Historia crouched low behind a crumbling wall, her breath quiet but fast, eyes scanning the deserted Marleyan streets. The others whispered in hushed tones, their movements precise and practiced, but she couldn’t shake the gnawing unease crawling up her spine. The city felt wrong tonight—heavy, almost alive.

Then, a shadow flickered between broken buildings. Tall. Six feet of pure menace. At first, she thought it was just a trick of the light, but it moved—silent, deliberate. Historia’s hand twitched near her weapon, her jaw tight, pulse hammering.

“Do you see that?” she hissed to the others, voice barely above a whisper. “Something’s coming, and it’s not human.” Her eyes narrowed, tracing the figure’s slow, deliberate steps. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she stayed. She couldn’t look away.