The Rift Chronicles: The Neon Contract

The rift beast's roar shook the glass walls of Dr. Leon Carver's office, a guttural bellow that drowned out the wail of Apex's alarms. Its hulking frame filled the space—gray skin cracked like old stone, black veins pulsing beneath, red eyes blazing through the haze of its own stench. Chains dangled from its wrists, snapped ends clinking as it charged, claws raking the carpet into shreds. Elias Voss met it without hesitation, machete flashing in a glowing arc, runes blazing blue as the blade bit into its shoulder. Black blood sprayed, sizzling where it hit, the acrid tang filling the air. The beast staggered, but its momentum held, a wall of muscle and rage.

Mira Kade's magic flared beside him, a violet bolt lashing from her hands to slam into the creature's flank. Flesh scorched, peeling back in a smoking ruin, and it bellowed again, swiping a claw that splintered Carver's desk into kindling. Shrike's men—three left standing—fanned out, rifles barking in sharp bursts. Bullets chewed the floor where Elias had been, but he rolled, coat snapping, and came up with his suppressed SIG Sauer in hand. Two shots—thwip, thwip—and two bodies dropped, visors shattered, blood pooling fast on the glass-strewn carpet. The third swung a jagged blade at him, steel glinting under the fluorescents. Elias parried with the machete, sparks flying, then drove the hilt into the man's jaw with a crack that sent him sprawling, out cold.

The beast lunged again, jaws gaping, its breath a wave of sulfur and decay that stung Elias's eyes. He ducked under a claw swipe, the wind tugging at his coat, and drove the machete upward, aiming for its chest. The runes flared brighter, cutting deep through sinew and bone, black blood gushing over his hands. The creature thrashed, a wild flail that caught him in the ribs and flung him back into a glass wall. The impact cracked the pane, jarring his spine, but he gritted his teeth, gray eyes narrowing as he pushed off, machete still lodged in the beast's flesh.

Mira stepped in, hands weaving a lattice of violet energy, her face tight with focus. "Move!" she snapped, and Elias rolled aside as she hurled the spell forward. It punched through the beast's skull, a burst of light and heat that erupted in a spray of black gore. The creature convulsed, limbs twitching, then collapsed in a heap, its red eyes dimming to nothing. The office fell silent save for the hiss of its blood eating into the floor and the distant wail of alarms.

Elias rose, wiping the machete on his sleeve, runes dimming as he sheathed it with a soft click. His coat was streaked with gore, a cut on his cheek oozing red, but his expression stayed stone—gray eyes piercing the wreckage. Mira shook out her hands, magic fading, and kicked the beast's corpse with a grimace. "That's no stray," she said, voice sharp. "Shrike's taming them." Elias crouched beside the body, prying a jagged shard from its neck with the tip of his blade. It pulsed faintly, purple and crystalline—a rift fragment, smaller than the one from Pier 17 but alive with the same eerie glow. He held it up, jaw tightening. "Control," he rasped, the word a verdict.

The last of Shrike's men groaned, stirring on the floor, blood trickling from his broken jaw. Elias loomed over him, shadow stretching long, and yanked him up by the collar. The man's eyes widened, terror cutting through the haze of pain. "Who sent you?" Elias growled, voice low and cold, the machete's edge hovering near his throat. "Shrike," the man gasped, words slurring through swelling lips. "He's got eyes everywhere—Apex, streets, rifts. Said you're dead if you keep digging." Elias pressed the blade closer, drawing a thin line of red. "Where's he holed up?" The man whimpered, shaking his head. "Don't know—moves too much. Just… just kill me quick."

Elias held his gaze a moment, gray eyes unyielding, then ended it—a single shot from the SIG Sauer, clean through the temple. The body slumped, and he holstered the pistol, wiping blood from his hands on the man's jacket. Mira watched, arms crossed, her smirk gone. "Efficient," she said, dry but not mocking. He didn't reply, just tucked the rift shard into his pocket beside the other, its pulse syncing with the first like a heartbeat.

Dr. Leon Carver emerged from behind his shattered desk, pale but composed, brushing glass from his suit with trembling fingers. "You've made a mess," he said, voice tight, glasses glinting under the flickering lights. Elias turned, gray eyes boring into him, the weight of his silence heavier than any threat. "Your mess," he said, low and final. "Talk." Carver sighed, adjusting his glasses with a forced calm, and leaned against the desk's remains. "The Shrike's after a rift key—something to control the scars, maybe open them wider. We're… exploring options to counter him. That's all you get for now."

Elias stepped closer, his shadow swallowing Carver's thin frame, the faint hum of his machete's runes cutting through the quiet. "Not enough," he said, voice like gravel. Carver's smile flickered, but he held his ground, tapping a comm device on his wrist. "Security's coming. You should go." Elias didn't move, just stared, letting the man squirm under his gaze. Mira broke the tension, grabbing Rhea's notes from the wreckage. "Let's not overstay," she said, heading for the door. Elias followed, coat trailing blood and glass, leaving Carver in the ruin of his office.

The elevator ride down was a hum of steel and silence, the rift shards in Elias's pocket pulsing harder with every floor. Mira leaned against the wall, wiping sweat from her brow. "Apex is dirty," she said, more to herself than him. He didn't answer, just watched the numbers drop, his mind turning over the beast, the shards, The Shrike's reach. The doors opened to the lobby—guards shouting, drones buzzing outside—but Elias strode through, Mira at his heels, the chaos parting around his unyielding presence.

Outside, the rain washed the blood from his hands, soaking his coat anew as they hit the street. The Apex tower loomed behind them, its lights cutting through the storm, a beacon of lies. Elias pulled the truck's keys from his pocket, the rift shards' glow faint through the fabric. "He's got beasts on a leash," Mira said, climbing in as he started the engine. "And Apex is playing both sides." Elias shifted into gear, gray eyes on the road, voice low. "Doesn't change the job. We find him. We end him."

The truck rumbled into the night, tires slicing through puddles that reflected the rift scars' eerie pulse. The Shrike wasn't just a trafficker or a ghost—he was a predator with claws in the city's veins, and Apex was feeding him scraps. Elias's grip tightened on the wheel, his resolve a cold, unyielding thing. The hunt was on, and he'd carve through whatever stood in his way—beast, man, or corporation. The rain fell harder, and Old Detroit swallowed them whole.