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Monday, September 26th, 2253 - 9:58 pm

Market Street, Crossroads — The Alley Near The Maddock Lot Apartments.

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Jeremiah's heartbeat hammered in his ears. The System scan hovered at the edge of his vision, flickering ghost-blue data beside those unblinking green eyes. Tangled Lynx. G-7. Above-average intelligence for an animal. Plant magic affinity.

He didn't dare blink, didn't risk shifting his gaze.

The lynx stalked from the wreckage of garbage cans, its fur standing on end, every muscle taut beneath a mottled pelt that seemed to drink in the shadows. Where moonlight fell, Jeremiah caught a shimmer of unnatural green — fine vine-like filaments threaded through the animal's fur, twitching faintly as it crept forward.

He drew a careful breath, forcing his nerves to steady, knuckles whitening on the faesteel blade. His other hand pressed to the rough brick behind him, body turned sideways, minimizing his silhouette. Less of a target, and more room to react. Somewhere behind, Billy's bowl rattled, a small, uncertain noise; his earlier sprint had roused the tiny kraken.

The lynx's lips curled, revealing long, needle-like fangs. For a moment, the only sound was the drip of water from a cracked gutter, sharp and hollow in the midnight quiet. The air pressed close, heavy with the stench of rotting trash and an undercurrent of wild, earthy magic.

Jeremiah risked another quick glance at the System overlay. Physical: 3.5. Mental: 1.5. Supernatural: 1. On paper, he had the edge in physical power, but the lynx was born for speed and sudden violence, all instinct and sinew. Jeremiah was more balanced. He couldn't outrun it, not loaded down and exhausted. Not carrying Billy's bowl. A fight, then. Or a standoff.

His mind whirred, trying to reason it out. What is a Tangled Lynx doing this deep in the city? They should prefer forested areas, like the Outer Wilds.

It wasn't uncommon for beasts to wander into the Outskirts, given its proximity to the Outer Wilds, that stretch of untamed land that separated the various major cities of Nexus. There were patches of overgrown green here and there, but regular patrols kept large predators away from populated districts. For one to wander this deep, past the Edge and into the Crossroads, was unusual — dangerous, even.

Something had driven it in. Or something had failed to keep it out.

Jeremiah's mind raced, running through everything he remembered from the System scan, old lectures, and all the research he'd crammed for his clinical rotation at the Nexus Zoo.

The lynx slunk lower, muscles coiling, eyes fixed and unblinking.

A bead of sweat trickled down Jeremiah's neck. He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. "Easy… you don't want this. I don't want this." The System had promised his Iteration would make him more charismatic to beasts — whatever that actually meant. Maybe, just maybe, he could talk it down. Or at least startle it into leaving.

The thought sparked another idea. He clung to it.

System, I want to form a bond! He ordered silently, projecting the intent as hard as he could.

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Acknowledged.

Please select the beast and type of bond.

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Jeremiah focused his will on the lynx, the word forming clearly in his mind: Attunement!

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Warning! The targeted beast is currently hostile.

Attunement attempts may be met with resistance or rejection.

Would you like to continue?

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Yes!

The lynx's patience snapped. It let out a guttural hiss, more warning than pure rage — though Jeremiah heard plenty of that, too. It circled wider, muscles bunching as it shifted toward the mouth of the alley, blocking his exit with predatory precision.

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Acknowledged.

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There was a flicker in the air between them. Not light or sound — something subtler, like the ghost of a flash, burned behind his eyes. He felt, rather than saw, a fine thread snake out, latching him onto the lynx in a single heartbeat.

The connection snapped taut, and Jeremiah staggered. It wasn't pain, but the sheer force of sensation. His vision blurred at the edges as the lynx's presence crashed into his mind: a riot of scents, twitching muscle, the feel of cold night air rippling through fur. For one surreal instant, he was both himself and a wild thing crouched low in the shadows.

Hunger. Suspicion. The sharp urge to flee, to strike, to bare teeth.

But underneath the animal wariness and gnawing hunger, something far more toxic pulsed — an oily knot of rage and resentment, hotter than any simple instinct.

He felt its focus latch onto him. Not just as prey, but as a rival. The lynx's thoughts flickered in broken images: a territory trespassed, memories of men with hard eyes and cruel laughter driving it from safety into the cold and dangerous streets. Of wounds reopened and a home lost again.

And woven through it all, hatred pulsed.

This one does not belong. This one brings change. This one is a threat.

Jeremiah tightened his hold on the thread of empathy, reaching out, and projecting calm.

I'm not here to take your home. I just want to leave. I don't want to fight you.

The lynx recoiled, yowling as if struck, pawing frantically at its own face as though to claw away the foreign influence. Their fragile Attunement wavered and flexed. The thin not-thread between them stretched, twisted, and finally snapped.

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Attunement Failed.

System Note: The success of forced attunements is determined by the difference between your Mental grade and that of the target beast. Raise your Mental grade to increase your chances of success.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

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Something whipped back and slammed into Jeremiah's psyche like the crack of a whip, causing him to flinch.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, breath ragged. "So much for that," he muttered, steadying himself against the wall.

His heart hammered in his chest, but instinct took over — he scanned the alley, searching for anything he could use. Splintered crates littered the ground to his left. The gutter above dripped steadily, making the stones slick beneath his boots. At the alley's far end, the lynx blocked the only way out.

Recovering from experience the lynx shook itself, its hackles rising.

Though the attunement had failed, his passive empathic sense still remained, though far weaker. It was enough to feel that the lynx was done waiting, however.

Jeremiah braced, the city's noise fading behind the wild beat of his pulse.

A low, guttural snarl rippled from the creature. For a heartbeat, time stretched thin. The lynx froze, bristling, muscles rippling beneath its vine-laced fur. Its green eyes locked on his.

Then it pounced.

It launched itself in a blur of motion, twisting through the shadows with an almost supernatural grace. Jeremiah saw the flash of fangs, the glint of claws, a spray of broken glass as the beast knocked over a crate in mid-leap.

Jeremiah barely had time to react. He flung himself sideways, shoulder clipping the wall, and swept his knife up in a defensive arc. The lynx twisted in midair, claws scoring sparks from stone as it landed inches from where he'd stood.

A snarl burst from its throat. Jeremiah felt the heat of its breath, smelled the wild tang of magic and musk. The knife trembled in his grip, but he forced himself to stand firm, backing toward the alley's mouth, not daring to break eye contact.

He raised his free hand, grabbed the edge of a broken crate, and hurled it between them. The crate shattered, splinters flying. The lynx recoiled, then circled, keeping low and wary.

The beast kept itself crouched low, almost dissolving into the alley's tangled mess of shadow and broken debris. Only its burning eyes betrayed its presence — a pair of green lanterns gliding with eerie patience. It stalked him in silence, darting from side to side, weaving through refuse instead of charging recklessly like some lesser animal might.

Jeremiah retreated, his back pressed to the uneven brickwork as he tried to match the lynx's movements. The alley was tight, and his height — coupled with the short reach of his blade — meant he was constantly fighting for room just to parry or sidestep. The lynx seemed to sense this. Whenever Jeremiah dipped low for a counter, the beast slipped away like smoke, just out of reach. Its own attacks came quick and clever, slashing at his ankles, snapping at his feet, never risking the range of his knife.

When it next lunged, Jeremiah's boot skidded on loose rubble. He stumbled, barely avoiding a crippling bite. Claws raked across denim, leaving his jeans in ribbons and shallow gashes burning on his shin.

A flash of panic spiked through him as Jeremiah realized what the lynx was doing. It was herding him, wearing him down. Aiming to cripple, not kill outright.

His mind raced, desperate for options. He had no shield, no armor…

Or do I? The thought rippled across his mind.

Eyes wide, Jeremiah reached for the subtle pricks of weight nestled somewhere deep in his soul — the faint, latent presence of his System-bound equipment.

He seized the connection and felt the shift at once.

The next instant, the Caretaker's Vestments flickered into existence, layering over his battered clothes. The familiar weight of reinforced boots, sturdy leggings, and the thick leather apron settled onto his body, lending a sudden sense of solidity and protection. Outside of his shop they might have been stripped of most of their features, but they were still sturdy, quality clothing meant for fending off both claws and fangs.

The lynx recoiled, ears pressed flat, hackles rising. A low hiss vibrated in its throat, wary now.

Jeremiah allowed himself a grim smile, rolling his shoulders as the tension in his body eased. About time, he thought, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of it sooner.

Jeremiah, emboldened by the protective weight of the vestments, decided to push his advantage. He darted forward, knife flashing, and feinted left before lunging at the lynx. The beast twisted away, moving with uncanny agility, muscles bunching and releasing in seamless bursts of motion. Its luminous eyes tracked every shift of Jeremiah's stance.

He tried again, sweeping out with the blade, but the vestments — still unfamiliar and heavier than his usual clothes — slowed him down. Each step landed with a solid thump, boots striking the uneven alley stones. The lynx danced just out of reach, its body weaving between debris and shadows. Whenever he pressed in, it retreated, skirting the edge of his range, never quite fleeing, never committing to a true attack.

Their standoff drew out, a frustrating cycle. The lynx circled, tail lashing, while Jeremiah advanced in starts and stops, breathing hard, sweat beading at his brow. The beast's fangs and claws glanced harmlessly off the thick apron and boots, finding no purchase. Jeremiah's swings, too, landed on empty air. Close enough to feel the rush of fur, but never close enough to finish it.

Frustration gnawed at him. "Just leave already!" he hissed, slashing again, his patience fraying. The alley felt smaller by the second, the walls looming, each failed attempt feeding the lynx's confidence.

Suddenly, the lynx's eyes narrowed, and its whiskers flared. Jeremiah's foot caught on something soft — a small tangle of green, snaking from a crack in the stones. Vines twisted tight around his ankle, yanking his leg out from under him. He crashed to the ground, knife clattering from his grip and skidding away.

Before he could scramble up, the lynx lunged, a blur of teeth and bristling fur. Jeremiah raised his padded forearm just in time, catching the beast's snapping jaws. Its breath was hot and wild against his skin, fangs scraping fruitlessly at the thick protection. Claws raked at his chest, but the heavy leather absorbed the blows, the beast's momentum failing to break through.

Jeremiah twisted beneath the snarling lynx, his arm locked between its jaws, the thick vestment just barely holding. Panic flared as he stretched desperately toward the knife lying just out of reach — his fingers brushed cold steel, but the beast's full weight pinned him down, claws scrabbling furrows across his chest.

Gritting his teeth, Jeremiah clenched his free hand into a fist and began pounding at the lynx's flank and shoulders. Each blow landed solidly, but the animal barely flinched. His knuckles struck something sharp — hidden among the beast's bristling fur were tiny, vicious barbs and thorns. Pain bloomed along Jeremiah's hand, and when he pulled back for another strike, his fist came away streaked with blood.

The lynx only dug in harder, a growl vibrating through its chest as it fought to force Jeremiah's arm aside. For a moment, the world narrowed to the reek of fur and blood, the wild pulse of danger.

Then, without warning, a sudden jet of black liquid splattered across the lynx's face. The creature shrieked, wrenching away from Jeremiah and pawing frantically at its eyes, blinded by the sticky fluid.

Jeremiah stared, stunned, as the lynx staggered back, spitting and shaking its head, vision ruined. His own breath came in ragged bursts as he pushed himself up, blinking in disbelief.

Above him, clinging to the broken edge of the collapsed wall, Billy waved his tentacles in fierce defiance. The tiny kraken's body glistened with mana-rich fluid, another squirt already bubbling from his siphon. He let out a surprisingly menacing warble, his stubby arms splayed wide as if daring the lynx to try again.

Jeremiah's shock twisted into a laugh of pure relief. "Good boy, Billy!" he called hoarsely, wiping blood from his palm.

The lynx, still blinded, hissed and stumbled sideways, struggling to clear its face as the little kraken glared down, ready to defend his human again.

Jeremiah staggered upright, breath hitching, blood still slicking his knuckles. The lynx, its fur matted and eyes clouded with Billy's ink, lurched along the alley wall, claws scraping desperately as it fought to regain its senses.

Seizing the opening, Jeremiah braced himself and slammed his boot into the beast's ribs. The lynx tumbled into a heap of loose bricks, letting out a strangled yowl. It tried to rise, but one paw buckled, leaving it hunched and panting — dangerous still, but dazed and battered.

Jeremiah stood there, trying to catch his breath. His eyes darted to the exit, then Billy's bowl. If there was any chance to escape, it could be now. But he didn't do that. Instead, his eyes landed on the knife at his feet. Slow, hesitantly, he scooped it up, fingers slippery with blood, and advanced.

His hand trembled, chest tightening with each step he took toward the lynx. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but he forced himself forward, torn between the primal urge to escape and the awful necessity of seeing this through. He didn't want to do this. But what choice did he have?

If I let it go now, what's stopping it from trying this again? he told himself, desperately trying to rationalize what he was about to do. It obviously lives around here, and it's got some kind of grudge against me for some reason.

The weight of that risk — the thought of having to keep looking over his shoulder, or worse, seeing the lynx attack someone less prepared — drove him on.

He took another step closer, steel flashing in the alley's gloom. "I'm sorry," he whispered, barely loud enough for even himself to hear.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the mouth of the alley, sharp and pleading. "Stop! Please, don't hurt her!"

Jeremiah froze, blade poised, head snapping up. At the mouth of the alley, a shadow moved — a young man, not much younger than him, hair a tangled curtain and eyes wide with worry. He hovered at the edge of the darkness, hands raised, body taut with fear and desperation.

"Please, let me explain," the young man repeated, voice raw and pleading.

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