BLOODCAPE
Chapter 151: Black Halo Burns

Chapter 151: Chapter 151: Black Halo Burns

The stink hit first.

Sulfur. Oil. Wet metal. Blood that had dried weeks ago but still clung to the stone walls. Hernan pulled his scarf up higher across his face as they descended the narrow corridor, its walls pulsing with faint red lights that led downward in a spiral. Every step echoed wrong — just enough delay to make it feel like something else was following.

Aya kept pace beside him, eyes sharp, ponytail tucked under her hood. No jokes this time. In this place, humor got you marked.

Behind them, Renz drifted like smoke — new recruit, dark goggles, no sound to his steps. Too smooth. Too quiet. Too... perfect.

"Tunnel map ends here," Nico whispered through Hernan’s earpiece. Static crawled at the edges. "No feeds below. You’re blind from here on."

"Copy," Hernan said softly, tapping the side of his neck to cut the line. "Aya. Cut left at the split. Stay on auction floor visuals. Priority’s intel, not fireworks."

"Understood," she replied. No backtalk. Good.

They reached a fork — a jagged tear in the wall where decades-old concrete met newer, alien-infused plating. Someone had rebuilt this place from subway bones and off-world scrap. A whole economy breathed under here — where ex-heroes sold biotech on credit and Vaskari blades were auctioned like vintage wine.

Aya slipped into the left tunnel and vanished, holo-disguise flickering into a pale-skinned, white-haired Fethari hybrid — common enough to pass unnoticed.

Hernan and Renz moved forward.

"You know your part?" Hernan murmured, not looking back.

"Walk quiet. Watch everything. Record what they say. Don’t touch anything unless it bleeds," Renz replied smoothly.

Almost too smoothly.

Hernan noted it. Logged the rhythm. Memorized the exact tone.

The corridor widened, and the noise changed — thickened. Sound moved slower down here. The beat of synth-bass throbbed ahead. Voices. Clinks of glasses. Laughter. Deals being made.

Then the auction floor.

A circular vault, once a maintenance roundhouse for old trains. Now it pulsed with deep red light and illegal life. Tables curved in concentric rings around a glass platform where a Varnak female stood, arms folded over plated skin. A half-melted drone hovered beside her, displaying the current bid: 40,000 credits for Crimson Chitin Blades — banned Vaskari weaponry that evolved mid-fight.

Around her sat the worst kinds of people.

Slick ex-heroes with scavenged armor. Alien smugglers from five systems. Black market dealers whose shadows moved faster than they did. And among them — two men wearing Hero Association tags, their uniforms black-sleeved and off-registry.

"Tell me you see that," Hernan muttered.

A crackle. Then Aya’s voice: "Saw it. Confirmed Scorpio tag on the left vendor. Arm tattoo — serpentine coil."

Hernan’s stomach turned. Not fear. Focus.

Renz leaned beside him, voice low. "I count six sentries. That’s three too many."

"I know," Hernan replied. "Which means someone flagged us."

Renz said nothing.

Then he was gone.

Just... gone.

Slipped into the crowd. No signal. No ping.

Hernan’s fingers twitched under his coat.

The auction continued. Ascension vials. Distortion mines. Hybrid tech. Hernan watched a Scorpio-linked buyer make a discreet deal near the far wall. One of the datapads exchanged bore a symbol etched in deep blue — not the public crest.

The inner mark.

The real one.

Proof.

One step closer to the lab. One step closer to the next Zodiac.

But Renz wasn’t where he should be.

"Aya, status?"

"Still watching the upper deck. One of the servers got too close. Might be a sensor."

"Pull back in five. If I’m not with you—run."

"Not happening."

A hand touched his shoulder.

Too casual. Wrong pressure.

Hernan turned slowly.

The man behind him wore a hero’s cloak over scorched armor. A breathing mask hissed softly as he leaned in and said:

"You should’ve stayed in the academy, ’Rook.’"

Hernan’s hand moved without thought — across his waist, into his coat.

Steel whispered free.

The knife slid in clean, right beneath the ribs.

The man gasped, swung, missed. Hernan dipped under the elbow, twisted the blade, yanked it out. Blood sprayed, catching the lights above. The body crumpled into a table of vials — glass rained around it like cheap rain.

Hernan was already moving.

"Aya — engaged," he snapped into his mic. "Move now."

Then the auction detonated.

A pulse-shot ripped past, tearing a hole in the aisle wall. Buyers screamed. The drone exploded in a hiss of static. Sentries who were supposed to guard turned guns on each other.

Aya’s electricity struck like a lightning storm.

Blue-white arcs danced along the stairwell, lighting bodies on fire. One thug twitched and collapsed. Another screamed as his armor cooked him from the inside.

Hernan moved through it all — ghost-quick, blade drawn, mind counting steps.

Three exits. Two compromised. One open — for now.

He ran for it.

And saw him.

Renz.

Standing in the wrong corridor.

Not flanking. Not moving. Just watching.

Their eyes met.

Hernan slowed — one breath, no more.

Renz’s posture was loose. His hands behind his back. And there — a flicker at his wrist.

A tag. A contact signal.

He tipped them off.

Hernan didn’t speak.

Just locked it away. Face neutral. Eyes sharp.

Then a round shrieked overhead and blew the ceiling wide.

He dove. Rolled. Landed next to a moaning alien merchant missing a leg.

Hernan pulled a dart — blinking faintly, needle-tipped.

He didn’t aim for the enemy.

He stabbed it into the neck of the buyer with the Scorpio brand.

The man screamed. Slumped.

Tracer deployed.

They’d follow him. Hernan didn’t need everything — just the trail.

"Time to go."

Aya limped toward him, bleeding, jaw clenched. "Fried half the room. Think I caught a kid."

"We got what we came for," Hernan said. "Move."

Renz rejoined them, silent.

Together they fled — through smoke, through ruin, through water that hissed where it struck burning wires.

The vent shaft opened to night.

District 10’s sky dome reflected industrial glow — too bright to see stars.

Hernan climbed out first.

His coat reeked of scorched ozone and blood. His knife was still wet.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t look back.

He just stood there.

And thought:

One of you just tried to kill me.And I’m going to smile until I slit your throat.

POV Shift: Renz

He stood in the haze behind the vent, watching Hernan.

Aya clutched her side. Hernan didn’t flinch. Not once. He just stood there — the picture of calm, quiet rage wrapped in a smile.

He knows, Renz thought.But he doesn’t know.

Good.

That meant he still had time.Time to decide which side would keep him alive longest.

And how long he could keep pretending.

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