The darkness was alive. A gift. A feast.

  The predator crouched low in the grass, every muscle coiled to sprung, every sense sharp.

  The mana in the air was thick, filling its veins with power. Stronger. Growing.

  Not yet.

  It waited. Movement below. The village glowed faintly in its mind—not with light, but with life. Pulsing. Beating.

  It sniffed the air, clicking its mandibles. Prey. Scattered. Weak.

  Not yet.

  Then it felt it. A pulse. No—a spike. Sharp, bright, burning. A surge of mana, threatening to blind it. Its head snapped toward the village.

  There. It hissed, low and hungry. Power. Good prey. Close. Its claws flexed, scraping grooves into the dirt. Run. Leap. Tear.

  Not yet.

  Time crawled for the unmoving monster. The mana swirled thicker, darker, stronger. The waiting burned like a fire in its limbs. The predator’s scythes twitched, itching for release. Soon. Soon.

  When the time was right. When the darkness was full. Unstoppable now.

  The moment came.

  It felt it, deep in its center—another surge, sending all its instincts into overload. No more waiting. No more holding back.

  It exploded from the grass, silent and deadly, its legs carving into the earth as it sprinted.

  The village loomed ahead, but its barriers were nothing.

  The predator leapt, a blur of shadow and chitin crashed down in the center of the road.

  Its landing split a weakling in two, blood spraying as the prey collapsed to the sides. Dead. Meaningless.

  Its head snapped up, mandibles flaring as it scanned the village. It moved, fast and low, weaving between the buildings like smoke. Then it found it—the source.

  A house. The mana clung to it. Thick. Sweet. The predator clicked in satisfaction, circling the structure, dragging its many limbs across the walls, analyzing, searching for weak points.

  Wood splintered beneath its claws, but the prey was deeper. Hiding.

  It stopped at the back, where the pull was strongest. It paused, cocked its head looking down….

  Then it slashed downward, tearing into the earth with savage fury.

  Soil flew, the predator’s strikes a blur of precision and rage. Deeper. Closer.

  The stone below stopped it, but only for a moment. Its scythes came down again, and again, cracks spreading across the bricks.

  Prey. Close. Almost.

  Parts of the ceiling gave way, and a colorful spark of mana entered its sight. Different. Still. Frozen.

  Predator’s head tilted sideways, aligning with the jagged crack, acid saliva dripping from its mandibles. It leaned in, slowly, savoring every second.

  A shock. Something slammed into its head—a metallic strike that sent its vision spinning. The predator staggered, flaring its scythes and hissing, its mandibles snapping in fury at being interrupted.

  It twisted, focusing on the hammer, now static in the grass. Irrelevant.

  Many shapes coming from a distance. Enticing.

  The predator froze for half a breath, then cocked its head yet again, instincts battling, mandibles clicking. Call brood? No. Small.

  It screeched a hunting call that split the night, filling the darkness with terror. Challenged. Kill.

  The predator leapt, its scythes thirsting carnage. The thrill of the hunt surged through it as it charged, fast and lethal, toward its new prey.

  Rip. Tear. Yes.

  Brenn tightened his grip on his spear. They had followed the echoing crashes, but nobody expected such a monster inside the village.

  A monster, about three meters in height, swayed between houses.

  It was cocking its head, its scythes covered in dirt, carapace gleaming in the dim torchlight.

  Spider-like bottom, powerful claws and plenty of flexible scythes… An oversized hunter-killer? No.

  A unique. His head snapped to the group of guards standing behind him. Only fifteen of us… He raised his voice at the youngest recruit “Get Darryl! Run!”

  The boy sprinted into the darkness.

  Brenn’s eyes locked onto the creature.. Just when we finally got the damn boarmen handled. He spit at the ground.

  He eyed his team’s spears. They were thick and fully metal, but not enchanted. Not good enough.

  The beast’s posture shifted—lowering, coiling.

  “Brace for charge!” Brenn barked, his voice cutting through the fear surrounding him. His men moved closer, layering their shields together into a wall.

  The beast exploded forward in a blur of motion, its legs carving deep into the earth.

  The guards braced their spears against the ground.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The creature struck like a storm, its claws slamming against the shield wall.

  One of the guards, Veris couldn't handle the push. He fell away, hitting the ground, scrambling to get back into formation.

  “Strike back!” Brenn ordered. The spears pierced the air, the monster jumped back. It pulled precisely out of retaliation range.

  It’s intelligent. Brenn cursed under his breath.

  The monster’s thinner limbs started flying around, like a tornado, aiming at the gaps in their defences.

  Veris almost made it back. Brenn’s heart tightened as a scream rang out. Poor man’s head flew through the air. The remaining men trembled in horror.

  The monster lept around them, forcing them to defend from every direction. Hitting from target to target, wearing them down.

  Its movements became a tempest; Scythe-like limbs carved around independently while the claws pummeled their formation.

  They were trapped.

  It darted between the guards’ spears, weaving with an unnatural grace, dodging with impossible twists.

  Brenn’s shield trembled as another strike glanced off its surface.

  Fiere took the full swing of the monster's claws directly. Her shield shattered, as did her head.

  Brenn’s jaws clenched so hard his teeth creaked.

  All around him, his people were methodically butchered. A bisected torso. A severed leg. The price was steep. Brenn tried his hardest to keep his head cool.

  They held. They had to. Until reinforcements arrived.

  Time earned, paid for in blood.

  He looked to the side just in time to notice a younger guard’s grip slipping.

  It was only for a second, but that was all the predator needed. One of its lower scythes swung, the gleaming edge slicing toward the exposed neck.

  Brenn surged forward, slamming his shield into the path of the strike. The impact rang like a bell, jarring him to the core.

  “Focus, damn you!” he snarled, moving back to his position.

  Brenn noticed movement to the side. Reinforcing archers. All of them.

  They had to finish this immediately - the main gates wouldn’t hold with so many guards devoted here.

  But the creature was fast. Too fast for militia.

  I can pin it down. Brenn’s chest flared with both determination and frustration. He stepped forward, out of the protective cordon - or whatever was left of it.

  For a heartbeat, his eyes met the predator’s. Intelligent. Arrogant. Mocking.

  Brenn lunged. His spear pierced deep into the creature’s flank. A burst of black ichor sprayed forth as the beast reeled.

  The many monstrous eyes turned to him. Was that anger? Shock? All the scythes flew towards him.

  The shield, yet again saved his life. But it didn’t save all of him. A sickening, wet squelch filled Brenn’s ears. He watched his arm, severed at the elbow, splash into the bloody mud.

  For a moment, it didn’t register. Then the pain came, white-hot and blinding. He screamed.

  But it wasn’t in vain. He had bought the time needed.

  The first volley of arrows rained down, several embedding into the predator’s carapace. It hissed, its limbs faltered for the briefest moment, as if recalculating.

  Suddenly, it coiled and leapt high into the air.

  The predator’s spider-like legs dug into the palisade as it landed on top of it.

  The thick logs creaked under the monster's weight, digging deeper into the ground.

  It froze there, effortlessly balancing on the sharp spikes, as if to mock them.

  Arrows kept flying at it, but it used the nimble scythes to knock the accurate ones out of the air.

  Archers prepared another volley. The monster simply jumped back into the darkness. It left behind faint guttural sounds. Laughter?

  Brenn’s mind was hazy. He barely noticed others falling to their knees as he clutched his bleeding stump. Someone ran up to him to bandage the wound.

  He looked through the muddied corpses. Six lives lost. Just like five years ago. Memories of the night he first defended Grainwick came forth. Unbidden.

  His own pain was growing distant now—burning, relentless, but drowned beneath the weight of duty. And guilt.

  I had five goddamn years to prepare them. Not enough. I’ll find a solution. Tomorrow.

  He clenched his teeth, his severed arm a phantom limb of agony. But he had no time for it.

  The battle wasn’t over.

  Darryl had sent most of the archers as reinforcements - the main gate must be struggling.

  Brenn moved, his shield heavy in his remaining hand. Despite the lack of breath, he called out: ?On me!”

  The terrified guards followed him back to the barricades, the distant snarls and screams guiding their way.

  David didn’t remember falling.

  One moment, he was gripping the blankets around Aura. The next, he was on the cold stone floor.

  His breaths came in shallow, frantic bursts, each one scraping his throat raw. The dagger lay inches from his trembling fingers, forgotten.

  The thing was gone. It had screeched, suffocating the world. Then the screams had come… David could only imagine the carnage that had been unfolding above ground.

  Then silence. Was it dead? But no one was cheering.

  David’s chest tightened; his heart hammering so hard it hurt. His hands, clammy and pale, pressed against his ears.

  The screech. The scythes… and the eyes. Intelligent, yet hiding no compassion. No mercy.

  The way its head tilted, almost curious, as it peered through the crack in the stone. Through him. He wasn’t a person to it—just something to be snuffed out. A meal.

  His body convulsed with a shuddering gasp. The image wouldn’t leave him, burned into his retinas whether he tried to close or open his eyes.

  David curled into himself, his arms wrapping around his knees, rocking.

  His heartbeat thundered, drowning out the world. He tried to breathe, but the air wouldn’t come. His arms were lead, his lungs magma, each attempt to inhale burning deeper.

  Aura’s faint, steady breathing pierced the chaos of his soul like a fragile thread.

  His tear-filled eyes flicked to her pale face. Still breathing. Still defenseless.

  He had promised to protect her. He had promised. And when the moment came, what had he done? Nothing.

  No, worse than nothing—he had frozen, paralyzed by fear, while a monster was seconds away from butchering them.

  His fingers dug into his knees, nails biting skin. Not the first time he had been useless.

  The thought struck like a knife, twisting deep into his heart. And before he could stop it, the memories came rushing in, unrelenting and merciless.

  Marie’s face. Pale, on the verge of death.

  His fury. His struggle. His weakness.

  Her death.

  David’s fingers dug into the blankets, the fabric crumpling under his grip.

  He stared at Aura, but her face blurred, shifting.

  The bruises on her cheeks grew deeper, darker. Her pale skin became cold, lifeless. For a heartbeat, he saw her twitch, but it wasn’t her.

  The room tilted, and suddenly he wasn’t in the safehouse anymore.

  The cot was gone, replaced by cold concrete slick with blood. The air reeked of iron.

  “No,” he whispered, shaking his head.

  He was back in that warehouse, staring at Marie’s fragile body, feeling the void envelop him.

  “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking. “Forgive me! I’m so sorry!” He dragged himself towards her, his trembling hands clutching at the blankets around her.

  His vision swam, the room spinning violently as the panic reached its peak.

  “I failed!” The words came louder now, desperate, each one tearing from his throat like passing glass.

  His fingers clawed at the stone, searching for something to hold onto, but the ground beneath him shook and tilted, as unstable as his own mind.

  When he raised his eyes, he saw her face again – Aura’s, not Marie’s – And his eyes illuminated.

  She was a shining beacon! Her face swirling a million colors, the invisible might at her beck and call – the fresh bruises and cuts all the more vibrant.

  The darkness pressed down, cold and heavy – it almost crushed him, but it hasn’t yet.

  Aura still breathed and she was his glimmer of hope. Hope of safety? No.

  The monster would return. Safety was just an illusion. It had left him hollow.

  But Aura? Her light sung of glorious power and warned of a heavy price.

  David instinctually gripped through his shirt and clutched the mystical vial. It was so small, yet it was a piece of a miracle.

  And in that moment, he understood.

  No price was too high to survive the nightmare.

  His body still shook, each sob wracking him from head to toe. He was small, powerless now.

  But if they survived this night, no matter the cost, he would never again be helpless.

  I hope you enjoyed David’s panic attacks and Brenn losing his dominant arm.