Chapter Eighty-Three: Posthaste

  Jace woke to a particularly aggressive snore that shook him from his slumber. Dex’s snoring had evolved into something that could only be described as the dying groans of a large, wounded animal. Jace rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. He sighed, finally resigning himself to wakefulness, his eyes bleary but resigned.

  “How does he not wake himself up with that noise?” he wondered aloud, peeling himself out of bed. He threw a quick glance out the window—the dull grey of dawn greeted him, promising another bitter day. Just perfect.

  Down the hall, a door creaked open, followed by Alice’s voice—muffled, groggy, and clearly miffed.

  There was a firm knock, and Jace opened his door to find Alice standing there, her eyes half-closed, her hair a mess. Without a word, she raised her shard, and with a flick of her wrist, a tiny burst of energy zipped past Jace and struck Dex square in the face.

  With a yelp, Dex shot up, daggers instinctively materializing in his hands, his eyes wide as he looked around wildly. When he spotted Alice, realization slowly sank in, and he let out a tired sigh, lowering his daggers as he slumped back onto the bed.

  “Dex, if you don’t stop snoring, I swear I’m throwing you out the window,” Alice grumbled, her voice scratchy with sleep. “We can hear you all the way across the hall.”

  “That’s not very heroic of you,” Dex muttered, barely awake, the daggers vanishing as he turned over, his face already half-buried in his pillow again.

  “Heroics don’t apply before sunrise,” Alice shot back, her shard still faintly glowing. “Consider it your early morning wake-up call.”

  Jace smirked. It was way too early, but at least some things never changed.

  “I’m saving the town from your noise pollution,” Alice said, a yawn stretching her words.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Jace said to Alice with a grin.

  She smiled like the rising sun before turning to scowl at Dex again, then headed back to her room to freshen up.

  Jace grabbed his boots and yanked them on, kicking at the door as he left his room. The hallway was dim, lit only by the pale morning light seeping through the cracks. He could hear Ell shuffling down from the opposite end.

  “Morning,” Jace said with a large smile.

  Ell squinted at him like he’d personally offended her by being awake. “Too early for your face, Jace.”

  He chuckled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Come on, let’s see if there’s coffee downstairs. Or something pretending to be coffee.”

  They clattered down the stairs, groggy but fueled by the vague hope of breakfast. The common room was a haze of low chatter and the clink of plates. The smell of something sizzling reached them, and Marcus was already seated at a table, looking far too composed for this hour of the morning

  Dex joined them not long after.

  Jace shifted uncomfortably, his gaze moving from one face to the next at the table. “So, uh, I overheard something last night. Might be nothing, but those women at the bar were talking about wolves attacking. Sounded like they’re getting closer to town.”

  Dex paused, raising an eyebrow. “Wolves?”

  Alice leaned in, her tone half-serious. “How close are we talking, Jace?”

  Jace shook his head. “Not sure. They were pretty drunk, but the way they talked about it... sounded like it’s been happening for a while, and it’s getting worse.”

  Marcus looked thoughtful, his back straight, as usual. “It could explain the missing mail.”

  The table fell silent for a moment, the weight of Jace’s words sinking in.

  “So, wolf meat for breakfast it is,” Dex muttered, attempting to lighten the mood.

  Marcus shot him a condescending glare.

  Before they could delve further into strategy, the barkeep approached with their plates, his expression one of practiced neutrality—until Dex spoke up.

  “Excuse me,” he said politely, “has the post office been down lately? We’re expecting—“

  The man shot a jittery glance at the door. “It’s closed.” With that, he spun on his heel and walked off, disappearing into a back room, leaving the group to exchange bewildered blinks in his wake.

  Dex frowned. “Friendly.”

  “Yeah, like a bucket of nails,” Ell said, crossing her arms.

  Jace leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Seems like no one wants to talk.”

  Alice drummed her fingers on the table thoughtfully. “Think it’s just us?”

  “Oh, definitely,” Dex chimed in. “I’ve never been ignored with such finesse before.”

  “Subtle art,” Jace agreed, lips twitching with dry humor.

  “Well, to the post office it is then,” Marcus said, standing up and straightening his jacket.

  They paused in front of the post office; its perhaps once-bright fa?ade was now stained with grime. The windows, blackened by soot or something worse, offered no glimpse inside. Jace gripped the handle, testing it, but the door stayed sealed, immovable as stone.

  “I can crack it if you want,” Dex said, flashing a grin as he tapped a crowbar against his shoulder.

  Jace shook his head. “Last thing we need is to rile up the locals more than we already have. Let’s find the postmaster. He might know what’s happening around here.”

  Marcus scanned the darkened streets. “We should split up, cover more ground. Meet back in half an hour.”

  With silent nods, the group broke off, each slipping into the shadowy tangle of streets, disappearing into the labyrinth of alleys and crumbling buildings.

  Jace ventured deeper into the village, the cobblestone paths winding, a serpent through the heart of the settlement. The buildings on either side seemed to lean in closer with each step he took, their shadows stretching long and thin across the ground. The walls were stained with age, and the windows, darkened and dusty, watched him like unblinking eyes. It felt as if the very structures were muttering amongst themselves, sharing secrets they dared not voice aloud, their murmurs just out of earshot.

  He approached a few villagers along the way, but they turned away before he could utter a word, their expressions tight with fear and mistrust. An old man hunched over a stack of firewood refused to meet his gaze, muttering something under his breath as he shuffled away. A young mother clutching her child’s hand pulled her closer, retreating into the safety of a nearby doorway, eyes wide with unspoken warnings. Each interaction left Jace feeling more isolated, the village’s silent rejection amplifying his frustration.

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  Pushing forward, Jace navigated through a narrow alley, the air growing colder -heavier- as if the village itself was holding its breath. The alley eventually opened into a small, deserted plaza. There, perched on a stoop, sat a woman who seemed as ancient as the stones themselves. Her frame was frail, bowed by the burden of countless years, but her eyes gleamed with an unsettling mix of wisdom and madness.

  Her hair, a wild tangle of silver, framed a face carved by deep lines and creases, each wrinkle telling a story of its own. She wore layers of tattered clothing, the fabric so threadbare it seemed to merge with the stone beneath her. Despite her apparent frailty, her eyes were piercing, cutting through the air to scrutinize Jace with a gaze that made his skin prickle.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Jace began, striving to keep his tone respectful. “I’m looking for the postmaster.”

  The old woman’s lips twitched into an unsettling grin. “Postmaster, postmaster...” she echoed, her voice a sing-song purr. “He’s probably feeding the crows now, don’t you think? They get so hungry. I’m more worried about his poor new assistant. Troubling times… Troubling times…”

  Jace furrowed his brow, trying to parse her words. “I just need to know what’s happening in this town.”

  She leaned in closer, the stench of her breath making him instinctively recoil. Her eyes, wild and unblinking, bore into his. “The town’s gone sour, boy. First, the wolves came, eyes like lanterns, bold as sin. But then... it came. It speaks in the night, calls your name, and promises sweet things. But it lies. Oh, it lies.”

  “What do you mean?” Jace asked, leaning in, hoping for more clarity.

  Her response was a sudden, sharp cackle that echoed in the empty plaza, sending a shiver down his spine. “Hahahaha! Shadows that walk, dreams that bleed. It gets you when you’re not looking -creeps into your soul. You can’t hide. No, no, no... You’d be wise to leave before it finds you, boy.”

  Before Jace could ask another question, she retreated into her house, moving with surprising swiftness for someone so old. The door shut with a final, echoing thud.

  Jace made his way back to the post office alone. The others hadn’t arrived yet. Surprisingly, the previously sealed door now stood slightly open. He entered cautiously, his senses on high alert as he observed the neglected state of the interior. Dust-coated packages and letters littered the space, abandoned and forgotten. Jace scanned the area for any signs of life as he approached the counter.

  He heard the others enter behind him.

  “You got in?” Dex asked.

  “No, the door was unlocked when I returned,” Jace replied.

  “Did you find anything?” Ell inquired.

  “Just a feeling of fear and emptiness,” Jace answered, still disturbed by the strange words of the old woman. “This town is hiding something. Something dark.”

  Dex nodded in agreement. “I haven’t had any luck getting information from anyone either. Look at this mess,” he grumbled, kicking a pile of crumpled papers. “Nothing important, just dust.”

  Ell’s eyes narrowed as she noticed several signs posted on the walls, warning about cursed wolves in the area. “Wolves,” she read aloud. “That’s not good.”

  They each turned back to their search, and eventually, amidst a chaotic sprawl of papers, they unearthed a map marked with intricate lines detailing the delivery routes in and out of the town. The absence of recent package logs hinted at something nefarious - the shipment was still en route.

  “We need to track this shipment -see if we can locate it,” Jace declared, his finger tracing the convoluted paths on the map.

  They pressed forward, the trail winding its way through the dense forest. The air had grown thick with the scent of damp earth. Jace’s eyes never stopped moving, scanning the darkened edges of the path for any flicker of movement, any sign that they weren’t alone.

  The deeper they ventured, the more treacherous the path became. Twining roots clawed at their boots, leaves crunched beneath their feet like the brittle bones of long-dead things, and the oppressive silence of the forest seemed to wrap around them. Even the distant hoot of an owl felt ominous, a reminder that nature had its predators, but none like what lurked here. Every step felt weighed down by the undeniable sense of being watched.

  At last, they stumbled into a small clearing, and the sight that greeted them was a punch to the gut. An overturned wagon lay in ruins, its splintered remains strewn about as though a storm had torn it asunder. But there was no storm. The ground was stained, dried blood marking the earth, a macabre signature of what was here. The violence of it hit them all at once, freezing them in place as their eyes took in the carnage.

  Jace knelt beside the wreckage, the scent of old blood hanging in the cold air. The wagon’s wooden frame was shattered, the wheels bent at grotesque angles. His stomach churned as his fingers brushed against a smear of crimson. “Fresh,” he said.

  Ell joined him, her gaze darting nervously around the clearing. “This wasn’t just a robbery,” she whispered, her voice tight with unease.

  Jace stood, his mind racing, conjuring scenes too terrible to linger on. “No,” he agreed, his voice barely above a growl. “This was a massacre.”

  They fanned out, Ell and Alice moving like predators themselves, each step deliberate as their eyes scanned the trees, searching for anything—any sign of what had done this. The forest seemed to respond in kind, its shadows deepening, looming taller, more twisted, as the sunlight bled away into dusk.

  Blood and torn flesh littered the clearing, scattered like pieces of a violent puzzle waiting to be solved. The shadows whispered, hints of unseen threats carried on the wind. The tension was thick enough to choke on.

  Jace’s gaze locked onto the wagon again. Deep gashes marred its sides, claw marks that dug into the wood as though something huge had torn into it. He clenched his jaw. “This is where the couriers were attacked,” he said.

  Dex paced nervously, his eyes flicking toward the treeline, the shadows seeming to move of their own accord. “We’ve got to be careful,” he warned, voice tight. “Whatever did this... might still be close.”

  Jace studied the gouges, his frown deepening. “These marks... they’re from something massive.”

  They sifted through the wreckage, lifting broken crates, sifting through torn packages. What little mail they found was addressed to the University, but the contents had been ripped free. Empty boxes, shredded documents—whatever was here, it had been taken, and whoever did this had left nothing but ruin in their wake. A grim certainty settled over them. Someone—or something—had not only murdered the couriers but had destroyed everything meant for the University. But why?

  Their search became a grim hunt for clues, moving through the aftermath of violence with growing unease. The rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs beneath their boots—the only sounds breaking the otherwise oppressive silence. Every creak of wood, every shift of broken glass beneath their feet mourned the violence that had torn this place apart.

  Then, without warning, the stillness shattered. A sudden rustling in the underbrush, sharp and violent, sent a surge of adrenaline through them. Jace felt it first, the unmistakable sensation of someone…something watching—hungry, and not alone. He glanced at Ell, who had already drawn her weapon, her knuckles white.

  “We’re not alone,” Jace whispered, his voice tight. His eyes scanned the shadows, where the branches seemed to reach out like skeletal hands.

  A chill wind blew through the clearing, carrying the scent of damp earth and rot. The moon broke through the clouds, casting a pale, sickly light over the forest. Shadows stretched and shifted, twisting like living things, and that’s when he saw them—glowing eyes, eight pairs, burning like embers in the dark.

  Jace crouched low, every muscle taut, his senses heightened. His Soul Sense flared to life, and what he found made his blood run cold. “Demon,” he cursed.

  “Incoming,” Jace warned, voice low but steady. His sword was in his hand before the others could even blink, the cold steel glinting in the moonlight. They followed suit, weapons drawn, their eyes never leaving the tree line.

  Whatever was about to happen, there was no running from it. The fight had found them.

  The growl deepened, echoing from the throat of the largest one, a towering abomination that led the pack. Its body was torn between worlds—half-dressed in shredded remnants of clothes that barely clung to its distorted form. Massive, hulking shoulders jutted awkwardly from the tattered fabric, as if it had tried, and failed, to hold onto its last traces of humanity. But there was no denying the beast it had become. Its chest was a battlefield of flesh, where human skin fought a losing war against bone and sinew protruding like jagged cliffs. Spindly, broken fingers curled into claws, caked in dirt and blood.

  Behind it, four others emerged, each smaller but no less horrifying, each dragging itself forward with the same disjointed, twitching movements. One had a head too large for its body, swollen and throbbing as though something inside was trying to burst free. Another limped on mismatched legs—one human, one grotesquely bloated with beastly muscle, its gait uneven and jarring. The third was missing its lower jaw entirely, its remaining teeth gnashing at the air as a dark, foul-smelling liquid oozed from its throat. The last of the five skittered sideways like a spider, its limbs twisted unnaturally, bones poking through its patchwork skin, moving far too quickly for something so malformed.

  What tied them together wasn’t just the terrible way their bodies had been reshaped, but the gleam of brass that caught the moonlight. The massive one wore a tarnished crown, crooked and dull but unmistakably regal in its grotesque form. Around the others were mismatched tokens—a bracelet hanging loosely from a skeletal wrist, a ring on a gnarled finger too big to fully fit, a necklace so tight it bit into the skin, and a tiara perched on a head that looked anything but royal. Each piece of jewelry felt wrong, like an ancient mockery of what they once might have been, and the metal seemed to hum with a dark energy, binding them to their leader.

  They closed in, a living nightmare dragging themselves into the clearing, their collective growls harmonizing into a hellish symphony of pain, hunger, and something far more insidious—a deep, burning rage barely contained by their brittle, decaying forms.

  “Uh, I think we found the ‘wolves,’” Dex said.