herald neutralized,” Ulna said. “Body destabilized. Core recovered.”

The man’s green eyes shifted at once.

“And which one of you lovely disasters managed that?”

Ulna tilted her head toward Jagger. “He is the one who got the final hit.”

The twins turned together.

For one strange second, the street felt quieter than it had during the gunfire.

Then the man smiled and started walking.

The woman followed at a more measured pace.

Up close, the resemblance was even more unnerving. Same bone structure. Same green eyes. Same white hair. Same impossible calm standing in a street that reeked of death.

The man stopped a step in front of Jagger and extended his hand, as if this were the beginning of a normal introduction.

“Hello, gorgeous mess,” he said cheerfully, extending his hand. “Chase Vale. Recovery and Containment Division. I’ll be taking the monster core now.”

Jagger did not move.

His hand remained at his side, fingers still closed around the glowing werewolf core slick with black-red residue.

The woman came to a stop beside her brother and smiled. It was a polite smile. It did not reach her eyes.

“Jace Vale,” she said. “Same division, and what he said.”

Nico leaned toward Abdul without taking his eyes off them. “I hate them already.”

Abdul gave the smallest nod. “That makes two of us.”

Jagger’s gaze flicked past the twins.

Most of the soldiers had drifted closer while Chase smiled and talked. Not enough to look panicked. Enough to matter. Rifles were not raised, but they were ready. One squad had angled toward Jung, Abdul, and Nico. Another had spread slightly behind Jagger.

He looked back at Chase’s outstretched hand.

Then at Jace.

Then at the soldiers.

“What exactly are your motives?” Jagger asked.

The smile stayed on Chase’s face, but something more watchful slid in behind it. “I’m asking for the core.”

Jagger’s voice dropped. “And I’m asking why I’m suddenly boxed in.”

Jace stepped forward half a pace, still smiling, still composed. “For safekeeping.”

Her tone was calm. Courteous. Almost gentle.

“Elite and Herald material are pretty rare items, so we catalog it, research it, and keep idiots from doing something catastrophic with it.”

’Half-truth,’ Ophilia said. ’They also want leverage.’

Chase’s hand was still there between them, patient, unshaken. “You may be a high-value asset,” he said, voice light, almost conversational, “but you are also injured, surrounded, and very much in our operational lane.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Jung said, stepping up beside Jagger with the shield still raised.

Several rifles shifted at once.

Abdul moved in on Jagger’s other side, sword low but ready. Nico did not look ready for anything, but he still planted himself a step behind them, jaw tight and left fist clenched.

Rhea rubbed her temple. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Mara muttered, “Here we go.”

Ulna did not intervene. She just watched.

Jace took the cigar from her mouth and held it between two fingers. “It is not a threat,” she said smoothly. “It is a procedure.”

Chase tilted his head. “Wrapped in silk, spice, and just a hint of menace.”

“You are not helping,” Jace said.

“I contribute in my own sparkling way.”

“You never do.”

He smiled wider. “That is slander, and also deeply untrue.”

Jagger’s eyes hardened. “I killed that thing.”

“You did,” Jace agreed at once.

“It’s my core.”

“For the moment,” Chase said lightly. “Try not to get emotionally attached.”

The pressure in the air tightened.

One of the soldiers behind Chase shifted his footing. Jung noticed and raised the shield another inch. Abdul’s stance narrowed. Nico swallowed hard enough for Jagger to hear it.

Then Rhea spoke, tired but clear.

“He did save us,” she said. “And he gave me a mid-grade potion.”

Ulna’s jaw tightened.

Jace’s eyes flicked briefly to Rhea, then back to Jagger. When she spoke again, her tone remained polite, but there was iron under it now.

“You are not being robbed,” she said. “You are being asked to surrender high-grade material that is worth studying for the betterment of our nation.”

Chase finished for her with a breezy smile. “While standing in a street that smells like burnt fur, rot, and monster arsehole. So, unless you’re planning to romance the thing, let’s move this along.”

Jagger looked down once at the glowing core in his hand.

It felt heavy.

Dense.

Warm in a way he did not entirely trust.

He looked up again. “And if I say no?”

Chase withdrew his hand at last, smile still fixed in place.

“Well,” he said lightly, “then we stop being charming.”

Jace smiled beside him.

“And this becomes unpleasant.”

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