Chapter 8: Half-Awake
Cold air slapped Kaito in the face as he hit the courtyard.
He landed hard, knees bending to absorb the impact, boots skidding slightly across cracked stone. His oversized shirt fluttered around him, one sleeve slipping down his shoulder. The fabric was thin—useless for protection—but Kaito barely noticed.
He was still waking up.
Not fully here yet.
Dex landed beside him a heartbeat later, paws hitting stone with a sharp crack, teeth bared as he scanned the shadows.
"Too loud," Kaito muttered, blinking once. "Too bright."
Energy bolts tore through the air.
Kaito moved on reflex.
He twisted aside as a shot scorched past where his head had been, the heat brushing his cheek. His spear came up a fraction of a second later, knocking another bolt away with a dull, ringing thud.
"Right," he said flatly. "We're doing this."
He surged forward.
No fire.No finesse.Just momentum.
Kaito slammed the spear's shaft into the first attacker's midsection, the impact folding them instantly. He didn't stop moving—spun, swept low, took another off their feet. Someone fired from behind—
Dex tackled them before Kaito even turned.
"Good," Kaito said, breath fogging in the cold.
A blade clipped his sleeve, tearing fabric. He glanced down at the rip with mild annoyance.
"…That was my only clean shirt."
He caught the attacker's wrist, twisted sharply, and sent them sprawling into a wall. Another shot cracked against the stone near his head.
Kaito ducked, rolled, came up inside the shooter's range.
"Don't," he warned, voice rough with sleep.
The warning was ignored.
Kaito drove the spear forward—not the blade, just the haft—knocking the shooter unconscious in one clean strike.
He paused, chest rising and falling.
The alarms still wailed overhead. Students were evacuating through the far archways. Guards were regrouping.
Kaito wiped his face with his sleeve and yawned.
"This is inconsiderate," he muttered.
Something slammed into the courtyard gates.
Hard.
Kaito straightened.
Whatever hit it wasn't testing defenses.
It was announcing itself.
Dex growled low, fur bristling.
Kaito rolled his neck once, grip tightening on the spear. He felt the familiar pressure stir beneath his skin—heat trying to wake fully—but he shoved it back down with practiced ease.
"Not now," he said quietly.
He planted himself between the attackers and the retreating civilians, bare arms tense, shirt hanging crooked, eyes finally sharp.
Half-awake or not—
They had chosen the wrong night.