The two skitterers leaped at Philippa from the side, barbed legs glinting under the fractured streetlights.
She twisted sharply, the fresh vitality from her earlier sacrifice giving her just enough speed. The first creature's barbs scraped across her already torn jeans, ripping fabric and slicing into her thigh with a hot, stinging tear. Blood welled up immediately, warm and sticky, soaking through the denim. The second one latched onto her forearm, its mandibles sinking deep. She felt the sharp crunch as they pierced muscle, followed by the wet pull as it tried to burrow inward.
Philippa snarled and slammed the creature against the nearest shattered car hood. Its body burst open with a juicy pop, pale pus and dark ichor spraying across her chest and face. The metallic-rot stench made her gag, but she kept moving. She pried the second skitterer off her arm with her free hand, feeling its barbs tear free in a fresh spray of her own blood, then drove her kitchen knife down through its head. The blade split the carapace with a wet crunch, dark fluid squirting out in rhythmic pulses as the legs curled inward.
Her breathing came ragged now. The Echo Ripple was spreading wider — she saw a woman twenty meters away suddenly clutch her thigh and forearm, mirroring Philippa's fresh wounds for a few seconds before shaking it off with a terrified curse.
Sylcath watched the whole thing with narrowed eyes. The ghost of her pain clearly brushed against him again; he pressed two fingers to his own forearm for a moment, then dropped his hand with a soft scoff.
"Still trading away pieces of yourself like they're nothing," he said, voice carrying easily over the chaos. "At this rate, there won't be much left of Philippa Hominberg when the dust settles."
She wiped blood from her eyes, the motion leaving another dark smear across her cheek. "At least I'm not stealing what other people bled for," she shot back, voice hoarse. "How many have you gutted tonight just to feel strong?"
Sylcath's smirk faltered for half a second — not from her words, but from another ripple of her pain hitting him. He recovered quickly and raised his hand. Crimson energy flared. One of the larger skitterers that had been circling them froze mid-scuttle. Its body jerked violently as invisible force tore into its back. There was a sickening wet ripping sound, like tendons snapping and meat being yanked apart. A glowing chunk of essence ripped free through the opened carapace, trailing strands of pale fluid and dark blood. The creature collapsed in a twitching heap, its insides leaking onto the cracked pavement in a spreading pool.
He absorbed the essence with a slow inhale, his posture straightening slightly. "Efficient," he replied. "Clean. No leaking my weaknesses all over the street for every stray monster to smell."
Philippa didn't answer. More rifts were cracking open further down the block — that glassy, wrong sound echoing again. A fresh wave of smaller horrors poured out, drawn by the heavy coppery stench of blood and opened bodies. She could hear distant screams mixing with the wet tearing sounds of people still fighting for their lives.
Her brother was still upstairs. She had to get back to the apartment or find a defensible spot soon. The thought sent a fresh spike of urgency through her.
The largest of the new skitterers — thicker-shelled and faster — broke away from the pack and charged straight at her injured leg. Philippa met it with a downward slash. The serrated blade caught it across the thorax, slicing deep. Chitin parted with a crunch, and glistening innards spilled out in a slippery, steaming pile, the stench of bile and blood thick in the air. She yanked the knife free with a grotesque schlick and spun to face the next threat.
Pain flared hot along her thigh and forearm with every movement, but the clarity from sacrificing her fear kept her focused. She could feel the ripples leaking stronger now — a nearby man stumbled as a ghost of her leg wound hit him, nearly dropping his makeshift weapon.
Sylcath took another step closer, crimson energy already gathering in his palm again. His eyes flicked between her bleeding wounds and the fresh wave of creatures closing in.
"You're attracting them," he said, tone sharper now. "All that leaking power and pain… it's like a beacon. Keep this up and you'll get us both killed. Or worse — turned into resources for something bigger than these pests."
Philippa's grip tightened on the slippery knife. She could feel the next sacrifice hovering at the edge of her mind — something bigger this time, something that would hurt more to lose. The largest skitterer in the new wave reared up on its back legs, mandibles clicking open wide, ready to lunge.
She prepared to meet it head-on, knife raised, blood still flowing freely down her arm and leg in warm rivulets, muscles burning, as Sylcath lifted his glowing hand with clear intent — whether to help, steal, or claim the coming kill still unclear in the chaos