The smoke rolled heavy through the cell, thick as tar, clinging to Daiyu's skin and stinging her eyes. She pulled the crook of her arm to her mouth and breathed slow, shallow breaths, fighting down the cough clawing at her throat. The others weren't as disciplined. Screams rose sharp and desperate, echoing in the cramped chamber as prisoners clawed for distance that didn't exist, pressing so hard against the iron bars that flesh split and blood smeared black against rust.

The air moved. Not a draft, not the shifting of bodies-but something larger, heavier, deliberate. The scrape of claws across stone, slow and purposeful, rattled along Daiyu's bones. Her instincts, honed through years of tracking, screamed at her to run, to vanish, to melt into shadow. But there was nowhere to go.

The smoke thinned just enough for a silhouette to coalesce. It was vast. Wrong. Every line of it bent toward violence. Then the haze parted like a veil, and Daiyu's heart hammered against her ribs as the thing stepped into view.

Quasi.

No, not Quasi. Not the smug feline trickster with his endless quips. This was something else, something birthed in nightmares. He loomed seven feet tall, shoulders bulging with corded muscle that twitched beneath a pelt of coarse black fur. Spikes jutted like jagged stone from his back and arms, slick with a faint violet sheen that caught the lamplight. His head was lupine, but twisted-elongated jaw bristling with fangs, six horns curling like a crown of bone. And then the eyes, six of them, burning amethyst, shifting and twitching independently, each one unblinking and predatory.

Scaled gauntlets clung to his forearms, the runes etched across them pulsing faintly with their own glow. From behind, a long tail uncoiled, plated in the same black scale, serrated near the tip. It dragged across the floor with a hiss like whetted steel.

Daiyu had seen beasts that terrified villages. She had hunted fiends that stalked nightmares. None of them moved like him. Each step radiated command, the certainty of an apex predator that had never known fear. The prisoners' wails swelled, several collapsing into prayer, others screaming for mercy, none daring to look too long into those six eyes.

A ripple of motion-his head tilting, vertebrae popping one after another with a sickening rhythm. The sound cracked through the cell like a whip. When he finally spoke, his voice was not Quasi's. It was deeper, older, reverberating through stone and marrow alike. "And now the slaughter begins."

The three brutes shifted uneasily, the violet glow threading their arms, flickering erraticly. For the first time, their eyes betrayed doubt. They looked to the iron-bound exit. But the masked man was still there, barring their escape.

Metal clicked. A compact crossbow leveled in his gloved hand. The string snapped forward, and a dart streaked through the haze. It struck true, biting into the muscle of Quasi's chest.

The beast glanced down, staring at the quivering shaft.

"It's poison!" the masked man barked, his voice buzzing and warped through the filters of his mask. "Strong enough to drop anyone once it runs your blood. Survive until then if you can. I'll return with help."

The iron door slammed shut with a ringing echo. A bolt slid home on the other side.

Quasi's chest rose once. He sniffed, low and derisive, before tearing his eyes from the dart and fixing them once more on the men. The corner of his lip curled, revealing fangs like daggers.

And then he moved.

The first brute barely had time to flinch. Quasi exploded forward, his gauntleted fist a blur. When it landed, the man was wrenched from his feet and hurled into the wall with bone-cracking force. Stone split in a spiderweb of fractures as his body cratered into the concrete, half-buried, limbs hanging limp. Dust and blood rained down the grooves.

The second man roared, swinging his glowing fist in desperation. Knuckles cracked against Quasi's jaw with enough force to whip his head to the side. For one brief heartbeat, hope flickered across the brute's face.

Then Quasi laughed. A deep, guttural rumble that shook loose flecks of dust from the ceiling. He turned back slowly, violet eyes gleaming brighter, breath curling in visible puffs of heat. "Not bad," he said, voice like grinding stone. "But not enough."

His hand snapped forward, claws locking around the man's throat. Muscles flexed, veins bulging across his forearm as he lifted him into the air as though he weighed nothing. The brute thrashed, his fists hammering Quasi's chest again and again, violet light blazing across his veins in frantic pulses. It was like watching a child strike a mountain.

The third man lunged from behind, bellowing as his fists swung for Quasi's spine. But the scaled tail lashed before he could close the distance. It shot backward like a spear, driving through flesh, bone, and heart in a single wet thrust. The man's scream cut short, a spray of blood arcing into the haze as the tail burst from his chest.

Daiyu flinched despite herself, every instinct screaming to move, to flee. But her eyes stayed fixed, unwilling, unable, dragged by the sheer inevitability of it.

The tail withdrew with a wet rasp, and the corpse collapsed to the floor, twitching once before stilling.

The brute in Quasi's grip clawed desperately at the hand around his throat. Quasi squeezed. The sound was sharp, final-a brittle snap, followed by the slackening of limbs. He tossed the body aside, its skull lolling at an unnatural angle, and it landed with a dull thud in the spreading pool of blood.

Silence fell in the cell, broken only by the drip of blood and the ragged sobs of prisoners pressed against the bars.

Quasi stood in the center, chest heaving slow and steady, violet eyes shifting over the room. They lingered for a fraction longer on Daiyu. She met them, forced her body to remain still, though every hair on her neck screamed at her to bow or break.

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When he spoke again, the words rolled like thunder through the chamber. "Weaklings."

The silence stretched, broken only by the drip of blood from Quasi's tail and the shallow, uneven gasps of terrified prisoners. The beast's head turned, six glowing eyes narrowing, all of them fixing on Daiyu. Her stomach tightened. It was like being pinned beneath the gaze of a predator deciding whether to eat her or not.

Then his voice rumbled out, low and grinding, carrying the weight of inevitability. "Are you ready to leave?"

For a heartbeat Daiyu thought he spoke only to her. Her mouth went dry. Before she could shape an answer, movement stirred to her side.

Clay.

The girl pushed herself upright, steady despite the dried blood crusted on her temple. Her gaze locked on the towering monster with no trace of fear. "Yes," she said simply, her voice calm, unshaken.

The word anchored Daiyu, cutting through the fog in her head. Yes. This thing-this nightmare-was still Quasi. The cat. Different, yes, horrifying beyond reason, but not her enemy. She swallowed, forced her own body to straighten, and lifted her chin. "Yes."

Her eyes darted to the iron bars still sealing them inside. "But the door—"

Quasi moved before she could finish. He strode across the cell, his claws dragging sparks along the stone. The prisoners pressed back as far as they could as his hulking frame filled the narrow space. He planted his feet before the barred door and drew back his fist. Muscles swelled beneath fur and scale, violet runes along the gauntlets flaring with heat.

The punch landed.

The sound was thunder contained, a sharp detonation that rattled the bones in Daiyu's chest. A blossom of fire erupted outward, directed and focused, shredding the iron into molten fragments. The bars, hinges, even the stone archway around it were obliterated in a single furious blast, leaving not a doorway but a jagged wound in the wall wide enough for ten men to march through.

Dust and smoke swirled, the air tasting of ash and scorched metal. Quasi lowered his fist slowly, tilting his head as though regarding the empty space. His eyes gleamed. "What door?"

A sound escaped Daiyu before she could stop it-a quick, sharp laugh, half nerves, half disbelief. She pressed a hand to her stomach to steady herself. "We should move fast," she warned, voice tighter than she wanted. "That noise will bring more."

The beast smiled, if it could be called that—fangs bared, the expression more hunger than humor. "Good. Saves me the trouble of hunting them. Now—let's move."

He stepped through the shattered opening, claws grinding sparks into the rubble. At the threshold he paused, turning his gaze across the room. The prisoners huddled in the far corners, eyes wide, bodies trembling, some smeared with blood that was not their own.

Quasi's tail lashed once. His voice rolled through the chamber, deep and final. "Cowards. Stay, or follow. I care not if you survive."

Then he turned without waiting for an answer, ducking slightly beneath the arch and mounting the stairs with the sound of stone cracking beneath his steps.

Daiyu exhaled slowly, her chest tight, her pulse hammering. She glanced once at Clay, then followed the monster upward, the echo of his words heavy in the pit of her stomach.

***

The halls of the underground facility had become a slaughterhouse.

Quasi moved like a nightmare given flesh, six violet eyes blazing in the dim electric lights. The first squad of men met him with raised pistols and shotguns, the roar of gunfire deafening in the narrow corridor. Bullets tore into his chest and shoulders, shredding fur and flesh, but the wounds knitted closed almost as quickly as they opened. He did not slow.

He leapt into them, a blur of muscle, claw, and fury. His fist slammed into one man's ribcage, folding it inward until bone pierced lung. Another was swatted into the wall so hard his spine snapped like dry kindling. The third screamed as Quasi's claws dragged him down, sparks flying as his armored vest tore like paper.

They died in seconds.

Further down the hall, more men surged forward, some carrying blades and iron clubs, others with rifles. One barked orders, his voice shaking with barely contained fear. A [Mage] pushed through the chaos, his palms glowing with conjured fire. He hurled the spell down the corridor, a sphere of white-hot flame that lit the walls orange.

The fireball struck Quasi square in the chest. For an instant the beast was consumed in light. Smoke and heat rolled outward. The mage's eyes widened in relief-then horror.

Quasi emerged from the smoke unharmed, flames dancing harmlessly across his fur as his body knitted the scorch marks away. His grin was pure malice.

"Pathetic."

He lunged, covering the distance in a single bound. His tail lashed, spearing one man through the gut and pinning him to the wall. Another's head caved beneath a gauntleted fist. The mage screamed, tried to form another spell, but Quasi's claws closed around his skull. A squeeze, a crack, and the body dangled limp before being tossed aside.

Blood pooled across the floor, soaking into concrete cracks, trailing behind Quasi's steady march. Every scream was cut short. Every plea for mercy answered with bone-shattering finality. The walls echoed with slaughter until only silence remained.

***

A lone survivor staggered down a side passage, mask cracked open to reveal twisted veins pulsing sickly purple beneath his skin. His breath came ragged, his boots splashing through streaks of blood. He slammed open a heavy door and stumbled inside.

The room reeked of chemicals and iron. Vials of violet gas hissed faintly from glass tubes connected to copper wiring. Surgical instruments lay scattered across steel tables-scalpels, saws, clamps, bone drills. A rack of syringes glowed faintly with unnatural fluid.

At the center of the room, hunched over a bubbling flask, stood a man in a stained lab coat. His hair was slicked back with sweat, his fingers inked with burn marks and chemical stains. Round spectacles magnified his sharp, calculating eyes.

"Dr. Veynar!" the masked man croaked, clutching his side. "I need something stronger. Stronger poison. That thing-it doesn't feel anything!"

Veynar didn't look up at first, merely adjusted the flame beneath his flask until the violet fumes thickened. "What… thing? And what of that explosion earlier? The whole foundation shook."

The masked man's hands trembled. "That's not important! One of the prisoners-it turned into a monster! It's tearing through us, nothing works! We need-"

The rest of his plea never left his lips.

The wall behind him shattered inward with the force of a battering ram. Concrete dust exploded through the room. A limp corpse, broken and bloodied, hurtled through the gap, colliding with the masked man. The crunch of bone snapped loud in the air, silencing him forever as both bodies crumpled in a heap.

Out of the dust stepped Quasi. His towering frame filled the room, horns scraping the ruined ceiling, six glowing eyes burning like coals in a furnace. His claws dripped with gore, his breath a slow, rumbling growl.

Dr. Veynar finally looked up. His expression was not fear, but intrigue. He studied the beast with clinical fascination, spectacles glinting in the chemical light.

"Well," he murmured, voice calm, almost pleased. "If you're escaping… I don't suppose I might escape with you? I'm not exactly a willing participant in all this."

Quasi's gaze lingered on him, weighing, deciding. At last, his voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Fine. Where is the armory?"

Veynar lifted a trembling hand and pointed to the wall at their right. "Next door. Through there."

Quasi didn't bother with doors. He raised his fist, muscles flexing beneath scaled gauntlets, and drove it forward. The concrete wall erupted outward in a storm of dust and stone, collapsing into a new doorway. Beyond lay racks of weapons, armor, explosives, and crates of contraband—an arsenal fit for a small army.

Quasi stepped through the rubble without looking back.

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