Grid: Omnipotence Series

Issue #4: In The Shadows

"Because we're prey he hasn't killed yet," she answered.

Nocturnal crouched near the gouges in the wall. His visor mapped the cuts: force measured in tons, claws sharp enough to shear alloy. Not Orion's style. Not Black Sigil either. This was personal. Surgical.

"Hypertech," Cassiel said at last. She spat the word like ash. "They make ghosts like this. Quiet programs. Not soldiers—weapons with legs."

Nocturnal traced the insignia with one gloved finger. "Then this one has teeth."

Pancho scampered down into the drains. Minutes later, his mind-voice crackled back: "He leaves pieces behind. Shards. Fragments of code in the pipes. He's not just attacking—he's marking territory."

Cassiel turned to Nocturnal, jaw tight. "Whoever he is, he wants you. He leaves trophies. He stalks our fires. He's building a hunt."

Nocturnal's visor flared. "Then we hunt back."

⸻

Chapter 7 — Blood in the Stronghold

The next strike didn't wait a week. It came inside the stronghold.

A quartermaster opened a crate of ammunition. Inside was no ammo—only a crow, its neck glowing with embedded circuitry. When he tried to shove it out, the bird's head cracked open and spat a flash charge. The blast shredded half the stockpile.

Cassiel dragged the quartermaster out coughing, optics flaring. She scanned the shards. Every fragment carried the insignia burned into its shell.

"That's not just a signature," she muttered. "It's a contract. He's signing the kill."

That night, while the civilians slept, Cassiel and Nocturnal scoured the stronghold. They found scratches in the walls that hadn't been there before. Marks on doors that had been locked from the inside. And always, the crows—never striking when seen, only moving when no one was looking.

Pancho caught one, finally—pinned it under metal claws. Its beak opened and spilled static. For an instant, a voice bled through:

"Hunt the man. Follow the god. Ascend."

The crow convulsed and died in Pancho's grip.

⸻

Chapter 8 — Into the Grid

Nocturnal's visor picked up the code fragment, looping endlessly: half-skull, crow's wing, coordinates shifting too fast to read. He recognized it wasn't a location in the city. It was an invitation.

Cassiel frowned at the feed. "It's not a map. It's a door. And if you open it, you won't know where you'll land."

"The Grid," Nocturnal said. His voice was iron.

Cassiel looked at him. "You've seen it?"

"Enough to know it's not ours."

Pancho's tail flicked, nervous. "He's baiting us. He wants us inside. He knows the ground here isn't his—but in there, it is."

Cassiel set her rifle down on the table, optics burning cobalt. "Then we don't walk in blind. We prep. We build. And when we step into his hunting ground—we don't leave until we've named him."

Outside, the crows gathered on the tram frames, silent, necks glowing with faint code. Watching. Waiting.

And far away, in the impossible open plains of the Grid, Remnant knelt among the wires, watching the shape of a god crawl through the sky, and whispered to himself:

"Not yet. First the shadow. Then the fire."

———
Chapter 9 — The False Trap

The Rebellion set bait. They rigged an abandoned tram depot with thermal decoys, drones rigged to mimic Nocturnal's movements, and Cassiel herself standing as visible draw.