The first set of legs appeared at the edge of the stairwell below, tapping twice, then pausing, like the creature was testing the space. Another pair of legs joined it. Then another. They were not rushing. They were stacking, crowding, and somehow still organized. The choke point was supposed to belong to Kael. The stalkers were making it theirs.
Kael held his arm up. This time, he pressed his feet well into the ground. He planted his stance like a worker bracing for recoil, like a man who had held tools heavier than people assumed. His boots found the cracks in the concrete and used them. His knees bent. His shoulder rolled back. His palm opened, not as a gesture, but as a barrel.
The shotgun-like feeling of his arm almost ripping out struck once again, but this time he was ready; he didn't get thrown back, nor did he lose his balance.
