Chapter 30 – Corralling
Luna’s heart was hammering so hard in her chest that she was half convinced the others could hear it, and she had to force herself to breathe slower so she would not look as nervous as she felt. The situation had escalated far faster than she had expected, and now everything felt as though it was teetering on the edge of open war.
The knight and the angel were not acting alone like she had first assumed. Somehow, through persuasion or manipulation or sheer force of presence, they had managed to convince the local military to work with them against Umbra. That fact unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. Soldiers with guns were one thing. Soldiers with guns who believed they were righteous were something else entirely.
Umbra had given Luna several of her own soldiers to assist in the coming conflict. At first Luna had been deeply apprehensive about accepting them, because she had no desire to command grotesque mockeries of humanity, but she had quickly realised that these particular creations had been shaped from nearby animals. That made it easier to tolerate them. They were twisted, yes, but not stolen from people. With their enhanced senses and unnatural loyalty, they proved invaluable for reconnaissance, slipping through backyards, alleyways, and drainage systems to watch and listen.
It was through them that Luna discovered they were being watched in return.
The knowledge settled over her like a winter chill. This city was no longer neutral ground, it was already becoming a warzone, even if the wider public did not yet know it.
She didn’t want unnecessary casualties. In a perfect world, she would have preferred to keep the loss of life to a minimum so that Umbra could later grant those same people her gift, remaking them into something better and stronger. That was the ideal outcome, but reality was rarely ideal. If the knight and her tyrannical angel wife were truly as powerful as Umbra had described, then restraint might become a luxury they could not afford.
You couldn’t make an omelette without cracking a few eggs, she thought grimly, though she had never particularly liked that saying. It felt too casual for what it implied.
They had split into two teams to cover more ground and reduce the chance of being cornered. Luna kept Emily and Harry with her, while the rest of their group moved elsewhere to search for suitable battlegrounds… open spaces where collateral damage could be somewhat controlled if things turned violent.
Emily was unexpectedly excellent at this kind of work. She moved with uncanny precision on her soft, feline paws, barely making a sound even when crossing gravel or climbing fences. Luna had watched her leap onto the roof of a single-storey house with effortless grace, landing in a crouch as though she weighed nothing at all. There was something almost unfair about how naturally she adapted to her altered form.
Harry, on the other hand, was not built for subtlety. He was solid and broad, and even when he tried to tread lightly, he could only be so quiet in hooves. Still, stealth was not his purpose. If violence erupted, he would be their frontline, the wall between Luna and whatever came charging at them.
What he did not seem to realise was that Luna suspected she might actually be stronger than him.
Harry was visibly more muscular, his arms thick and with definition and bulk, but Luna felt something different inside herself, something coiled and immense beneath her skin. It was not just muscle, it was something like density, as though her bones had been forged from something heavier than they should be. She knew she was much heavier than she probably looked. Sometimes, when she clenched her fists, she had the distinct impression that if she truly let go and stopped holding back, she could flip a car or hurl a truck down the street without much effort.
The thought of that kind of strength sent a strange thrill through her.
It was terrifying. It was intoxicating.
“Luna!” Emily hissed as she dropped down from the low rooftop above, landing in a crouch beside her with far less noise than someone her size should have made.
Luna turned sharply. “Em? What’s wrong?”
Emily’s ears were flattened against her hair, her tail flicking tensely behind her. “There are drones tracking us from above. I counted at least three circling, maybe more, and I’ve seen army people moving in the streets behind us. They’re keeping their distance.”
Luna felt a cold weight settle in her stomach. “How close?”
“Close enough,” Emily replied. “And there’s more. This entire area is being evacuated. I saw police and soldiers going door to door. They’re telling people to leave.”
“Leave to where?” Luna demanded.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t get near enough without being spotted. They’ve set up a perimeter of sorts. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”
Luna’s brow furrowed. “Then how haven’t we run into them directly?”
“Because they’re herding us,” Emily said nervously. “They’re shifting positions whenever we move, staying just outside our line of sight. I could see them from above, but only barely. They’re coordinating.”
Harry swore under his breath, the sound low and rumbling. “That sounds bad. Really bad. Are we sure we’re on the right side here?”
The question hung in the air longer than Luna liked.
She forced herself to nod, projecting certainty even as unease gnawed at her. “Yeah. I think we are. This is just resistance. Of course they’d push back, we just have to hold out while Umbra gives more people her gift. Once that happens, everything will balance out. People will understand, they’ll see which side is actually helping them.”
She spoke with conviction, because she needed to believe it.
Harry exhaled slowly through his nose, clearly not entirely convinced, but he didn’t press further. Emily, however, did not look reassured. Her blue eyes flicked upward briefly, as though checking for the faint buzz of drones.
“I don’t know,” Emily admitted quietly. “I get that armies and cops aren’t exactly saints, but this doesn’t feel like normal suppression. It feels like they’re preparing for something bigger.”
Luna frowned at her. “Of course they’re preparing. They’re scared. We’ve changed the board.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Emily said, her tail twitching. “Something about this feels off.”
Luna stepped closer, lowering her voice. “It is messy. I won’t pretend it isn’t. But think about how you felt when Umbra changed you. Think about how strong you are now. How alive. Do you really think she’d give that to us just to use us?”
Emily hesitated.
“And that angel and the knight?” Luna continued. “They’re coming here to kill us. Not arrest us, not negotiate, kill. We don’t really have the luxury of doubt right now. We have to fight for what we’ve been given.”
She searched their faces.
“Do you think Umbra would lie to us?”
There was a long pause. Harry looked at Emily. Emily looked at the ground.
Slowly, both of them shook their heads.
“Exactly,” Luna said, seizing on it. “She knows more than we do. She sees the bigger picture. We just have to trust her.”
The distant thrum of a drone passed overhead, faint but unmistakable.
Luna straightened. “Let’s regroup with the others. If they’re tightening a net, we don’t want to be isolated when it closes. We’re stronger together than we are scattered.”
Neither of them argued this time.
Umbra felt ragged around the edges, not physically tired in the way a lesser creature might be, but stretched thin, as though too many threads of her awareness were being pulled in too many directions at once. She moved constantly, slipping from alley to alley, courtyard to courtyard, planting the seeds of new broodmothers wherever she judged the conditions acceptable. It was demanding work, especially at the pace she had set for herself, yet she could not deny the satisfaction that came with it.
She was doing good work. The broodmothers that had already matured were thriving. Through the faint but steady pulse of her connection to them, she could feel their contentment as they laboured, reshaping crude flesh into more purposeful forms. They were far happier now than they had ever been as individual smartapes, trapped inside fragile bodies and narrow minds. As broodmothers, they were unified, productive, beautiful in their own industrious way. They were part of something greater.
It was, however, unfortunate that the sun had risen. Daylight complicated matters. There were still defiant smartapes scattered beyond her immediate reach, and though she had thinned their numbers significantly, she had not yet achieved total saturation. Worse still, she had noticed strange mechanical notbirds circling high above her position, their distant buzzing persistent and watchful. She did not know precisely what they were, but instinct told her they were tools of her enemies, and that meant they could not be ignored.
If she had been granted even one or two additional days at this rate of expansion, she was certain the outcome would have been inevitable. With that much time, the network would have become too dense and self-sustaining. No knight, angel, or coalition of frightened smartapes would have been able to uproot her influence once it reached critical mass.
Especially not that insufferable knight, or her sanctimonious, self-righteous angel.
Umbra’s jaw tightened. Why did they refuse to see the truth? She was not destroying, she was improving! She was taking flawed, fragile creatures and giving them resilience, unity, and purpose! She was smoothing out the ugliness of the world and replacing it with something cohesive and far more aesthetically pleasing. She wanted to help, even if they couldn’t .
They simply lacked the vision to appreciate it.
But that was acceptable. Understanding was not a prerequisite for salvation. They did not need to agree. In time, once they were remade, they would see the wisdom of her design whether they would have chosen it or not.
The district around her had grown eerily quiet. Within a broad radius, most of the remaining smartapes had already been reduced to obedient servants, their individual wills dissolved into something more harmonious. She would cultivate new intelligent forms later, once stability had been secured. For now, efficiency mattered more than refinement.
In the distance, a dull explosion rolled through the streets, followed by a tremor beneath her feet. Umbra paused briefly, tilting her head as she listened to the echo fade between buildings. That was… inconvenient. It suggested direct engagement somewhere within her expanding territory.
Still, she had work to do.
She kept to the shadows, moving swiftly along the edges of structures, her form slipping between light and darkness with practiced ease. Every moment spent stationary was a moment her enemies could capitalise upon.
Then, abruptly, something snapped. A thin strand in the web of her awareness went dark.
Umbra froze mid-step. The connection to one of her broodmothers had been severed.
That gave her more pause than the explosion had. Broodmothers were among the strongest servants she could produce quickly, dense with biomass and reinforced by layered instinct. Destroying one required significant strength.
She exhaled slowly, steadying herself.
It was… unfortunate.
But not catastrophic.
She still had others, and she could always make more, even if each new creation demanded a noticeable portion of her reserves. The effort drained her more than she liked to admit, leaving her momentarily hollow each time she split off that much of herself into another vessel.
No matter.
If they wished to force her hand, she would simply escalate in return.
It was late afternoon when Mary Sutton heard the knock at her front door, three firm raps that echoed more sharply than usual through the quiet house. She had not been expecting anyone. The kids had only just gotten home from school and were in the lounge arguing over the television remote, and Mitchell would not be back for at least another three hours, assuming he came straight home from work and did not decide to stop for drinks with the boys. Normally that possibility would irritate her a little, but today she had been secretly pleased at the thought. She had a novel waiting on her bedside table that she had been meaning to start for weeks, and she had been looking forward to a peaceful evening once the children were in bed and the house had settled into silence.
She wiped her hands on a tea towel and walked to the door, already forming a polite smile, half-expecting to see her elderly neighbour Janet standing there with some harmless request about bins or a missing parcel.
The smile faded almost immediately when she opened the door.
Standing on her doorstep was not Janet, but a young man in camouflage fatigues, his posture stiff and formal, a New Zealand flag patch stitched neatly onto his shoulder. His boots were dusty, and there was a tension in his expression that did not belong in a quiet suburban street in Hamilton.
“Hello,” Mary said carefully, her voice tightening despite her attempt to sound normal. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man replied, nodding once. “Private Stokes. There is an evacuation effort underway in this suburb, Ms—”
“Mrs. Sutton,” she corrected automatically, though her mind had already begun to race.
“Mrs. Sutton,” he repeated. “You and anyone with you need to leave this area immediately. Please proceed to FMG Stadium Waikato. There are tents being set up there. You need to go as soon as possible.”
Mary blinked at him, certain she must have misheard. “I’m sorry… what?”
“You need to evacuate, ma’am. Immediately.”
She stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for some hint of humor or exaggeration. “Why?” she asked finally.
The private grimaced slightly, as though he had already answered that question a dozen times today. “I’m not authorized to share details. It is imperative that you leave right away.”
Mary felt irritation flicker through her confusion. “Is this some kind of drill? Or a prank?”
He shook his head firmly. “We’re going door to door across the area. I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t serious. I strongly recommend you gather essentials and leave now.”
Her heart began to thud in her chest. She leaned sideways and looked past him down the street. To her growing disbelief, she saw more uniformed figures moving from house to house, knocking on doors, speaking to neighbours. A military vehicle was parked at the end of the road, its engine idling. One of the young soldiers was helping an elderly man down his driveway.
This was not a prank.
“O-okay,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry. “I… I hope this isn’t some kind of mistake.”
Private Stokes’ expression softened just slightly. “I wish it was, Mrs. Sutton. Please be safe.”
He gave her a brief nod before jogging toward the house next door.
Mary stood frozen in her doorway for several seconds, her mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. Evacuate. Immediately. Stadium. Tents.
A sharp crack echoed faintly in the distance, like thunder, though the sky above was clear.
Her stomach dropped.
“Kids!” she called out suddenly, her voice higher than she intended. “Come here. Right now.”
The television volume lowered, and her son appeared in the hallway first, frowning. “What?”
“We need to pack a bag,” Mary said, already moving toward the linen closet. “Just a small one. Shoes on. No arguing.”
“Why?” her daughter asked from the lounge.
“Because I said so,” Mary snapped, then softened immediately. “There’s… there’s something going on. The army is here.”
“The army?” her son repeated, eyes widening slightly.
Mary forced a reassuring smile she did not feel. “It’s probably just a precaution. We’re going to the stadium for a bit. That’s all.”
But as she hurried through the house grabbing jackets, phone chargers, and whatever else her shaking hands could think of, she could not shake the growing sense that something was very wrong, and that the quiet, ordinary afternoon she had been expecting had just vanished into something she did not understand at all.