The night sky over New York held a bright full moon, bathing the entire city in cold light. Beneath the moon's silvery radiance, a gigantic bat circled several times before gliding down from the top of a skyscraper.
The wind fell behind its ears, and turbulence streamed from its wings. As it passed through streets and alleys filled with neon signs, the colorful lights blurred into flowing streaks. In the instant it swept past, every person's expression and movement in the alley seemed frozen.
Some stretched out their arms with terror on their faces; others crouched low to evade the attack. Layer upon layer of people piled together like an oil painting of war. Those exaggerated movements and expressions were not artistic embellishment, but a true portrait of humanity.
Night Thrasher looked up at the bat flying overhead. With a sharp swish, a gleaming rapier extended from the armor on his arm. He took the compound bow from his back, nocked an arrow, and fired.
With a whoosh, the arrow struck true. Night Thrasher watched the bat wobble as it fell toward the end of the street.
He waved a hand and said, "Follow me. We're going to the Brooklyn Bridge. Those bats must be heading there!"
With that, he swung away on the grappling line in his hand, the fungus people following behind him. As they raced across the rooftops, Night Thrasher narrowed his eyes and looked toward New York's skyline. There, a thin black line was advancing toward Brooklyn.
He saw the bats' beating wings and even heard the screams that shook people to their core. But this time, no webs came swinging in, no shield was hurled out, no one stood before the crowd, and no one in expensive armor provided fire support.
As the bats flapped