The city beneath the city wasn't made for the living.
It was made for those who'd been forgotten. Buried under neon, concrete, and magic that had long since rotted into something worse.
The Catacombs.
Jace pulled his hood low over his face as they crossed the broken fence at the edge of the Redline District. This part of the city stank of wet metal and ancient sorrow. Even the air tasted different—thick, heavy, wrong.
Lena walked at his left, loose-limbed and almost casual, but he knew better. She had that predator's stillness in her tonight, her boots making no sound on the crumbling asphalt.
Reya stayed close behind, clutching her shortblade too tight, her eyes flickering at every shadow.
"We shouldn't be here," she muttered under her breath.
"That's the point," Lena said without looking back.
Jace didn't say anything.
He could feel it—the pull from the shard pieces stitched into his chest, humming, alive, hungry. Something deep below was calling to him.
Or maybe warning him.
They found the old service tunnel hidden behind a rusted out subway entrance, just like the map Lena stole had promised.
"Last chance to turn back," Jace said, half-serious.
Reya snorted. "Like hell."
Lena just grinned, flashing teeth. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
The tunnel yawned before them, a gaping black mouth, lined with graffiti and wet mold. The ground sloped downward, and the further they walked, the more the city above faded—replaced by the drip of unseen water and the occasional scuttle of something not entirely human.
Half an hour in, the walls changed.
No more spray paint. No more crumbling bricks.
Bones.
Thousands of them.
Stacked neatly, built into the very walls—skulls grinning out from their macabre masonry, femurs and ribs arranged like some sick cathedral.
Reya gagged quietly behind him.
Lena just whistled. "Now that's craftsmanship."
Jace felt the shard inside him vibrate violently.
The Catacombs weren't abandoned.
Something was awake down here.
They reached a wide chamber lit by sputtering green torches embedded into the stone. Strange symbols had been burned into the floor—marks older than language, humming with latent power.
At the center of the room was a woman.
Or what had once been a woman.
Her hair was white as bone, cascading around her naked shoulders. Her body was lean, almost starved, but it radiated a terrible beauty—an aura that pressed against Jace's mind like a lover's touch and a dagger to the throat.
Eyes black as a starless sky pinned him where he stood.
"You brought them to me," she said, voice a whisper that slid inside his skull.
Jace fought to keep his face neutral.
"I brought myself."
The woman's smile was slow, cutting.
Lena stiffened beside him. Reya's hand went for her blade.
But neither moved.
They couldn't.
Jace's blood ran cold.
Binding magic.
Old. Brutal. Nearly extinct.
The woman—no, the Warden of the Catacombs—tilted her head.
"You carry pieces of the Hollow." Her tongue flicked across her lips like a serpent's. "You are broken, little wolf. But not beyond use."
A rush of images slammed into him—blood, fire, a throne built of shattered dreams.
"What do you want?" he rasped.
The Warden's smile widened.
"Only a taste."
She moved faster than thought, right in front of him, her hand sliding across his jaw, nails digging into his skin.
His heart kicked hard against his ribs, the shard inside him pulsing violently.
Reya screamed something behind him—muffled, trapped.
Lena snarled, struggling against the invisible chains binding them.
The Warden leaned in, inhaling deeply, her breath feathering across his mouth.
"You could be so much more, little wolf," she murmured.
Then she kissed him.
It wasn't like kissing a woman.
It was like drowning in ash and lightning.
Jace felt the Hollow surge, ripping through his veins, burning him from the inside out. His knees buckled, the world spinning into sharp, broken colors.
When she pulled back, her lips were stained red with his blood.
The bindings snapped.
Lena exploded into motion, drawing a knife and slashing toward the Warden's throat.
The woman caught her wrist mid-strike, smiling almost fondly.
"You'll have your chance soon enough, little thorn."
She shoved Lena back as if she weighed nothing.
Jace coughed, tasting metal and fire.
"What… the fuck… was that?" Reya gasped, finally moving again.
The Warden laughed—a sound like shattering mirrors.
"A gift."
She stepped backward into the shadows, her body dissolving into mist.
"But gifts must be earned."
The ground shook.
Bones rattled and tumbled from the walls.
Jace staggered upright, swaying.
Shapes began to claw their way from the walls and floor—skeletal warriors with hollow eyes, armed with jagged bone swords and rusted armor.
Dozens of them.
Maybe more.
Reya swore viciously, blades flashing out.
Lena just grinned, wild and fearless.
Jace wiped blood from his mouth, feeling the Hollow surge through him, dark and ravenous.
"Time to earn it," he growled.
And he charged.
The Catacombs lit up with the clash of steel, the shriek of bone splintering, and the roaring heartbeat of something monstrous waking inside him.