The Underworld was unlike any other city. The shadows of the Atlantean floating islands and their great waterfalls cloaked the Underworld in perpetual darkness. Beneath the realm of the rich and powerful—the so-called sky gods—the Underworld city festered, a sprawling maze of decay illuminated by neon lights and the sounds of eight million lives. The air was thick with the scent of cheap street food and ambrosia, mixed with laughter and the thrum of electronic music. It felt both vividly alive and suffocating, wrapping around you like a heavy shroud.

Self-driving transports buzzed around on the bridges connecting towering highrises, gliding effortlessly through the dirty, damp streets. The transports, with their metallic designs, glinted in the harsh neon glow, weaving through the chaos of the city like fireflies flickering in a darkened sky. People in this city would kill to see daylight, their faces pale from the lack of sun, yearning for a glimpse of the world above.

Throughout the streets, billboards and holograms flashed provocative advertisements, many featuring scantily clad women promoting products that promised escape from the grim reality of the wretched city. The relentless stream of visuals pulsed through the city, overwhelming those struggling to survive in its depths.

In the dark landscape, a dimly lit apartment high in a towering high-rise flickered with neon light from nearby advertisements. A crimson glow bathed the room, reflecting off the bed where Ibris Mansa lay sprawled, tangled in sheets beneath a woman whose name he had not cared to remember.

Her dark skin and deep brown eyes shimmered faintly in the half-light, a sign of her exotic lineage, perhaps she was from Kemp or Alemuria. Their breaths were heavy with the sweet, sharp scent of ambrosia. Her lips hovered over his, a lazy smile playing on them, but Ibris' mind was far away. He was not one for attachments anymore, and in this city, everything came with a cost, especially for a halfbreed like him.

Suddenly, the shrill tone of his high-tech tablet cut through the hazy room, disturbing the heavy silence. Ibris groaned and reached for the device on the bedside table, feeling the woman's body slide off him.

Ibris sat up and was momentarily caught off guard by his reflection in the mirror at the foot of his bed. He glimpsed his bare form—a blend of human and something far more primal. His large frame, powerfully built, was draped in muscles that rippled beneath his skin. His dark hair, thick and unruly, framed a face that was human but not entirely so. Two massive horns curled back over his head, giving him the appearance of a man who shared blood with beasts. His nose was broad, his jaw square, and his brown eyes sharp, glowing faintly with an intensity that most found intimidating. He was a creature born of myth, carrying the strength and essence of the great and sacred Atlantean bull.

The name that flashed on the screen froze him in place: Yoshua Imenti.

"You interrupted me at an inopportune time," Ibris growled into the tablet, with irritation. His body still buzzed from the woman's touch as she laughed softly, tracing the length of his left horn, slowly, savoring the texture.

Yoshua on the other end was tense, ignoring the intimate sounds from Ibris' end. "I don't have time for games, Ibris. We need to talk."

Ibris sighed, trying to ignore the woman as she mounted him again. "What is it?" Ibris asked, impatiently.  Her fingers trailing sensually along both of his horns this time, her eyes sparkling with fascination. She whispered teasingly into his ear, her breath hot against his skin. "Whoever it is," the woman purred, leaning down, her lips brushing Ibris' horn as if it were the most intimate part of him, "tell him I'm not done with you."

"Stop," Ibris said, though his voice lacked conviction.

"You're so damn beautiful," the woman whispered, thick with desire. 

But Ibris was growing visibly irritated. He knew Yoshua would not have called him without a good reason. 

The woman smiled mischievously. 

Ibris' eyes narrowed as her fingers traced down his torso, her sultry smile widening at his momentary hesitation. 

She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his skin. "Finish the call... then I'll finish you."

"Stop," he grunted this time, pushing her away.  "Leave," he growled, cutting through her playful words.

Her hand stilled, disbelief flashing across her face. "What?" She sat up, still straddling him, her hands on his chest. "You can't be serious?"

"I said leave," Ibris repeated, coldly, his eyes locked on hers.

Her lips twisted with anger as she glared at him. "So it's true what they say. You are a monster," she muttered, grabbing her clothes from the floor and throwing them on haphazardly before storming toward the door.

Ibris did not bother responding. He was used to it—people always saw the beast before the man.

She shot him one last glare, her anger seething. The apartment door hissed open behind her. The neon light from the hallway spilled over her, harsh and cold, illuminating her silhouette. Without another word, she disappeared into the corridor, the door slid shut behind her.

Ibris rubbed his forehead, pressing the tablet closer to his ear. His voice still carried the edge of frustration as he asked, "What do you need, Yoshua?"

"Geshar's wife, Jahui, is here in Cupta," Yoshua said, his words clipped. "She was nine months pregnant when-"

"Was?"

"She labored here in my home with Aiyana. She had a baby boy."

"A halfbreed child." A boy. Ibris sat up, the memory of his own lost son flickering painfully at the edges of his mind.

"Yes, he has small feathers, that will probably become wings of a crane, like his father."

"Where's Geshar?" Ibris asked. His mind raced—Geshar would not have left Jahui's side willingly, not at such a crucial moment.

"I don't know," Yoshua sighed heavily, "but Jahui is dying."

Ibris let out a slow breath, rubbing his forehead as if trying to find clarity through his drunken haze. "A halfbreed birth rarely goes well for the mother." He knew the risks well, having lived the tragedies that often followed.

"Yes, but—" Yoshua hesitated.

"What?" Ibris snapped. 

"She was attacked—"

Ibris stood up. "What?"

"She was attacked by one of the scaled ones." 

Ibris frowned, his brow furrowing as he struggled to grasp the gravity of the situation. The scaled ones were tragic byproducts of early halfbreed genetic experiments, born from the DNA of long-extinct beasts. Those who had undertaken these experiments had underestimated the complexity of the ancient creatures and the unpredictable ways their DNA would interact with human genetics.

Scaled halfbreeds bore little resemblance to humans and had no sense of civility. They walked and spoke like humans, but they were feral predators, driven by primal instincts and a desperate need for flesh. Their accidental release during the Nori War weighed heavily on Ibris' conscience as one of his greatest regrets.

While his allies celebrated the end of the brutal, five-year Nori Civil War, believing they had achieved freedom and victory for all halfbreeds, the scaled ones' violence tarnished everything. The people of Atlantis never truly forgot those days after the war, the atrocities committed by the scaled ones. Although Ibris believed that true equality would come with time after the war, the damage done by the scaled ones cemented halfbreeds as a danger to the people of Atlantis.

"Who was it? Anyone we know?" Ibris asked, his teeth clenched. How many of those abominations were still left?

"No," Yoshua muttered. "I'd heard rumors that one had been spotted near tribe territory, but I could never track him down. Jahui came north to find me, but instead, he found her."

Ibris clenched his fists at the mention of a scaled one. The thought of Geshar's wife being attacked by such a creature filled Ibris with a cold fury. "Did he know who Jahui was?" 

Yoshua exhaled heavily, the sound weary through the tablet. "I didn't get the chance to ask," he said, his frustration palpable. "There was no time for questions. I had to kill—he's dead."

Ibris could feel the anger creeping up inside him. He was trying to keep his temper in check, but the thought of the scaled ones made his control waver. "Good," Ibris muttered.

"There's more-," Yoshua hesitated.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ibris replied, incredulously.

"Several Dawa monks had followed Jahui into Cupta. They trailed her across the continent. Two of them found Jahui exactly when I found her with the scaled one. After the three of us dealt with that feral man, they demanded I hand her over. I refused, but they warned me—If I don't turn her over to them, either the Atlantean police or mercenaries will track her down."

Something wasn't adding up. Ibris' instincts were on high alert. "The monks got there when you did? That timing is strange."

Yoshua hesitated, his voice briefly faltering before he regained composure. "I don't know," he said flatly.

Ibris paused, sensing there was more beneath the surface—why was Yoshua hiding the truth?

After a pause, Yoshua added, "Geshar joined that monastic order. Why would they turn on his family?" 

"I don't know," Ibris said through pursed lips.

"For a few moments, when Jahui was lucid and saw the monks, she began screaming for help and tried to run. She claimed they were trying to kill her and take her baby, then fainted." Yoshua was silent for a moment and then added, "There wasn't much time. It all happened fast—"

Ibris' heart raced. "Where are the monks now?" He asked.

Yoshua hesitated, the silence on the line stretching uncomfortably. "I- I lost control of the wolf." His voice cracked slightly, a hint of regret seeping through the urgency. "When they assumed fighting stances, I instinctively positioned Jahui behind me and attacked. They're dead."

Ibris had always known Yoshua to be disciplined and restrained—a paragon of control. But now, hearing the turmoil in his friend's voice, he understood Yoshua needed permission to forgive his own actions. "I trust your judgment—both the wolf and the man," Ibris said firmly. "You sensed real danger, and you acted."

Yoshua took a deep breath. "We have to help them, Ibris," Yoshua said softly.

"Yes, we do." Ibris was already considering the next steps. He needed to put his people in motion.

"I know this may be a lot to lay on you," Yoshua said gently, "especially with everything that happened with Serene last—"

"Don't." Ibris interrupted, a heaviness settling in his chest. He did not want to revisit the pain he thought he had buried for the night beneath a dozen drinks of ambrosia. "I'll have a doctor contact you, and you need to get Jahui and the child on a transport to the Underworld immediately." Ibris added. "We have a proper facility here now."

The Nori Civil War formally ended the practice of halfbreed slavery, yet discrimination against halfbreeds remained rampant a decade later. Ibris felt a familiar anger bubbling within him as he recalled the countless times he had witnessed friends suffer and die due to a lack of proper medical care. In Atlantis, halfbreeds were viewed as lesser beings. Most medical facilities were ill-equipped to handle their unique needs, and traditional medical professionals often knew little about their anatomy and physiology. For a halfbreed, seeking treatment at a mainstream medical facility generally meant death. Ibris had taken it upon himself to provide alternative care to halfbreeds, at least to those who were able to find him.

"Okay. Good." Yoshua said.

"You'll have to come with them, of course," Ibris replied, firmly. "Jahui will need halfbreed blood transfusions in transit."

Yoshua hesitated. "I can't do that."

Ibris rolled his large brown eyes as if Yoshua could see him. "Can't give blood, or can't leave your tribe unguarded?"

"The tribe is strong. They don't need me." Yoshua laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humor. "It's me who isn't as strong anymore."

"You're barely in your 30s and you just took down three skilled men," Ibris said with a short laugh. "I find that hard to believe."

"I'm dying, Ibris," Yoshua said, finally. "I was diagnosed with a terminal illness that affects my blood. My blood is no good."

"Who diagnosed you? Are there qualified halfbreed doctors in Cupta? I don't believe it." Ibris rambled, his voice rising with a hint of panic at the thought of losing his closest friend. 

Yoshua said nothing. 

"Then, you also need to come south to the Underworld for care."

"I've made my peace with it, Ibris," Yoshua replied, firmly.

"No," Ibris countered, firmly. "What about your niece?" Ibris asked, his mind racing. "Bring her."

"No," Yoshua replied, his voice steady. "She's barely twenty and knows nothing of the filth of the Underworld."

Ibris paused, contemplating the situation. After a moment, he said, "If the Dawa monks are scoping the area for Jahui and her halfbreed baby, how long before they discover you and your niece? It might be safer for you both to leave Cupta until the order clears out."

Yoshua let out a laugh, his tension easing slightly. "You're a convincing bastard, Ibris. You always know how to use your words to get what you want." 

"Perhaps," Ibris replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"I'll have to speak with Aiyana," Yoshua said, sighing.

"Good," Ibris confirmed, ending the call with Yoshua.

Without hesitation, Ibris pulled on his silk shirt and tailored slacks, his mind scrambling between the pressing future and his haunting past. 

Outside his apartment, he was greeted by the harsh brightness of the corridor, the fluorescent lights buzzing above. He moved swiftly into the compact elevator, the doors sliding shut behind him with a soft whoosh.  When the elevator dinged and opened on the ground floor, he existed the building and was immediately engulfed by the vibrant chaos of the Underworld. The neon lights and floating, holographic advertisements of the city overwhelming his senses.

As he stepped into the street, Ibris could not help but notice the grim reality surrounding him. Humans and halfbreeds filled the sidewalks, some hawking drugs, others lost in the haze of their own indulgence. A few offered their bodies for a night's meal, their desperate expressions reflecting the decay of this place. It was a grotesque tableau that turned Ibris' stomach; this was the Underworld, a cesspool of despair and desperation that sickened him to his core.

The sights and sounds overwhelmed his senses. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pair of DarkShade glasses, a high-end gadget designed to cancel out the incessant neon lights and vibrant advertisements that threatened to overwhelm him—a luxury reserved for those who could afford it. He placed the glasses on his nose, instantly dimming the barrage of colors that flooded his vision. He used his tablet to summon his sleek, black self-driving transport from a secure parking garage, its metallic surface reflecting the myriad colors of the floating advertisements about. He slipped inside, and the vehicle's voice activated immediately, waiting for his command.

"Drive to the Clinic," he instructed, and the transport smoothly transitioned from a standstill to a swift acceleration. 

As the cityscape, people, and androids whizzed by, Ibris felt the weight of Yoshua's call settle upon him. It did not help that ambrosia was clouding his ability to think optimally. He would do whatever it took to ensure the safety of his friends and their families, just as he knew they would do the same for him.

The transport glided smoothly through the streets of the Underworld, seamlessly entering a tunnel that stretched on for several minutes before culminating in a dead end. Ibris punched in a code on the access pad to unlock the door, and the vehicle continued onward into a parking bay on the other side. Known simply as "the Clinic," this sanctuary provided a refuge for halfbreeds seeking medical care when no one else would help them. 

For Ibris, beneath the facade of healing, the air of the Clinic was heavy with unspoken truths about its connections to the illicit dealings and people. The Clinic's survival had come at a cost. Ibris had struck deals with unsavory characters, making dark arrangements to ensure the facility could continue serving halfbreeds in need.

As the transport parked itself in the empty, dark parking bay, Ibris stepped out into the cool, dry air. The entrance of the Clinic loomed ahead. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before entering. "Geshar," he whispered to the night, his mind drifting to his old friend. "Where are you in all this?"

Ibris squared his shoulders and took off his DarkShades, purpose fueling his steps as he approached the heavy steel doors of the Clinic. With a quick glance around to ensure he was alone, he pushed a door open and slipped inside. The dim light and soft hum of equipment filled the underground research levels of the Clinic. The air was quiet, broken only by the faint murmur of staff speaking down the hall. The sharp scent of antiseptic overwhelmed his senses. 

He barely had time to look around when he heard a voice behind him. "Why are you in my research area drunk in the middle of the night?" It was Dr. Alana Dubay, and she was visibly annoyed. She wore a crisp lab coat, her dark hair neatly tied up, and thin-framed glasses perched on her delicate nose. Her beige skin glowing, despite the late hour, accentuated by bright blue eyes that seemed to pierce through the harsh, sterile lighting.

"Alana," Ibris met her gaze, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. "I was hoping you'd be here." He smiled gently.

"You might own this place, but I run it, Ibris. This is not acceptable," she continued, with disapproval.

He interrupted, gently. "I need your help."

Dr. Dubay raised an eyebrow, with a hint of skepticism. "You need me to help you get sober?" She pressed, her lips curving into a subtle smile. "For that, I think you need to go to rehab."

"Well, maybe not that just yet." Ibris chuckled, turning red with embarrassment. "I do have a more pressing issue."

She crossed her arms. "Well, what is it?"

He took a deep breath. "A human mother just gave birth to a crane halfbreed in Cupta." He paused, thougthfully. "The woman is my dear friend's wife. Their lives are in danger for reasons I can't get into right now, but my contacts in Cupta need your expertise to manage their health while mother and child are in transit to the Clinic."

Dr. Dubay's demeanor transformed, her initial annoyance replaced by genuine concern. "That's a very long journey for a woman in that state. It's what? About six-hour drive to the Underworld? I'll do what I can." After a brief pause to gather her thoughts, she asked, "Do they have someone available for blood transfusions?"

Ibris nodded, relief washing over him. "A wolf halfbreed."

"Good," she replied, practically. "We need to ensure the mother is stable for the drive, especially considering the risks involved." She began jotting down notes, organizing her thoughts with an efficiency that he admired.

As they discussed the details of Jahui and her child's arrival, Ibris felt a strange warmth in his chest. Alana reminded him of Serene—her determination, her kindness, even the way she furrowed her brow over her piercing blue eyes in concentration. It sent a pang of nostalgia through him, bittersweet yet comforting.

When their conversation ended, Ibris turned to leave. The familiar urge to ask Dr. Dubay for something beyond professionalism tugged at him again. He shook his head, dismissing the thought, and offered her a final smile—one of gratitude and unspoken longing—before stepping through the door. The steel panel slid shut behind him with a faint hiss.