Luther had learned to trust two things.

  The pull in his chest when a Bounded stirred nearby, and the weight of Shediro on his hip.

  Tonight, the pull was strong.

  He moved through the city’s outer blocks where the streetlights were thin and the buildings were tired—old warehouses, fenced lots, rusted signage that still pretended businesses were open. The air smelled like oil and damp concrete.

  He found the disturbance fast.

  A lone Astrebound stood in the middle of a cracked parking lot, shoulders hunched, energy flickering around him in uneven pulses. The man looked scared more than anything. Like he didn’t know what he was or what he’d become.

  Luther’s jaw tightened.

  He didn’t like the easy ones. He never did.

  Still, he didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, spoke one short warning the man didn’t understand, and ended it clean.

  The body hit the pavement.

  The disturbance stopped.

  For half a second, Luther allowed himself to breathe.

  Then the lot filled with footsteps.

  Not one set.

  Many.

  He turned slowly, already knowing.

  Shapes emerged from behind parked trucks and shattered pallets. From the shadows under loading docks. From between shipping containers stacked like crooked towers.

  Dozens.

  Bounded. All watching him.

  It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a coincidence.

  It was a net.

  Luther’s grip tightened around the hilt of Shediro through the scabbard. He could feel the sword’s presence like a heartbeat—steady, patient, dangerous.

  He set his feet.

  “Alright,” he muttered. “Come on then.”

  They did.

  The first wave rushed like dogs, hungry and stupid. Luther cut them down with efficiency born from repetition. He didn’t waste motion. He didn’t waste breath. His strikes were measured, decisive, the kind of violence that didn’t need anger to be effective.

  Bodies fell.

  Then more came.

  The weaker Astrebounds started to break when they saw what he could do. Their spirits gave them power, but not courage.

  Luther gave them neither.

  He carved a path through them, leaving the lot littered with groaning, bleeding shapes. He felt the strain in his arms, in his shoulders, but he didn’t slow.

  Not until the crowd parted.

  Kyle stepped into view.

  He looked almost amused by the carnage, like the bodies were a punchline he hadn’t even delivered yet.

  Luther’s expression darkened. “Kyle.”

  Kyle clapped slowly once, then stopped. “You’re a pain,” he said. “You know that?”

  Luther shifted his stance, blade still sheathed. “You set this up.”

  Kyle shrugged. “Yeah. And you still walked right into it.”

  Then Kyle moved.

  It wasn’t a fair fight. Kyle never fought fair.

  He closed the distance in a blur and hit Luther hard enough to drive him to one knee. Concrete cracked under the impact. Luther’s breath left his lungs in a harsh burst.

  Kyle leaned down, voice low and almost friendly.

  “Hand over the sword,” he said. “And maybe we don’t kill you.”

  Luther coughed once, blood hot in his throat. His eyes flicked to the ring of Astrebounds tightening around them.

  He knew how this ended.

  He’d known for the last minute already.

  Luther’s hand went to the scabbard.

  Kyle’s smile sharpened. “Good.”

  Luther unhooked Shediro from his belt, lifting the scabbard free with both hands. The weapon looked ordinary in that moment—leather-wrapped grip, worn fittings, a sword that had seen too many hands and too much history.

  He didn’t offer it to Kyle.

  He held it close.

  And he spoke—almost as if Kyle wasn’t there at all.

  “This sword must never belong to the forces of evil,” Luther said, voice steady despite the blood. “And I… and the Super Freaks… will always protect it.”

  For a heartbeat nothing happened.

  Then the scabbard went light in his hands.

  Shediro vanished.

  Not dropped. Not thrown. Not teleported with a flash.

  Just… gone.

  Kyle’s expression snapped from amusement to fury so fast it looked like a mask being ripped away.

  “What did you do?” Kyle hissed.

  Luther smiled through the pain. “My job.”

  Kyle struck him.

  Luther hit the pavement hard, rolled, came up swinging.

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  The next minutes blurred into violence.

  Kyle and Luther traded blows that cracked concrete and split metal. Luther was strong—stronger than most of the Bounded Kyle had brought. He fought like a man who understood he was already dead and had decided to make that expensive.

  He killed anyone who came close.

  He used the environment, the angles, the crowd.

  He used his body like a weapon even without his sword.

  But numbers are numbers.

  Eventually his arms slowed. His legs buckled once. His breath started to burn.

  Kyle laughed as if he could taste the moment it shifted.

  Luther kept fighting anyway.

  When he finally fell, it wasn’t clean.

  It was a collapse that left the lot quiet, bodies scattered in every direction.

  Kyle stood over him, chest rising and falling, face twisted with rage.

  Around them, the surviving Astrebounds looked shaken. Some stared at the dead like they couldn’t believe it. Some looked at Kyle like they were suddenly afraid of him too.

  Kyle didn’t care.

  He looked down at Luther’s lifeless hand and spat.

  “Stupid,” he muttered. “Stupid hero.”

  Luther had killed at least sixty of them.

  And still, Shediro was gone.

  Garth woke before the house got loud.

  Not because of sound.

  Because something in his chest went cold.

  Alisa was curled against him, warm and soft, breathing slow. Her ears twitched when he shifted. She blinked up at him, sleepy and trusting.

  Garth sat up carefully, so he didn’t jostle her.

  Something was wrong.

  He slid out of bed.

  Alisa lifted her head, confused.

  “It’s okay,” Garth whispered. He leaned down, kissed her forehead, and brushed his fingers behind her ears the way she liked. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

  She licked his chin once, as if agreeing, and flopped back onto the blanket.

  Garth pulled on pants and a shirt, then padded upstairs.

  The main room was dim, lit by the glow of screens.

  Marten was at the table, hunched forward, eyes sharp and restless as ever. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  Garth stopped in the doorway. “Do you ever go to bed, Marten?”

  Marten didn’t look up. “No.”

  Garth walked closer. “What is it.”

  Marten finally turned the laptop toward him.

  Shediro lay on the table.

  It was real. Solid. Heavy-looking in a way Garth could feel just standing near it.

  Garth’s eyes widened. “How—”

  Marten swallowed. “It just… showed up.”

  Garth stepped closer, careful, like the sword might bite.

  Marten’s voice lowered. “And I heard something with it. A message.”

  Garth looked at him. “From who?”

  “I don’t know,” Marten admitted. “It wasn’t a voice. It was… a feeling. Like a thought pushed into the room.”

  Garth’s hand hovered over the sword without touching it. “What did it say.”

  Marten’s mouth tightened. “Luther.”

  Garth’s breath caught. “Luther’s dead?”

  Marten nodded once. “Killed. Tonight.”

  Garth stared down at Shediro, something heavy settling in his chest. Luther had been a force. A Bounded who knew what he was doing. One of the few who could stand alone and make it mean something.

  If Luther was dead…

  Garth looked up. “Who did it.”

  Marten’s eyes flicked to the footage paused on his screen—grainy security angles, a parking lot, movement like a swarm. And a familiar grin.

  “Kyle,” Marten said.

  Garth’s jaw tightened until it hurt. “Of course.”

  Marten rubbed his face with one hand. “They wanted the sword. They tried to take it.”

  Garth exhaled slowly. “We’re protecting it now.”

  Marten nodded. “Until we can find somewhere to send it. Somewhere safe.”

  Garth frowned. “They don’t even know what Shediro is unless they—”

  “I know,” Marten said grimly. “How do they know the name? How do they know it matters?”

  Garth’s mind moved quickly. “They raided another QH.”

  Marten’s eyes sharpened. “That’s what I was thinking.”

  Garth pointed at the sword. “If they got that information… they also know about Shemono and Shehaus.”

  Marten’s face tightened. “That’s very bad.”

  Garth’s voice went low. “We need to secure those too.”

  Marten nodded, already moving. “I’ll ask Dimson. Get his team working on it as soon as possible.”

  Garth paused. “Where are they?”

  Marten’s mouth twitched, frustrated. “Not here. And that was the whole point.”

  Garth stared at the sword one more time, feeling the weight of it settle into responsibility.

  Then he turned. “I’m going for a walk.”

  Marten blinked. “Now?”

  Garth’s expression didn’t soften. “Yeah. Now.”

  He went back downstairs and nudged Alisa gently.

  She blinked awake, yawned, then immediately pushed her head under his hand like she’d been waiting for it.

  “Come on,” he whispered.

  Alisa padded off the bed and shook herself, then grabbed her little harness from where she’d left it. She’d learned fast. Too fast, sometimes.

  Garth clipped it on and opened the door.

  The night air hit them like cold water.

  They passed the café on the way out.

  Through the front windows, Mino and Zacheas were still up—tools out, armor plates spread, both of them looking tired in the particular way that came from trying to pretend exhaustion didn’t matter.

  They glanced up as Garth passed.

  He didn’t stop.

  Not yet.

  Outside, the streetlights buzzed.

  And someone was sitting against the café’s outer wall like he’d been there all along.

  Heroko.

  He looked up as Garth approached, eyes catching immediately on the presence upstairs he couldn’t see but could feel.

  “I sense Shediro,” Heroko said. His tone was casual, but his gaze was sharp. “Why is it here?”

  Garth stopped, hand resting on Alisa’s harness. “Luther is dead.”

  Heroko’s expression barely shifted. “Hm.”

  Garth’s voice stayed even. “We’re the new protector.”

  Heroko stared at him for a moment, then smiled faintly.

  “Interesting,” he said. “Thank you.”

  And then he disappeared.

  No footsteps. No retreat into an alley.

  One blink he was there, the next the wall was empty.

  Alisa whined softly, unsettled.

  Garth sighed and crouched, letting her climb up onto his back the way she liked. She settled her chin on his shoulder, warm against his neck.

  He stood and kept walking.

  He didn’t know where he was going.

  He just knew he needed air.

  When he returned, the house was more awake.

  Mino, Zacheas, and Taco gathered in the main room while Marten explained in clipped sentences what had happened.

  Luther. Kyle. The trap. The sword appearing.

  Taco looked pale. “If they can kill Luther…”

  Zacheas’ hands curled into fists. “Then they can kill any of us.”

  Mino’s eyes stayed on Shediro like it had become a ticking bomb. “So now what? We just… hold onto it and hope nobody shows up?”

  Garth stepped into the room, Alisa at his side now. “We protect it,” he said simply. “And we find out where the others are. The other weapons. Before they do.”

  Marten nodded, fingers already moving across keys. “Dimson will move.”

  Mino swallowed. “And Heroko?”

  Garth’s eyes narrowed. “Heroko sensed it. He knows.”

  Zacheas’ voice was quiet. “That’s not comforting.”

  No one disagreed.

  Far away, in a place with no light and too much empty space, Spike stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

  Kyle was kneeling in front of him, head bowed.

  Spike’s voice was calm, which made it worse.

  “Stupid Luther,” Spike said. “He has only set us back briefly.”

  Kyle didn’t speak.

  Spike leaned forward slightly, smile thin.

  “Kyle,” he said. “Continue to hunt down those weapons. Do whatever it takes.”

  Kyle’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

  Spike’s eyes gleamed. “Do you understand me?”

  Kyle looked up, and for the first time his grin was gone.

  “I understand,” he said.

  Spike straightened.

  The hunt had started.

  And nobody yet knew how many pieces were on the board.