Humming neon lights and glittering raindrops aren't enough to stave off the inky night. Blackness always envelops the city. Only the rising sun unveils the familiar world. This unrelenting cycle of light and dark grinds on, just as it has for millennia.

But there are things that remain hidden even in the light of day. Inhuman vapors come from the tangle of sun-cast shadows. And at night, those shadows merge with the darkness, and the creatures that dwell there are temporarily released. 

No one can pull back this curtain between worlds and see things as they truly are. No one, except for one man . . .

Nobody could have survived that much lead. So why were his men lying in bloody heaps on the ground? Denvers gripped his pistol. Ninety-eight times. And now, yet again, he was poised to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

Red and silver flashed from the end of the alley, near the bodies of over half of his men. The talismans jangled, and another thug sprawled on the pile. Denvers' remaining men approached the dust cloud cautiously, wary of friendly fire.