Novels by Bianca

The golden light from Rafael’s improvised catalyst faded, leaving the HVAC closet smelling of ozone and singed plastic. The Vanguard soldiers had retreated, cowed by the sheer force of the feedback loop Rafael had triggered. Elena leaned against the wall, chest heaving, clutching Sarah, while Kirill stood over the door frame, his sword still humming with residual energy."They won’t stay back for long," Elena said, her voice shaking as she gestured toward the hallway. "That was just a scouting party. Silas is going to come back with the heavy hitters next time."Rafael sank to the floor, his head spinning. The "buff" he had just forced into the room had drained him of every ounce of energy. He looked up at Elena, who was staring at the cooling body of the massive beast they’d slain in the basement."That thing," Rafael said, his voice raspy. "You saw how it moved. It wasn’t just aggressive. It was… tactical. It was waiting for us."Elena nodded, her expression grim. "It’s worse than y

The flare gun in Elena’s hand didn't waver, but her eyes flickered toward the massive, cooling corpse of the behemoth in the hallway. She looked back at them, her expression unreadable."You two are either suicidal or you have the luck of the devil," Elena said, her voice cutting through the hum of the communications equipment. "That thing has been hunting in the sub-basement for three days. It wiped out an entire extraction team yesterday."Kirill exhaled, his frame finally sagging as the adrenaline began to bleed away. He didn't lower his sword, but he pointed it toward the floor. "We aren't suicidal. We’re just hungry. And we’re tired of running."Elena finally lowered the flare gun, though she kept it gripped tight. She took a half-step back, revealing the cluttered desk behind her. "I’m Elena. I’ve been monitoring the comms since the blackout started. You’re the 'Chef' and the 'Blade,' aren't you? The ones the Collective is hunting?"Rafael wiped a streak of oily sweat from his f

Chapter 8: Basement ChefThe shutter slammed into the concrete with a final, echoing boom, sealing them in the dark. The basement air was thick, tasting of coolant, rust, and the metallic tang of something much, much larger than a rat."Are you serious?" Rafael whispered, his voice cracking. "That’s a sealed exit. We’re in a coffin."Kirill stood between Rafael and the heavy, rhythmic thudding echoing from the shadows. His shoulders were bunched, his grip on his sword so tight the leather wrap creaked. "It’s not a coffin, kid. It’s an oven. And we’re the ones deciding the temperature.""An oven? We’re about to be the main course!" Rafael backed away, his boots sliding on the oil-slicked floor. "That thing—whatever it is—is the size of a transit bus. I saw the silhouette. My shears aren't going to do anything but give it a pedicure.""Then stop looking at the monster and look at the room," Kirill snapped, his eyes never leaving the darkness. "We’re in the sub-basement. Look at the wall

The storage closet was silent, save for the rhythmic metallic scraping of Rafael sharpening his shears against a piece of scavenged rebar. The "buff zone" he had created was still holding, the air feeling thick and charged with a low-frequency hum that made the hair on his arms stand up.Kirill sat across from him, staring at an empty, crinkled wrapper that had once held a high-grade energy bar. He crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the pile of useless trash."That's the last of the good stuff, isn't it?" Kirill asked, his voice rough.Rafael sighed, setting his shears down. "Yeah. Everything else in the bag is just base-level junk. It’s not going to keep you running at peak efficiency for long."Kirill looked up, his jaw set in a hard line. "I can feel the lag setting in already. My stamina's not refilling as fast as it was an hour ago. If we don't get fresh, high-density ingredients, we're going to be sitting ducks when that collective comes back.""I know," Rafael replied,

The storage closet felt smaller than it had seconds ago. The air, thick with the lingering scent of ozone and that strange, invigorating mana-stew Rafael had cooked up, felt like a target painted on their door.Kirill didn’t unbolt the door immediately. He looked at Rafael, his eyes narrowing, his hand tight on the hilt of his sword. He mouthed a single word: Stay.Rafael nodded, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He shoved the glowing remains of the Siphon into his bag and smoothed his hoodie, trying to look like a background character, a nobody, a sidekick.Kirill kicked the bolt back and threw the door open.Standing in the hallway was a man who looked like he had walked off the cover of a luxury magazine—if the magazine were dedicated to tactical gear and apocalypse-chic. He wore clean, charcoal-colored tactical armor, his hair slicked back without a single stray strand. He was holding a sleek, silver tablet, his expression bored, as if he were checking in on a faulty electrica

The cafeteria doors groaned on rusted hinges as they pushed inside, the air within smelling of stale grease and long-dried despair. They didn't stop for food. They didn't stop to scavenge the overturned tables. Kirill, moving with the gait of a man who had pushed his body past its absolute limit, led the way through the back service entrance, bypassing the main floor to reach the small, reinforced storage closet he’d been using as a makeshift bunker.Once the door was locked and bolted, the silence felt heavy, pressing against their eardrums. Rafael slumped against a stack of crates, his hands trembling as he pulled the Essence Siphon from his bag. It was still glowing, a rhythmic, pulsing light that seemed to dim and brighten in time with his own heartbeat."So," Kirill said, his chest heaving as he dropped his blade to the floor with a metallic clatter. "That’s the prize. You have any idea what it actually does, or are we just staring at it like it’s a Christmas light?"Rafael wiped