《Untitled Journal – How Reality Meets Fantasy》


 Chapter 1

    Have fun.


    Have fun.


    How could I possibly enjoy myself while hauling propane canisters, bundled up so tightly I might as well have been the Michelin Man? But there was no other way¡ªI needed every layer. Sweatpants under jeans, two sweaters, and a leather jacket so stiff it felt like armor. Gloves duct-taped at the sleeves kept my hands safe, and a motorcycle helmet completed the ensemble, fogging with each strained breath


    Was I hot? Yes.


    But was I protected from bites? Also yes.


    I never really understood why in zombie movies the characters didn¡¯t just wear a bit more clothes. Like, have you ever tried to bite through a leather jacket? Impossible. I tried, as a test of course.


    I was not the only one dressed ridiculously though, my brother also made a great impression of a sumo wrestler.


    ¡°You think three is enough and we¡¯ll leave the rest of the canisters for others? Just in case.¡±


    He answered without looking away from the road.


    ¡°Yeah¡±


    A man of many words.


    But anyway. Now that the canisters were loaded into the car, it was time to move on to our next stop. Sliding into the passenger seat I reached for the charger in the cigarette lighter and plugged it back in my phone. As the engine rumbled to life, the radio turned on with a crackle.


    ¡°¡­and again, curfew remains in effect. Authorities advise against any unprotected travel, especially through the east side of Belford due to recent ¡®high activity¡¯¡­¡± The voice pauses. ¡°If you are listening to this broadcast, we encourage community spirit and preservation of resources. Please remember, avoid encounters, stay silent, and ration supplies¡­¡±


    High activity my ass. They¡¯re a bit late with the announcement. Last couple of days the streets were filled with zombies, couldn¡¯t get anywhere with the car, had to turn back home. Now suddenly this is the first day in a while that the streets are so empty.


    We keep on driving, the windows were rolled down, but there wasn¡¯t a single sound from the outside¡ªjust an unnatural silence that seemed to lean in closer the further we went. The streetlamps, long dead, loomed like watchful figures under the overcast sky. A shambling corpse or two could be spotted on side streets.


    ¡°Citizens are also reminded to steer clear of wooded areas¡ªnew sightings of wolf-like creatures with¡­distinctly human eyes have been confirmed. Lastly, any encounters with doors that weren¡¯t there before¡ªespecially those appearing in walls of familiar buildings¡ªshould be avoided at all costs.¡±


    The announcements done, next up was Lady Gaga¡¯s Edge of Glory, and to this amazing piece of pop music we rolled up to the local ShopSmart store with, thankfully, not a zombie in sight. I wonder if they are migratory? Is that the right word? Some days there are loads of them, and some, like today, we barely see any while driving through.


    I glanced over at my brother, who looked about as thrilled as I did. He adjusted his helmet and muttered, ¡°I¡¯ll go in this time, you get the rope.¡±


    Doing exactly so, I followed him out of the relic of a car. Hey, it might be old with the radio being the most advanced electronic inside of it, but it has never failed us.


    Marcus got done tying one end of the rope around his waist as I held the rest of the bundle in my hands.


    The doors whirred open as if they¡¯d been waiting for us. How this shop still had electricity will remain a mystery.


    A blast of stale, almost clinical air hit my face. Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed ominously, lighting up towering shelves that stretched further back than they should have. It was a layout I didn¡¯t remember; I used to be able to walk right to the milk aisle with my eyes closed, but now the aisles twisted away into shadows.


    ¡°Good luck brother, remember, 10 minutes maximum and stick to the closest shelves.¡±


    After a quick salute which I returned, he went inside, the coil of rope steadily shortening in my hands with every step Marcus took deeper within. Eventually I lost sight of him around one of the corners of the aisles.


    This supermarket is just one of the many paranormal instances which have appeared in the world since a month ago, which is when everything got turned upside down. Suddenly without any warning at all various fairy tales, horror stories, supernatural beings, turned into a reality we now had to live with.


    What we had here was no ordinary supermarket, but a devious maze which would entrap any poor soul who wandered too far inside. Many got lucky, deciding not to go too far in after seeing the eerie and wholly new layout, after hearing wailing and faint scuffling noises in the distance. Who in their right mind would ever try to explore it after seeing aisles stretch out to the horizon? One unfortunate guy did.


    About a dozen days ago when the internet and electricity still worked¡ªI read in the neighbourhoods group chat that someone managed to find the exit only after a week of wandering inside. Thankfully he had plenty of food and water since the shelves somehow were always fully stocked, but he spent a good hour talking about shadows still shopping around without a single person to cast them and undead shambling after him. Feeling this aura around the store, I¡¯m inclined to believe him.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    What do I mean by aura? It¡¯s hard to describe. It¡¯s not just a color or a shimmer, though there is something faintly like that¡ªthe way heat rises off asphalt in summer, distorting the air. The colors are wrong, too, shifting between shades that don¡¯t have names, hues I can barely look at without feeling dizzy.


    My phone vibrates, the ten minutes are up.


    I tug the rope twice since he is still inside, and after a short but anxious moment I receive the three tugs back in confirmation. Less than a minute later I see him coming out, a full bag in each hand.


    He stumbled a bit as he emerged, blinking like he¡¯d just walked out of a dark theater into the blinding light of day. ¡°Got the goods,¡± he said, grinning, but it was thin. Even with his eyes half-hidden under the motorcycle helmet visor, I could tell he¡¯d seen something back there he didn¡¯t like.


    ¡°Lets get out of here then, time to go home¡±


    He gave a curt nod and tossed the bags into the backseat, and we both slid into the car.


    As I turned the key, the engine sputtered a couple of times, hesitating as if it, too, could feel the oppressive weight of whatever lurked in that store. For a second, I thought we might be stuck here, but then it roared to life, and I wasted no time slamming the gas.


    A minute later, Marcus finally spoke. ¡°There was an entire section for toys.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    He shook his head, staring out the window like he was trying to shake off the image. ¡°Not regular toys. Like, I saw these dolls just staring down from the top shelves. Their eyes followed me, man. And I swear one of them whispered something, but when I turned to look, it was gone.¡±


    ¡°Shit. Think the store¡¯s somehow getting worse?¡±


    ¡°Not sure, hard to tell at this point. Where else will we get food though? Gotta loot the store as often as possible and save what we can for winter. Winter is coming.¡± He said with a chuckle. And honestly, the reference got me to smile too.


    Winter was coming¡ªthat much was certain¡ªand with it, who knew what horrors the cold would draw from the depths of this warped new world.


    We hit the main road, listening to whatever song was playing on the radio as I watched the fading light bounce off the cracked asphalt. It used to be comforting¡ªdriving home from some errand, maybe stopping to grab a coffee and snacks on the way, passing a few other cars. Now it felt like we were driving across the back of some sleeping beast, just hoping it wouldn¡¯t wake up.


    ¡°Attention, citizens of Willowbrook and the surrounding area,¡± a gruff, no-nonsense voice announced. ¡°This is the National Guard. A temporary supply depot will be established at St. Michael¡¯s Church in two days, this thursday. Basic necessities, including food, water, fuel, and medical supplies, will be available. For everyone¡¯s safety, please follow all military orders and regulations.¡±


    The announcement came to a close, leaving a tense silence hanging in the car. Up until the previously playing song resumed, the contrast would have normally brought me to laughter, but my mind stuck on the announcement.


    ¡°Think there are any chances of it turning into a permanent outpost? Something like that would be great, a sign that the government is actually doing something about all this I mean.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have a good answer, and I felt a pang of fear at the thought. I wanted to tell him it was just the first step of a plan the military has, that someone would fix this, that governments around the world must be scrambling for solutions. But deep down, I wasn¡¯t so sure. In a month, everything had changed, and the things we used to think of as mere stories¡ªghosts, monsters, eldritch horrors¡ªwere now lurking in places like our local supermarket.


    ¡°Maybe it will, maybe it will,¡± I said, trying to sound confident. ¡°I mean, people can adapt to anything, right? We¡¯ll find a way to deal with this.¡± But even as I said it, I felt the hollowness in my own words. What would adapting even mean in a world like this? Would we just keep going back to that haunted store, keep risking our lives for scraps, pretending it was normal?


    Dangit, driving through town and seeing how deserted the place is always puts me in a melancholic slump. Happy thoughts, Max, happy thoughts.


    ¡°I feel like every time we go back in there, something¡­ notices us more, the shop, I mean. Like it¡¯s waiting for us to mess up so it can keep us.¡±


    Well, there go the happy thoughts, straight out the window.


    The idea hit me like a punch to the gut. It felt uncomfortably true. Every time we went back, it was like the place was learning us, like it was growing more familiar with us and drawing us in, piece by piece. But it wasn¡¯t just the supermarket. The whole world felt like that lately¡ªwatchful, patient, ready to swallow anyone who lingered too long in the wrong place. And each time I thought about it, a creeping dread slid down my spine. The feeling must be even worse for Marcus since he was the one going in the shop the last couple of times.


    ¡°Try not to dwell on it and take a little break. I¡¯ll go in next time, yeah? You¡¯ve just been in there a bit too long, it¡¯ll pass,¡± In the corner of my vision I see him nod with more confidence. The nod is probably more for himself than for me.


    The sun was getting uncomfortably close to the horizon, only half an hour or so before sunset.


    I glanced in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see something¡ªanything¡ªfollowing us. We¡¯d heard stories of creatures that only came out after dark. People called them all sorts of things: night walkers, shades, shadows that didn¡¯t need light. Whatever they were, they¡¯d claimed at least three people in our neighborhood alone. And yet, here we were, driving home as if the world was still safe, as if there wasn¡¯t something waiting for us just out of sight.


    I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, pressing my foot a little harder on the gas. I wanted to get home, to barricade ourselves in and feel some semblance of safety, however flimsy.


    As we left the twisted remnants of town behind, the road narrowed, becoming more like a pathway burrowing through the heart of the forest. Dense trees crowded in on both sides, their skeletal branches stretching overhead to form a canopy that blocked out much of the fading light. Marcus stared out the window in silence, his face a tense mask of worry.


    ¡°Almost there,¡± I murmured ¡°Just a minute or two or three and we¡¯ll be home.¡±


    Finally, I saw the crooked mailbox and the line of overgrown bushes marking our driveway. I turned in, and our house appeared at the end of the gravel path, squat and dark against the last light of day. At the moment, it felt like a fortress.


    As we pulled into the driveway of our home in this forest, I saw our dad hunched over in the garden digging up onions out of the soil of our modest garden. What was he still doing out here? Digging onions of course, but I mean why wasn¡¯t he inside already? It was getting late.


    Dad straightened up when he heard the car, giving a small wave with dirt-caked fingers. In just a moment we got out of the car and walked up to him, the bags in hand.


    ¡°Why are you still outside? It¡¯s almost sundown.¡± Marcus asked.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t just stay cooped up inside while you¡¯re both still out there, you know I worry about you.¡±


    ¡°Any trouble today?¡± I inquired, taking a look at the nice harvest he made today, onions and carrots, a good amount of them too.


    ¡°Nothing today, nothing to worry about, Bryndrel spent most of the day keeping me company, kept watch up until about an hour ago.¡±


    Just for your information, Bryndrel is the local forest dryad.


    Anyway, It was about time the three of us head inside.

 Chapter 2

    The doors to the outside were deadbolted and locked twice over, each one checked and rechecked, every window bore the weight of hastily constructed wooden shutters, thick and nailed deep into the frames, but rough as they were, they were sturdy enough to hold. Or so we hoped. Every last entryway leading to our living room was bolted down, now we could only pray that they would keep us safe if any creatures of the night decided to try breaking inside.


    Just last week, when the windows were still bare, unguarded against the blackness outside, we learned exactly what was waiting in the night. An honest-to-God gremlin, hideous and twisted, burst through the glass. I remember the sight all too well: it was hunched and bony, a creature wrapped in patches of taut, sickly gray skin stretched over bones that seemed ready to burst through. A misshapen maw split its face, lips ragged and wet, teeth crooked and sharp, snapping in gleeful rage.


    We were quick that night¡ªMarcus, my brother, had the crossbow at the ready. When the thing leapt for him, he fired, and the bolt buried itself deep into the creature¡¯s side. It screeched, a sound that scratched at the mind, high-pitched and wet, spewing dark, greasy blood across the wall.


    Panicked by the loud screeching that broke the deep silence of the night ¡ª all I could think at that moment was to make it go quiet as soon as possible. I ran to it and before I could think of anything else I brought down my iron fire poker onto it, its body letting out a wet crunch with each swing. I swung, again and again, a high pitched yelp with each thump, until it finally crumpled, motionless, with one last twisted gasp.


    Mom cleaned up the aftermath as good as she could. Even after she scrubbed the walls and floors, faint, greasy blotches remained, dark reminders of what had trespassed here. Each time I looked at the stains I shivered, the sound of breaking bones echoing in my mind.


    Tonight, we waited, huddled on our mattresses in the warm light of a single flickering oil lamp, dreading the sounds we¡¯d learned too well, wondering if tonight the scratching and clawing would come again.


    ¡°What do we have here today?¡± My mom took a peek inside the bags with the supermarket loot my brother brought inside.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­¡± Marcus pulled out multiple packs of various cereals, two cans of soup, and a big bag of apples. Looked like I was having a muesli with dried strawberries for dinner. I took it and eagerly started munching it, after the long day I had ¡ª the food felt like a blessing.


    Before Theodore, my dad, got started with his cereal, he looked at Marcus and me and said, ¡°Cutting it pretty close today, arriving right before sunset, you know Anne and I got pretty worried.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said after swallowing,¡±You know we don¡¯t want to linger outside as well. The padlock for the propane canister cage at the gas station was huge and we couldn¡¯t find the keys. Had to use a blowtorch on it.¡± I returned to my meal.


    Marcus spoke up now,¡±By the way, did you guys hear the announcement on the radio today?¡±


    ¡°Was there something interesting? I was outside in the garden for most of the day.¡±


    I let Marcus tell them about the supply depot the military will be opening at St.Michael¡¯s church.


    Mom¡¯s eyes widened, her mouth forming a small, surprised ¡°o¡± as she turned to Dad. ¡°Finally, something!¡± she breathed, the weight of exhaustion lifting just a little from her voice. ¡°All those reports and promises, but I was starting to think they¡¯d forgotten about us entirely out here. When will it be?¡±


    ¡°The day after tomorrow, so pretty soon.¡±


    Dad leaned back, exhaling a slow breath as he processed this. ¡°About time they did something,¡± he muttered, then looked toward the barred windows. ¡°If they¡¯re serious about holding the depot for a while, it means more than just supplies. Maybe this is part of a push to reclaim the area.¡±


    Mom nodded quickly, her excitement bordering on relief. "Think about it¡ªa real supply line, one where we¡¯re not relying on what we get from the supermarket, or what¡¯s in the garden. I can barely remember the last time we had any meat.¡±


    I watched as a soft smile crept across her face, the first I¡¯d seen in what felt like weeks. She turned back to her cereal, stirring it with a kind of reverence, as if she were already imagining the meals she¡¯d cook with supplies we hadn¡¯t had in ages.


    "Even if it is temporary," Dad said slowly, as if savoring each word, "it¡¯s something we can rely on. Just for a bit." He allowed himself a small, tight smile, the kind he rarely wore these days. ¡°Hey, Max could bring some of those trinkets along for trade, maybe? Speaking of which, how is that crystal thing working out for you?¡±


    He means the powdered essence crystal I started eating at Bryndrels suggestion. Shortly after we befriended it, the dryad showed us this tree where the crystals grew and let me take some. The dryad said doing so could help me attune to the essence of the world, whatever it meant by that.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Oh, that, I think it¡¯s starting to work. I¡¯ve begun to feel those auras Bryndrel was talking about, It¡¯s faint, but definitely there. Like¡­¡± I struggled for the words, watching as the faintest shimmer appeared around the objects I had next to my mattress: an old pocket watch, a strange chunk of blue glass I¡¯d picked up from one of the supermarket shelves, even the herbs Bryndrel had bundled together. Their auras seemed to pulse faintly, giving off this hazy glow that told me¡ªsomehow¡ªwhat they were meant to do.¡±That blue crystal? It gives off this kind of¡­ binding aura. Almost like it¡¯s meant to hold things together, stabilize them.¡±


    ¡°So a magic glue rock?¡± Marcus said.¡±The rest of your things in the garage also have that aura thing?¡±


    I nodded in confirmation, most of that stuff was apparently magical.


    ¡°Hell, maybe I should start eating that powder too.¡±


    Mom glanced up from her cereal, eyebrows raised. "So, you¡¯re saying you can now feel what objects want to do?¡± Her tone held a mix of fascination and that same guarded worry Dad had.


    I scoffed. "It¡¯s not like they¡¯re talking to me, alright? It¡¯s just this gut feeling¡ªa vibe. It¡¯s faint, but I¡¯m telling you, it''s there."


    Mom and Dad exchanged a look, and for a moment, I thought they¡¯d get concerned. But to my surprise, they didn¡¯t. Mom just nodded, more serious than I¡¯d expected. Guess it¡¯s fine for me to continue exploring this magic.


    The aura perception was faint now, a mere flicker, but if it could be honed¡­ it was something, at least. Something I could do. Since the world has turned into some kind of fairy tale, maybe I could even become some kind of wizard? Or maybe an artificer? I couldn¡¯t let such a chance pass me by.


    Ever since things started getting worse, we brought all our mattresses here and we¡¯d been sleeping together in the living room, it was the most fortified part of the house. At first, it felt strange, cramped, but now it was the only way any of us could feel safe enough to sleep.


    After dinner, as everyone cleaned up the last traces of our meager meal, I found myself drifting toward the narrow slit between the boards on the window, peering into the night outside. The darkness beyond was dense, unnaturally still, like the blackness had weight to it, a silence that seemed to swallow sound. But tonight, it was worse¡ªthe shadow people were closer (yes, that is how we called them, since that¡¯s what they looked like). I could barely make them out through the murk, vague figures hovering at the edge of the property line, their forms shifting like smoke caught in a sudden draft.


    They drifted closer each night, just a few feet at a time. It wasn¡¯t that bad at first, but now they were close enough that I could throw something at them and probably hit my target. They were patient¡ªalmost cruelly so, as if waiting for that one moment when we¡¯d slip up, leave a window cracked, or let the door open a beat too long. Seeing them was just another reminder of how little separated our fragile home from whatever waited in the dark outside.


    I left the window and turned back to the living room, trying to put the shadows out of my mind.


    ¡°Hey, I¡¯ll take first watch tonight,¡± I said, grabbing my crossbow from where it rested against the wall, the warm wood reassuring in my hands. It might look scrappy, being homemade and all, but it had proved it¡¯s worth.


    Dad looked over at me, his eyes tired but grateful. ¡°You sure? I can take it if you¡¯re too tired.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°No, I¡¯m good. Besides,¡± I added, a small smirk creeping onto my face, ¡°I think I might get some practice with these auras of mine. Figure I should get used to whatever I¡¯m seeing.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Max. Wake your dad when it¡¯s his turn, alright?¡±


    ¡°Will do,¡± I replied, offering her a quick nod as they all laid down.


    I didn¡¯t want to worry them, but the trip in town today must have taken it¡¯s toll on me, I didn¡¯t think I could fall asleep anytime soon. I stationed myself by the far wall, the window in front of me on the other side of the room, my back safely pressed against the wall.


    The silence of the house settled around me, and soon enough, I was alone with the heavy, hushed breaths of my family as they drifted into uneasy sleep. Alone now, with only the faint glimmers of aura and the silence of the room, I let myself slip into that strange awareness Bryndrel had hinted at, the one they told was supposed to pull me closer to their world. I was starting to believe that.


    I relaxed my body, tuning in to the hum of magic from the objects next to my mattress, focusing as Bryndrel had advised. Bit by bit, the room shifted, the walls blurring slightly, the corners of the room turning even sharper, as the faint auras glowed around the objects, revealing glimpses of the essences within them. Each time I practiced, the sensation felt stronger, clearer.


    My thoughts drifted back to the supermarket. That place had never felt right, even before I could sense magic. But now¡­ now, with this growing awareness, it was like my skin crawled just thinking about it. I¡¯d felt something there, something beyond just a lingering sense of decay or emptiness. Its aisles too long, the shelves casting shadows that seemed too deep. But now, with this faint perception stirring inside me, I understood it was more than just the emptiness that made the place feel so unnerving.


    The aura around It had been overwhelming, thick and dense, like a space where something dead had been left to rot in the walls. There was a strange, cloying pressure to it, almost like an unseen force was lingering, twisted up in the metal of the shelves, the cracked tiles, and even the grimy fluorescent lights above.


    Back to the present moment, I could sense more than the objects near my bed, the shadow people were out there, I could feel their presence pressing at the edges of my awareness, an unsteady energy that felt almost alive, like a thousand eyes staring from just beyond reach.


    I blinked, the room around me returning to normal as my focus waned.


    Time passed slowly as I sat, my back against the wall, crossbow close at hand. The house silent around me, the air thick with quiet as my family slept.


    When the time finally came to wake Dad, I felt strange, like I¡¯d slipped a little further into the strange world of magic. I leaned over to nudge him, and he blinked awake, giving me a grateful nod as he stretched, rubbing the stiffness from his shoulders.


    "Anything unusual?¡± he asked in a low voice, voice rough with sleep.


    I shook my head. ¡°Just the usual. The shadows are still out there, watching.¡±


    Dad sighed and stood up, stretching his arms. ¡°Well, get some rest.¡±


    And so I did, laying down on my mattress, wrapped in the safety of my blanket. Soon enough, sleep took me.

 Chapter 3

    The first light of dawn painted the world in soft hues of gold and lavender. You can¡¯t imagine the relief of finally seeing the sunrise. No more looking out for weird shadows, no more worrying about gremlins, or anything else moving through the night. The air was crisp and tinged with the scent of damp earth, fresh as if the world had been scrubbed clean by the night¡¯s passing.


    The morning dew on the lawn sparkled in the sunlight, a short distance away stood the dense forest that surrounded our property, its towering pines shrouded in a lingering mist. Sunbeams pierced through the trees, igniting the web-like tendrils of fog with a faint glow.


    Behind me stood our garage, a separate building right behind our house. It¡¯s not meant for our car though, we keep the car outside on the driveway. The garage is filled with workbenches, a whole bunch of tools, a table saw too and some wood. In a corner on the far side of the garage we have my own private table, filled with many different herbs, bugs, crystals, and whatever interesting we found in the supermarket. In the corner right next to the entrance we have a ton of wood pellet bags meant to last us the whole winter.


    On the opposite side is what I came here for ¨C fertilizer. I took a small plastic tray from nearby and filled it halfway. Now all that was left to do is wait for Bryndrel to arrive.


    And speak of the devil I suppose, I could see it coming through the bushes right on the edge of our property. Its form was slender and tall, standing nearly seven feet, yet there was an elegance in its movement that made it seem weightless. Bark-like skin covered its body in intricate, interlocking patterns, ranging from a deep oak-brown on its limbs to a soft, almost golden hue on its chest and face. Thin vines spiraled around its arms and legs, adorned with tiny blooming flowers in hues of pale blue and violet. Its hair, if you could call it that, cascaded down its back in a flow of mossy strands.


    My father was the first one to meet it, right at the start when all this fantasy business started. He was working in the garden when he heard a rustling from the treeline, louder than the wind could have caused. Thinking it was a deer or perhaps a nosy raccoon, he had turned around casually, only to be confronted by the imposing yet strangely mesmerizing figure of the dryad. Apparently it was curious about the way he was gardening, and what fertilizer was.


    Now closer, the eyes were the most striking feature: large and luminous, like droplets of amber lit from within, they radiated a quiet wisdom. When it spoke, its voice was like the whisper of leaves brushing together, soft but resonant.


    ¡°Good morning, little shaman,¡± it said, using its usual nickname for me. ¡°I see you''re ready for our trade.¡±


    ¡°As usual, yes,¡± I handed over the tray and watched on as Bryndrel proceeded to extend the vines from its hand into the tray, quickly absorbing the powder within. ¡°Shall we go then?¡±


    I receive a nod in return, a gesture it learned quickly while interacting with us.


    We moved toward the forest''s edge, where the trees grew denser and the air cooler. Bryndrel¡¯s stride was long and effortless, its feet almost skimming the mossy ground. It didn¡¯t disturb so much as a fallen leaf as it passed, while I was forced to tread more carefully, dodging roots and low-hanging branches. The forest seemed alive in a way it never did when I came here alone.


    ¡°I¡¯ve started to feel those auras you were talking about, you think i¡¯m ready to do some of that alchemy you mentioned?¡±


    Bryndrel tilted its head slightly, the wooden creak of its movement barely audible over the soft murmur of the forest.


    "Perhaps," it said, its voice resonating like wind through hollow bark. "But sensing is merely the first step. Alchemy is a dance, little shaman, not a stumble. Are you sure you do not wish to do the Splicing? Your current ability would pale before the power you could gain.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, i¡¯m pretty sure. I want to get as far as humanly possible, no shortcuts for me, no thank you. I do not want a crutch to lean on. I want to know that the power comes from me instead of something on the outside.¡±


    ¡°A noble path,¡± it murmured. ¡°Though rare is the mortal who treads it. You would rather toil and falter than reach swiftly for what could be yours. Admirable, if not¡­ quaint.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve made up my mind,¡± I said, brushing a low-hanging branch out of my way. ¡°I¡¯m not saying shortcuts aren¡¯t tempting. But if I give in now, where does it stop? Today it¡¯s the Splicing. Tomorrow it¡¯s something worse. Before long, I¡¯m just a passenger in my own life.¡±


    We walked in silence for a while, the only sound the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional chirp of unseen birds. The air grew heavier with each step, rich with a scent I couldn¡¯t quite name¡ªsomething earthy and ancient, tinged with sweetness.


    Soon, the trees parted, revealing a small clearing bathed in a pale, otherworldly light. In the middle of it a great oak, with a bark speckled with shimmering crystals the colour of the rainbow.


    The sight was breathtaking even though this was not my first time here. The oak¡¯s sprawling branches seemed to touch the heavens, while its roots delved deep into the earth, veins of light pulsing faintly through the ground around it. The essence crystals glimmered softly, as though the tree was alive in ways beyond mere biology¡ªa being of raw magic and ancient power.


    The moment my boots touched the soft, mossy ground of the clearing, a ripple of warmth washed over me, as if the tree were greeting me. I stopped for a moment, letting the sensation sink in, then approached the tree. Its bark was warm under my hand, thrumming with an energy that resonated deep in my chest.


    ¡°Start here,¡± Bryndrel said, pointing with a twig-like finger to a cluster of crystals low on the trunk. ¡°These are young¡ªeager to be taken. They will offer you their strength freely.¡±The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I crouched, brushing my fingers against the crystals. They were cool and smooth to the touch, like polished glass. Carefully, I pressed on one, feeling the gentle resistance before it gave way and popped free with a soft chime. The glow in my hand was mesmerizing, the rainbow light flickering like a captive aurora.


    I repeated the process three times, each crystal slipping free with the same soft chime.


    ¡°That will do,¡± Bryndrel said.


    ¡°Time to head back then, thanks for keeping me company.¡±


    *****


    Half an hour later.


    Crunch crunch crunch


    The crystals didn¡¯t require much effort to crush¡ªjust a bit of pressure with the mortar and pestle, a few smooth circular motions, and the job was done. As I worked, the temptation to mix in some of the herbs in front of me was hard to resist.


    At the moment, I was back in the garage. In case you¡¯re wondering, it was cluttered with an assortment of flowers, mosses, leaves, and other plant materials Bryndrel had brought us. One root in particular kept catching my eye, its aura reminding me of lightness and feathers. Crushing it with the crystals would¡¯ve been... interesting. But no¡ªthat would¡¯ve been a little too reckless. Even for me.


    When the crystals were finally ground to a fine powder, I pinched a bit between my fingers and sprinkled it into my mouth. Daily dose? Check. With how quickly it dissolved on my tongue, I wondered why the crystals on the tree back at the clearing don¡¯t turn to mush when it rains. Magic or something, probably.


    ¡°Could I get some of that too?¡±


    I nearly jumped. ¡°Hm? Oh. Yeah, sure¡ªjust don¡¯t sneak up on me like that again.¡±


    I held out the mortar, and Marcus, without hesitation, took a pinch and popped it into his mouth, mimicking my earlier motion.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± He said, ¡°it¡¯s time to head to town. Gotta hit the shop while the streets are still halfway empty.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± I wiped my hands on my pants, then set the mortar aside, careful not to spill any of the leftover powder. Marcus was already heading toward the massive doors of the garage.


    Following him, we both entered our house, both putting on our ¡®armour¡¯ right by the entrance.


    I heard footsteps approaching us from the hallway and instantly recognized them as dad¡¯s. He appeared moments later, carrying the crossbow.


    "Here," he said, handing it over to Marcus while I took my favorite fire poker from the corner of the room.


    "Thanks," Marcus said, slinging the crossbow over his shoulder. "Hopefully this trip¡¯s as quiet as yesterday¡¯s. Won¡¯t even need it if we¡¯re lucky."


    "Stay careful, both of you. No unnecessary risks. Remember, tomorrow we¡¯ll go to the military supply depot for food. No sense getting impatient now."


    ¡°Will do, dad, thank you for the concern.¡±


    After quick goodbyes, we stepped out into the crisp morning air, making our way to the car parked on the driveway


    Marcus started the engine while I fiddled with the radio. Nothing but music, but that was good enough for me, honestly.


    As we rolled down the driveway, I glanced out the window. Our parents were standing on the porch, waving with that mixture of worry and pride they always wore whenever we left. I raised a hand in return, hoping it looked reassuring.


    The road stretched ahead of us, winding through the forest.


    The trees crowded close on either side, their bare branches clawing at the pale blue sky. Winter wasn¡¯t far off; the air carried a sharpness that promised frost in the coming days.


    ¡°You know,¡± he said, his voice carrying that particular tone he used when he was about to drop some sarcasm, ¡°this whole ¡®fantasy becomes reality¡¯ thing is making my life way more complicated than it already was.¡±


    I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Oh? How so?¡±


    He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror out of habit. ¡°Dating, obviously.¡±


    ¡°Dating?¡± I repeated, not entirely sure I wanted to hear where this was going.


    ¡°Yes, dating,¡± he said, exasperated. ¡°Do you have any idea how hard it¡¯s going to be to get a girlfriend now?¡±


    ¡°I can imagine.¡± I tried not to laugh, but a snort escaped before I could stop it. I found it funny, yes, but we both know fully well that I¡¯m in the same box as he is, and I don¡¯t mean the car. A couple weeks ago we already had a similar talk, took it a lot more seriously at that time. Sometimes I thought about how hopeless it is to find a partner, but now though? Nah, there are far more pressing problems. And opportunities, like learning magic.


    We fell into a comfortable silence after that, the hum of the tires on the road filling the car.


    Eventually we reached the Shopsmart from yesterday. This time, I¡¯m the one going in. Hopefully, for the last time in a while. If the supply depot starts running regularly, maybe I can avoid this whole ordeal altogether. That would be a blessing.


    We park the car near the doors and wait for a minute to see if anyone, or anything, tries approaching us. We just sit there, watching. Waiting. Nothing stirs¡ªnot in the lot, not by the shattered cart return, and not in the too-dark windows of the store itself. When it feels safe enough, we step out. Marcus immediately starts tying the rope around my midsection.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he says, giving the line a quick tug to test it. ¡°In and out. Godspeed, fella.¡±


    For a moment I just stood there looking at the shop, the haunting aura surrounding it making it look like the very air is stale and lifeless somehow.


    Enough hesitating, time to go inside, and so I do.


    The automatic doors open with a ding. No food as far as I can see in the first few shelves, have to go deeper. When I glance up, the shelves warp and twist, spiraling off into some distant horizon that shouldn¡¯t exist indoors. The feeling of vertigo immediately made me dizzy.


    No, I shouldn¡¯t have looked up, definitely should not have done that.


    I shake it off and keep moving. The store is a labyrinth of shadow, but somewhere in here, there¡¯s still food.


    As I push further inside, I pass a display shelf where dozens of mannequin heads sit atop slender black spines, like flowers in a vase. Their eyes swivel to follow me. One of them opens its mouth as if to speak, but only a raspy breath escapes. I keep walking.


    Halfway down the next aisle, I find doors stacked vertically like planks of wood. They vary in shape and size¡ªsome look old and splintered, others polished and pristine.


    A bakery section greets me next, filled with golden loaves that smell far too enticing. Elven Sweetbread reads one sign, glowing faintly in elegant script. Next to it, croissants labeled Sylph¡¯s Breath hover slightly above the tray, their edges curling like smoke. I grab a bunch of plain-looking rolls, hoping they¡¯re just bread and not enchanted in some way and stuff them in my backpack, quickly filling it.


    I try to find more food but nothing comes up. Okay, there was a section for canned goods, but they had no pictures on them, just some otherworldly script.


    About ready to head out ¡ª I checked the time on my phone. I forgot to set a timer but I thought the ten minutes were up, so I simply followed the rope to the front of the store and got outside.


    Except I didn¡¯t.


    I followed the rope right up until I reached the end of it in the middle of a row of shelves, the front of the store nowhere to be seen. I picked up the rope in disbelief. It was cut. Suddenly the store seemed a lot darker and ominous.


    I could never express vividly enough the mute horror I was in at that point. I felt like I was at the end of my rope.

 Chapter 4

    With the end of my rope in hand, I stood in stunned silence. This could not be happening. I walked, strutted, staggered and then ran towards the direction where I thought the exit might be, but I had no such luck, aisle after aisle, shelf after shelf I ran.


    There was no exit. I was stuck.


    I stopped, hands on knees gasping for air. What do I do now?


    I untied the rope from myself and stored it in my backpack next to the bread. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead hummed faintly, their cold glow stretching endlessly down the vacant aisles. I straightened up, forcing my breath to steady. The store shelves towered around me like crooked sentinels, half-stocked with outdated products¡ªfaded cereal boxes, dented cans, and toys whose cartoon mascots I didn¡¯t recognize.


    Grimacing, I moved on, trailing my fingers along the edge of a shelf to keep me steady in case I fainted. I needed something¡ªanything¡ªto make this place feel real.


    Somewhere, I swore I heard the distant squeak of wheels, but they were gone just as quick.


    Maybe I should just bunker down, find a nice shelf with some water and wait for all of this to blow over. Why was I even walking, where was I walking to? There was nothing here to find but more shelves, more aisles, more¡­ Captain Cruncher¡¯s Galactic Bites? What kind of a cereal is that? And why were there hundreds of boxes of it?


    Hold on a second.


    Did I smell smoke?


    That threw me out of my contemplations immediately, why would there be smoke in this store? I guess I should see where it leads me. Hey, what else was I supposed to do? Maybe it could be someone else who got trapped inside. If so, hell, at least I wouldn¡¯t be stuck alone in here.


    I quickly decided to follow the smell of smoke.


    And so I went off deeper into the store, or in a new direction, at least.


    Couple of minutes later I found what I was looking for.


    Unfortunately.


    There, right between the half-empty shelves of waterproof matches and dusty coolers, were two figures hunched around a small, crackling fire. And both of them were staring right at me.


    Why is this unfortunate exactly? Because one of them was missing an eye, and they both had rotting skin. If I¡¯ve ever had to picture an undead, that would be them.


    ¡°Welcome there Max, welcome, welcome!¡± The one with the missing eye greeted me and I was quite frankly too shocked to understand the what¡¯s, who¡¯s and how¡¯s.


    ¡°Uh¡­ I¡¯m sorry, what?¡±


    The one-eyed corpse grinned, or at least he tried to¡ªhis lipless mouth twisted awkwardly, exposing more teeth than any smile should. The fire crackled between us, illuminating the deep hollows in his cheeks.


    ¡°Welcome to Infinimart,¡± he said, waving one bony hand as if I¡¯d just stepped in for a Saturday sale. ¡°I¡¯m Greg, and this here is Gary.¡±


    Gary, the other undead, raised a skeletal hand in a lazy wave. ¡°Yo.¡±


    I stared.


    ¡°We work here.¡± Greg straightened up, brushing the ash off what remained of his blue employee vest. A rusted name tag dangled lopsided on his chest. It definitely said ¡®Greg.¡¯


    I opened my mouth to respond, but Greg cut me off, suddenly far too cheerful.


    ¡°Anyway! We were told to bring you to the manager.¡±


    That did not sound good at all.


    ¡°What if don¡¯t want to meet the manager?¡±


    Gary snorted. ¡°Last guy who tried avoiding the manager got turned into inventory.¡±


    That sounded even worse.


    Maybe if the manager is even halfway as polite as these two then it should be fine, I think? What¡¯s the worst that could happen? And what else could I be doing instead, wandering the store or sitting somewhere like a hermit? Did I even have a choice?A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I muttered. ¡°Lead the way.¡±


    ¡°Great! This way, then.¡± Greg patted me on the shoulder¡ªhis hand felt like ice¡ªand turned toward the dark aisles beyond the firelight.


    Gary followed, humming something that sounded disturbingly like elevator music.


    I followed the undead duo, the flickering firelight fading behind us until we were swallowed by the gloom of the unlit aisles.


    Greg and Gary shuffled along with the ease of someone who¡¯d been working here far too long. Their steps didn¡¯t make a sound, but mine echoed like I was stomping through a cathedral.


    Eventually after a few minutes of walking I could see something - a wall. That¡¯s the first time I ever saw a wall inside this shop, not including the one in the front where the entrance was.


    Greg slowed as we approached a set of heavy double doors marked ¡®Employees Only.¡¯


    He pushed the door open, revealing a hallway that looked more like the back rooms of a hospital than a store. Harsh white lights buzzed overhead, flickering in and out of sync. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant.


    ¡°This way,¡± Greg said, motioning down the corridor.


    I followed, Gary trailing behind me now. I didn¡¯t like that. Being sandwiched between two undead didn¡¯t sit right.


    ¡°Is the manager¡­ normal?¡± I asked carefully.


    Greg hesitated, which was not the response I wanted.


    ¡°He¡¯s¡­ dedicated,¡± Gary offered after a beat.


    ¡°That¡¯s not really an answer.¡±


    Greg stopped in front of an office door labeled ¡®MANAGER¡¯ in blocky letters. A dim white light seeped out from beneath it. He glanced at me with his single eye.


    ¡°Look, Max, I¡¯ll be honest¡ªhe¡¯s not the worst boss. He¡¯s just a little¡­ particular. And cursed, probably. But what manager isn¡¯t, these days?¡±


    Before I could respond to that, Greg knocked twice.


    ¡°Come in,¡± a voice called from the other side.


    Greg smiled, or tried to, and pushed the door open.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± Gary whispered, giving me a thumbs-up that somehow felt very wrong coming from an undead.


    I stepped inside.


    The office looked exactly how I imagined¡ªdim lighting, flickering fluorescent lamp, and stacks of paperwork piled precariously high. But sitting behind the desk¡­ was not what I expected.


    The manager looked human, for the most part. His skin was just a little too pale, his eyes a little too sharp, and his smile stretched just a little too wide.


    ¡°Max,¡± he said smoothly, steepling his fingers. ¡°So glad you could join us. We have much to discuss.¡±


    I shifted uneasily, the door clicking shut behind me with a finality I didn¡¯t like.


    His suit was immaculate¡ªdeep charcoal gray with crisp lapels and a blood-red tie that practically glowed in the dim light. The fabric didn¡¯t wrinkle, even as he adjusted his cuffs with long, elegant fingers.


    But it was his face that held my attention. His skin, though smooth, had the color and texture of wax. His sharp eyes were a pale, almost silvery shade, and when he smiled, his teeth were perfectly straight and gleaming.


    ¡°Please, sit,¡± he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. His voice was pleasant, calm¡ªlike he was about to offer me a raise or ask about my weekend plans.


    ¡°So,¡± he began, tapping one finger against the polished surface. ¡°Let¡¯s not waste each other¡¯s time, Max. Everything in this store has a price, do you think you are above the rules?¡±


    ¡°No, sir, not at all,¡± Just act natural, Max, act natural. Agree with everything, be nice and polite to him, don¡¯t dig the hole you¡¯re in any deeper. ¡°Is this about the bread in my bag, I¡¯m very sorry about it, I did not realize I had to purchase them, I did not see anyone at the cash registers.¡±


    The manager¡¯s eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light, and his smile twitched wider¡ªjust a little too wide. He tapped the desk again, slower this time, as if savoring the rhythm.


    ¡°Oh, the bread,¡± he said, his voice carrying the weight of someone humoring a child. ¡°Yes, the bread is¡­ part of it. But Max, you and I both know that¡¯s not the only thing you¡¯ve stolen. Right here,¡± he tapped a paper on his desk, ¡°thirteen separate accounts of you and your brother shoplifting. I must admit, your little trick with the rope was an ingenious way to defeat our security measures. About the punishment though-¡±


    For a long moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the flickering light. I squirmed under his gaze, wondering if this was how moths felt when they circled too close to flames.


    Then, just as the tension stretched to unbearable levels, the manager sighed and steepled his fingers.


    ¡°You will work the night shift tonight.¡±


    I blinked. "Wait¡­ that''s it?"


    The manager¡¯s smile didn¡¯t falter, but something in his gaze sharpened. "Would you prefer something else, Max?"


    "No! No, the night shift is great. I love the night. Big fan of¡­ uh¡­ fluorescent lighting." I forced a grin.


    ¡°Marvelous!¡± the manager sounded unusually happy that I accepted it, ¡°You will work the cash register. Greg, Gary!¡±


    The door opened, ¡°Yes, boss?¡±


    ¡°Show Max where the registers are, and get him a uniform, he will work¡­ the night shift.¡±


    *****


    An elderly skeleton shuffled forwards, bones creaking with each step. He wore a tattered cardigan over his ribcage and a pair of brown slacks that barely clung to his narrow hips. A pair of reading glasses perched precariously on his nonexistent nose.


    He pushed a shopping cart. I wasn¡¯t sure why he needed it. The only thing inside was a lone bottle of maple syrup.


    ¡°Evening,¡± I greeted, forcing a smile. ¡°Find everything alright?¡±


    The skeleton stopped at my register, peering up at me through his smudged glasses. ¡°Oh, yes, yes. Maple syrup was on sale. Can¡¯t pass up a deal, you know.¡±


    I nodded politely. ¡°Of course.¡±


    He leaned closer, lowering his voice. ¡°It¡¯s for my nephew. He loves pancakes.¡±


    I paused, hands hovering over the register. ¡°Your¡­ nephew?¡±


    The skeleton nodded enthusiastically, his jaw clicking. ¡°Yes, yes. Good kid. Real sharp. Got his brains from his mother¡¯s side, I¡¯d wager. He¡¯s been staying with me for a while now. Poor boy got cursed by a fortune cookie, you see.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°A fortune cookie cursed him?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes. Nasty business. The fortune said, ¡®Your luck will turn around.¡¯ Next day he literally spun around for hours. Couldn¡¯t stop. Like a record player.¡±


    I stared, unsure if he was joking or not.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± the skeleton continued, waving a bony hand, ¡°I told him, ¡®Henry, you can¡¯t just¡ª¡¯¡±


    Sigh

 Chapter 5

    The day was dark, overcast, cloudy. Samantha leaned back in the passenger seat, arms crossed but relaxed, as the hum of the convoy engines echoed down the road. Tires rumbling from the gravel. The faint sound of old rock music trickled from the car¡¯s radio¡ªKate¡¯s doing, of course.


    ¡°Technically speaking,¡± Helena began from the backseat, her voice smooth and unsettling as always, ¡°church basements are perfect for supply storage. Nobody wants to dig up bones to steal a box of rations.¡±


    Diana, seated next to Helena, didn¡¯t look up from the goggles she was tinkering with. ¡°That¡¯s not how basements work, Helena.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know that,¡± Helena replied without missing a beat.


    Samantha shot a glance into the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Helena for just a second. The faintest smirk tugged at Helena¡¯s lips. Samantha sighed.


    Kate snorted. ¡°I mean, she¡¯s got a point. Didn¡¯t we dig up that bunker last week? Found all kinds of creepy stuff in there. What was it, like¡­ an altar or something?¡±


    ¡°That was a storm shelter.¡± Samantha pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°It had canned beans and flashlights, not skulls.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying,¡± Kate shrugged, hands firm on the steering wheel as the convoy curved around a bend. ¡°You never know with these old places. Half of them are practically haunted.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a church. If there was a place protected from all these mystical forces, I¡¯d bet this was it.¡±


    Helena leaned forward between the seats. ¡°What if the basement is haunted? I could do a s¨¦ance.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Samantha didn¡¯t even look at her.


    Kate cackled. ¡°You¡¯re such a buzzkill, Sam.¡±


    Samantha shook her head, hiding the small smile threatening to form. As much as they drove her crazy, her crew was solid.


    Diana finally spoke up, setting down her tools. ¡°If it makes you feel better, Helena, I¡¯ll make you an EMF reader. You can hunt ghosts to your heart¡¯s content.¡±


    Helena gasped in exaggerated delight. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re my favorite, Diana. See, you understand me.¡±


    Kate grinned and pushed the gas a little harder as the church steeple came into view over the treetops. "Almost there. I can already feel the holy vibes cleansing my wicked soul."


    "Yeah, good luck with that," Samantha muttered, eyes scanning the horizon, or trying to. It was difficult with all the dust rising from the gravel road


    The old church sat at the top of a gentle hill. Well maintained according to the report and taken care of by Father Jackson.


    Eventually they reached the end. As one of the last cars in the convoy, being volunteers and all, they were one of the last to get out.


    Samantha unclipped her seatbelt and stepped out into the cool, crisp air, scanning the area with practiced eyes. The church, though old, had an almost serene quality to it. Its whitewashed walls were still mostly intact, and the bell tower loomed high above the surrounding trees. The steeple stretched upward as though reaching for something, and the stained-glass windows were still bright and vibrant.


    A small gravel path led to the entrance, flanked by uneven stone walls. The grounds were quiet, the silence broken only by the faint rustling of the wind through the trees and the sounds of people unloading crates and tents from their trucks. The whole area felt like it had been waiting for them, still and untouched.


    Kate jumped out of the driver¡¯s seat, stretching her arms over her head. ¡°Well, it¡¯s got the creepy charm, I¡¯ll give it that.¡±


    The convoy commander, a stern man in his early forties, stood nearby, arms crossed as he watched the ongoing work with thinly veiled impatience. His gaze swept over the convoy like a hawk, missing nothing, though his rigid stance suggested he was waiting for something¡ªor someone.


    It wasn¡¯t long before Father Jackson emerged from the church¡¯s front doorway. The priest paused to exchange a few quiet words with a nearby soldier, who discreetly gestured toward the commander.


    Samantha observed as Father Jackson made his way toward the commander, his movements measured and unhurried. His black cassock drifted lightly in the breeze, a stark contrast to the rigid posture of the military officer awaiting him. As the priest approached, he extended his hand in greeting¡ªonly to lower it again when the commander made no move to reciprocate.


    ¡°May I come in?¡± the commander asked, his voice rough but carrying a certain refined authority.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Father Jackson¡¯s expression didn¡¯t waver. ¡°Of course. This way,¡± he replied, gesturing toward the church entrance.


    The two men walked side by side, disappearing through the heavy wooden doors. Samantha imagined their conversation would be the usual blend of logistics and boundaries¡ªwhat could be stored where, who was allowed access, and how long the arrangement would last.


    Samantha exhaled slowly, watching the church doors close behind them. The wind carried the faint murmur of conversations and the steady clang of crates being unloaded. For a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the quiet, but it didn¡¯t last.


    A soldier jogged toward her, clipboard in hand. ¡°Squad Leader Samantha?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s me,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Commander says your team¡¯s on civilian screening. We need to check each arrival first before we let them anywhere near us.¡± The officer shifted slightly. ¡°For¡­ you know. Check if they¡¯re human.¡±


    Helena hopped beside Samantha, appearing out of nowhere as usual. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll find all the little gremlins hiding under their skin.¡±


    The soldier blinked, clearly unsure whether Helena was joking. Samantha didn¡¯t offer him any reassurance. She took the clipboard from his hand with a curt nod.


    ¡°We¡¯ll handle it,¡±


    The soldier gave a sharp nod and jogged back toward the main cluster of vehicles.


    Kate sauntered over, adjusting the strap on her rifle. ¡°Civilian screening, huh? Guess they want us playing security guards again.¡±


    ¡°Better than unloading trucks,¡± Diana added as she approached. She leaned casually against the edge of the vehicle, eyes flicking toward the distant road where the first civilians would soon arrive.


    *****


    ¡°Thank you, come again!¡±


    Finally, the last customer trickled out, and silence reclaimed the store. I stretched, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into my stiff muscles as I wrestled with the uniform. Of course, that¡¯s when the Manager showed up ¨C impeccable timing as always.


    ¡°Marvelous performance, Max! It¡¯s been years since I¡¯ve seen anyone work with such dedication and liveliness,¡± he declared, dramatically brushing away an imaginary tear. ¡°Here, you¡¯ve earned this.¡±


    He handed me a plaque and¡­ was that a coupon?


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± I asked, squinting at it.


    ¡°The prestigious ¡®Employee of the Night¡¯ award, and a little something extra from me ¨C an all-expenses-paid, one-day trip to Bonetown. Just rip the ticket, and off you go!¡±


    I turned the ticket over in my hands and put it in my pocket. ¡°Uh, thank you, sir. I appreciate it.¡±


    ¡°As you should! Honestly, we could use more employees like you. Are you absolutely sure you don¡¯t want to stick around?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure. Next time I¡¯m here, it¡¯ll be as a customer.¡±


    He sighed dramatically. ¡°A shame. Well, off you go then.¡±


    And just like that, I left the store after donning my usual heavy clothing and backpack ¨C now holding within the plaque instead of the bread.


    I stepped out into the cold and fresh morning air wondering where to go now. I could try to head home, but that would be two or three hours, and after working all night I felt like I would pass out during the trek. St.Michaels church and the supply depot that should be set up there today is much closer, should be just under an hour. My family could be there as well, we did plan to go there, after all.


    It¡¯s decided then, time to go to the church, and hopefully I won¡¯t meet any beasts along the way.


    ¡­


    I forgot to ask how the Manager knew my name.


    *****


    Samantha¡¯s squad had settled into their positions by the fence, with Helena perched lazily against the wooden posts, her eyes scanning the horizon. Diana was fiddling with her goggles again, muttering under her breath about calibrations, while Kate leaned against the truck, eyes half-lidded from boredom.


    So far, none of the civilians who had arrived seemed out of the ordinary. Samantha had been prepared for something, anything, but the minutes ticked by with nothing but the distant murmurs of conversations and the occasional clink of crates being moved.


    Eventually a young person¡ªbarely out of their teens¡ªwas walking down the road alone. They moved with a strange, unsteady gait, as though each step took more effort than it should. Their clothes were... absurd. But what really caught Samantha¡¯s attention were their eyes. Bloodshot, glazed over, as if the person hadn¡¯t slept in days¡ªor maybe longer.


    ¡°Is it just me, or does that look¡­ weird?¡± Kate asked, squinting toward the figure.


    Samantha¡¯s fingers twitched around her rifle strap, her instincts immediately on high alert. This wasn¡¯t the kind of person who just wandered up the road casually, not with those eyes. There was something off about them, a sense of wrongness in the air that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.


    ¡°Yeah, definitely something off about them,¡± Samantha muttered, her eyes locked on the figure. She could feel the tension building in her chest. ¡°Prepare to move out, just in case.¡±


    Helena straightened, her usual smirk fading into something more focused. ¡°Oh, this is gonna be fun.¡±


    They staggered just slightly as they walked, but their eyes locked on Samantha with an unsettling intensity.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Samantha called, keeping her voice steady, calm. ¡°Stop right there.¡±


    The figure came to a halt, swaying for a moment, then slowly raised their head. Their bloodshot eyes were distant, but they focused on her with a strange sense of purpose. The longer she looked though, the more it seemed like the person was exactly that ¨C a person, but definitely someone who had a rough time lately.


    ¡°Sorry, had a long night¡­ And a long way to get here. Do you have any water?¡±


    ¡°We have water,¡± Samantha said, her voice low but commanding, ¡°but first, your name, surname, and home address.¡±


    ¡°Max Silver,¡± he replied, his tone curt. ¡°The house is called Elderpines, just a few kilometers out of town. May I go?¡±


    ¡°Not quite,¡± Samantha said producing a small chunk of slightly stale bread from her bag. ¡°Eat this.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    For what must have been the hundredth time, Samantha prepared to launch into an explanation. Her lips parted, but before the words could leave her mouth, Helena interjected with her characteristic theatricality.


    ¡°It¡¯s to prove you¡¯re not a shapeshifter,¡± Helena said, tossing her fiery curls over one shoulder. Her tone was casual, almost bored, as though this were the most mundane test in the world. ¡°Apparently, most shapeshifters are strict carnivores. Bread messes with their guts. Makes them vomit their guts out.¡±


    ¡°Alrighty then, don¡¯t mind if I do.¡± With that he took the bread, hesitating just slightly, and ate it.


    After seeing no obvious reaction for a dozen or so seconds, Samantha deemed him clear. ¡°Okay, you may go further in now. If you want to buy any supplies, they are outside by the trucks. You wanted water, right? It¡¯s in the church, they are giving out free meals there. A couple of families have settled in as well if you want to see if you recognize anyone.¡±


    ¡°Ah, speaking of which, has anyone from my family been here? Perhaps asked about me?¡±


    Samantha answered, checking the clipboard, ¡°No, haven¡¯t seen any Silvers today. But the day is still early, maybe they¡¯ll come by.¡±

 chapter 6

    Here I was, finally standing before the church. Never in my life did I think I¡¯d be excited to step into one.


    Before reaching it, I passed rows of military trucks and tents, each surrounded by stacked crates. Solar panels gleamed from the bed of one truck¡ªthis depot seemed impressively well-equipped. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder: were they selling guns here too? And if so, at what price? Did cash even mean anything anymore?


    I continued down the dirt path, unbothered, weaving past a few tents  until I reached the church gates.


    The moment I laid eyes on it, a wave of awe washed over me¡ªnot for how it looked, but for how it felt. Something was different. This place had changed profoundly in the last month. I couldn¡¯t remember ever feeling such an undeniable sense of sanctity here before. For the first time in ages, I felt genuinely safe¡ªprotected from the chaos of the world outside. The soldiers stationed nearby were merely a reassuring afterthought.


    I quickened my steps, impatience driving me forward. I needed to be inside.


    The doors opened without a squeak and for a moment I was overcome with emotions. The warm air with such a welcoming atmosphere, and people. The people! I have not seen so many people in one place since this all began. They¡¯re chatting and smiling! I never thought that I could actually miss them so much.


    I even recognize one from the back. A tangle of unruly curls poking out beneath a familiar knit cap, patched and frayed in places. My breath caught. Could it be?


    I pushed through the crowd, muttering quick apologies as I nudged past warm bodies and sidestepped children darting underfoot. My heart thudded in my chest as I neared. The figure leaned casually against the side of a pew, flipping through a worn notebook, utterly oblivious to the swirl of life around them.


    I stopped just a few feet away. My voice was barely a whisper at first.


    ¡°Dan?¡±


    The figure froze mid-turn of a page, and then, slowly, he looked up. A moment stretched between us like taut string. Dan''s wide, searching eyes locked onto mine. And then, in an instant, the corners of his mouth tugged upward into that unmistakable grin¡ªthe one that had once been my lifeline in countless impossible situations.


    "Well, I¡¯ll be damned," Dan said, closing the notebook with a satisfying snap and slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. "I thought I might see you here, but the nervous knot in my stomach wouldn¡¯t loosen up.¡±


    I laughed, a sound that felt foreign to my ears after so long. ¡°The feeling¡¯s mutual. You alone here?¡±


    ¡°Nah, brought my grandparents as well, ¡°He pointed at an elderly couple nearby sitting on a pew, chatting between themselves, ¡°Couldn¡¯t leave them alone back at home. Listen, Father Jackson said that anyone who wants to is welcome to stay in this church as long as they want. Maybe you want to stay here as well? It must be a bit scary to stay in that forest you live in.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I will, maybe I will. First I¡¯ll see what my family thinks once they get here, but I¡¯m pretty sure they would want to stay here as well. Shadow people are getting uncomfortably close these last few days¡±


    ¡°Speaking of which, how come you¡¯re here alone?¡±


    What came next was a good ten minutes of me telling how wild of a night I had, the last couple of days really, interspersed by a good amount of ¡°no way¡¯s¡±, and ¡°holy shit¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Hey, shouldn¡¯t be swearing in a church.¡±


    At first he wanted to wave the concern away but then thought better about it and hesitantly asked, ¡°You think there¡¯s something more to all this church business now?¡±


    ¡°Not sure if anything will come of it, but I can definitely say that this place now has more to it than meets the eye. That aura detection ability I have now I mentioned? Going off here real hard. Best way to describe this place is ¡®holy¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Damn. I mean, darn. Think you could get me some of those crystals as well?¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, let¡¯s kick up a wizarding school together eventually.¡± I say with a chuckle, ¡°You can be my apprentice.¡±


    At that we both have a good laugh.


    ¡°So, wanna grab a bite? You look exactly how I would expect, hearing how the past day has been going on for you.¡±


    ¡°Lead the way,¡± I did a theatrical bow, which probably looked more elegant in my mind than it actually did.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Dan grinned and turned, gesturing for me to follow. We wove through the bustling crowd, making our way toward the far corner of the church where several tables had been set up. Volunteers moved efficiently behind makeshift counters, ladling soup into bowls, handing out bread, and offering cups of something steaming¡ªprobably tea. The aroma was heavenly, a mix of savory spices and fresh-baked bread that made my stomach growl.


    We joined the short line, listening to the chatter of the people ahead of us. Most seemed relieved, like us¡ªgrateful for a moment of peace. When our turn came, a kindly woman with laugh lines around her eyes handed us each a tray with a bowl of stew, a thick slice of bread, and a mug of tea.


    ¡°Eat up,¡± she said, smiling warmly. ¡°And don¡¯t be shy if you want seconds.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, meaning it more than I could express. Dan and I took our trays and scanned the hall for a spot to sit. He nodded toward a quieter area near the back where a couple of chairs flanked a small wooden table.


    We slid into our seats, the wooden chairs creaking softly beneath us. I dipped a piece of bread into the stew and took a bite. It was simple but flavorful, the warmth spreading through me like a balm. Dan had already devoured half of his bread by the time I¡¯d taken my first sip of tea.


    ¡°This is... nice,¡± he said, his voice softer now, almost contemplative.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed. ¡°Almost makes you forget everything out there.¡±


    Dan nodded but didn¡¯t say anything for a while. We ate in companionable silence until the clinking of his spoon against the bowl broke it.


    ¡°So,¡± he began, leaning back in his chair and nursing his tea. ¡°My grandparents, they¡¯re doing okay, but... you know, they¡¯re getting up there. Harder for them to keep up with all this.¡±


    I glanced over at the elderly couple he¡¯d pointed out earlier. They sat together on a pew, their heads close as they spoke. Despite their apparent exhaustion, there was an undeniable strength in the way they carried themselves.


    ¡°They look good for their age,¡± I said.


    Dan chuckled. ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re tough as nails. But it¡¯s not just the physical stuff. Mentally, this world¡¯s taken a toll on them. I catch my grandpa staring off sometimes. And my grandma... she¡¯s still sharp, but I can tell she worries more than she lets on.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not an easy world to live in,¡± I said. ¡°Especially for people who¡¯ve already been through so much. Maybe it¡¯s because they¡¯ve seen it all before,¡± I offered. ¡°They know things can get bad, but they also know people can survive it.¡±


    Dan nodded slowly, mulling that over. ¡°Yeah. They¡¯re survivors, no doubt. But I just want them to have... I don¡¯t know. Some peace, I guess. They deserve that.¡±


    ¡°We all do,¡± I said, and for a moment, we both stared into the distance, lost in thought.


    Dan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, as if saying it too loudly might make it less real. ¡°An elixir of youth, immortality¡­ something like that. You think it¡¯s possible?¡±


    I set my mug down and considered. ¡°Honestly? After everything we¡¯ve seen, I wouldn¡¯t rule it out. I mean, shadow people, the undead? Who¡¯s to say there isn¡¯t some ancient alchemy or artifact out there?¡±


    Dan¡¯s eyes lit up, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. ¡°I¡¯ve read about stuff like that in old texts. The Philosopher¡¯s Stone, the Fountain of Youth¡­ but that¡¯s all mythology, right? Stories people told themselves to cope with mortality.¡±


    ¡°Could be,¡± I said with a shrug. ¡°But I doubt it¡¯s as simple as mixing herbs and chanting a few words.¡±


    He frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. ¡°Yeah, I can see that. Something that powerful wouldn¡¯t just be lying around. Still, it¡¯d be worth looking into, don¡¯t you think? For them.¡± He nodded toward his grandparents again.


    I followed his gaze, watching the old couple as they laughed softly at some private joke. ¡°It¡¯d be worth it,¡± I admitted. ¡°For them, for others who deserve more time.¡±


    Dan clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and decisive. ¡°Alright, enough heavy talk. Let¡¯s see what the military¡¯s got on sale.¡±


    ¡°Good idea,¡± I said, pushing my chair back. ¡°I have no money on me right now, but it could still be useful to scout out what¡¯s on offer.¡±


    We carried our empty trays to a collection station near the door, nodded a thank-you to the volunteers, and stepped outside.


    Dan stretched his arms overhead, taking a deep breath. ¡°It¡¯s weird, isn¡¯t it? Feeling... normal again.¡±


    ¡°Weird, but not unwelcome,¡± I replied, tucking my hands into my jacket pockets.


    The military trucks lined the path like sentinels, their steel sides gleaming dully in the muted sunlight. Tents stretched out beside them, canvas flaps open to reveal  piled high with goods. Soldiers and civilians moved among them, bartering and chatting.


    We started down the path, our footsteps crunching on the gravel. The first truck we passed had a display of tools: hammers, wrenches, multi-tools¡ªall neatly arranged and gleaming like they were freshly polished. Dan paused, picking up a hatchet with a rubberized grip. He gave it a few practice swings before setting it back down.


    The next truck was stocked with clothing and gear. Rows of boots were lined up alongside thick jackets, gloves, and waterproof pants. A man with a thick beard and a booming voice was haggling with a soldier over a pair of binoculars.


    Farther along, we passed tables loaded with food supplies: sacks of rice and beans, jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, even a few luxuries like chocolate bars and coffee. My stomach gave an approving rumble, even though we¡¯d just eaten.


    One truck was filled with weapons: knives, batons, and a few firearms carefully laid out under the watchful eye of two armed guards. Looks like anyone can buy a gun now, I wondered what it would cost.


    Dan and I stopped briefly in front of the weapons truck. The gleam of polished steel and the ominous matte black of the firearms were both captivating and sobering.


    ¡°How much does one of these go for?¡± I asked, pointing to a compact handgun resting neatly on the crate. Its black finish seemed to absorb the sunlight, giving it a quiet, menacing allure.


    The soldier behind the display, a lean man with sharp features and a calm, no-nonsense demeanor, glanced up. ¡°If you¡¯ve got cash, it¡¯s eight hundred euros. Bullets? Four euros apiece. Same ballpark for the rest of this stuff.¡± He gestured at the other weapons, his tone matter-of-fact. ¡°No cash? We take trades¡ªanything valuable . You buying, or just looking?¡±


    I hesitated, shaking my head with a small smile. ¡°Just looking. Thanks.¡±


    I did not have the kind of money to buy the pistol right now, but maybe dad has enough? Then again, maybe something else here would be more useful, like the solar panels and a battery for them.


    And so we wrapped up our impromptu window¡ªor rather, crate¡ªshopping. We made our way back toward the church gates, the hum of conversations and the metallic clang of tools fading as the sense of sanctity returned with every step. There, at the gates I found a pleasant surprise.


    ¡°Max!¡±


    My family was right there, about to go inside looking for me I would guess.

 Chapter 7

    We were seated on a pair of old pews, my brother and I, and my parents with their already finished bowls of soup. They finished it long ago already, but did not want to interrupt my story of the bizarre night I had.


    ¡°So we were shoplifting this entire time?¡± My brother said more than asked.


    ¡°Apparently. Maybe we could go back there sometime, this time as customers. The manager explained that it becomes impossible to find the exit only if the person has no intent to pay for the products. That¡¯s some weird magic.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ ridiculous,¡± he said, frowning. ¡°We didn¡¯t even realize we were stealing. How does it know?¡±


    ¡°Beats me,¡± I replied.


    My father, who had been uncharacteristically silent until now, finally spoke up, his voice carrying that skeptical, measured tone he used when he was trying to sound reasonable. ¡°Magic that can read your intentions? I don¡¯t know, Max. That kind of thing sounds like trouble waiting to happen.¡±


    He set his empty bowl down on the pew beside him with a soft clink, leaning forward slightly as if to emphasize his next words. ¡°I think it¡¯s best you stay clear of that place from now on. Who knows what other tricks it has up its sleeve? For all we know, you might get trapped in there for something even smaller next time.¡±


    I opened my mouth to argue, but my mom cut in before I could say a word. ¡°Your father¡¯s right,¡± she said, her voice gentle but firm. ¡°A store like that doesn¡¯t seem normal¡ªnothing about it does. And if its magic can do what you¡¯re saying, then it¡¯s better not to tempt fate. What if you misstep? Or worse, what if the place doesn¡¯t let you out at all?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like I was planning to shoplift again,¡± I said, trying not to sound defensive. ¡°We didn¡¯t even know it was happening in the first place.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly the point,¡± my dad countered. ¡°You didn¡¯t know. You had no idea what you were walking into, and yet you still got tangled up in it. Next time, you might not be so lucky as to find a manager willing to explain the rules to you.¡±


    ¡°Your father¡¯s right, Max,¡± Mom added.


    ¡°Fine, it¡¯s not like we have any gold or silver to use as money there anyway.¡±


    Maybe someday I¡¯ll go there again if I get any gold, the manager seemed very friendly, and I could always ask Greg and Gary, the undead, about any rules of the shop if there are any special ones. At the end of the day, it¡¯s just a store, what could be the worst that happens, I work another night there?


    The conversation fell into an uneasy silence after that. The occasional creak of the old pews under our shifting weight punctuated the stillness, and somewhere in the distance, the faint murmur of others in the church hall echoed softly against the stone walls.


    Finally, Dad cleared his throat, breaking the spell. ¡°Well,¡± he began, his voice steady, practical. ¡°Your mother and I should go speak with the priest. If we¡¯re going to be staying here, we need to figure out where we¡¯ll sleep and what arrangements can be made.¡±


    Dad looked toward my brother and me, his expression firm but not unkind. ¡°In the meantime, why don¡¯t you two drive home and pack up some of our things? Clothes, toiletries, anything you think we¡¯ll need. The mattresses too, tie them up well on the roof.¡±


    My brother perked up slightly at the suggestion, clearly eager to get moving. ¡°Sure,¡± he said, already standing. ¡°Anything specific you want us to grab?¡±


    ¡°Just the essentials,¡± Mom said, glancing over her shoulder as she and Dad began to move toward the front of the church.


    ¡°Got it,¡± I replied, rising to my feet.


    *****


    I managed to cram my entire life into two boxes. The first held my clothes, neatly folded despite my growing frustration. The second was packed with what I had in the garage - herbs, dried flowers, and an assortment of magical odds and ends I¡¯d collected over the past month.


    It will be a shame to leave this place, with all of these tools and memories, but what choice did we have? Safety had to come first, and the church was our best shot at that.


    I grabbed the second box and pushed the door open with my shoulder, stepping out into the cool almost-evening air.


    I only took a few steps before I froze. Standing right in front of me, half-shadowed by the tall oak tree in the yard, was Bryndrel. The dryad was as otherworldly as ever.


    ¡°Bryndrel,¡± I said, startled but not entirely surprised. ¡°Hey, buddy. Glad to see you. We were just about to leave.¡±


    Bryndrel tilted its head, its voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to carry the weight of ancient forests. ¡°Leaving? So soon? This place hums with your presence. It is rooted in you, as much as you are rooted in it.¡±


    I sighed, setting the box down on the ground. ¡°I know. Trust me, I don¡¯t want to go. But it¡¯s not safe anymore. We¡¯re moving to the church for now. It¡¯s the only option. Besides, I¡¯ll come visit from time to time, I need those crystals of yours after all. Speaking of which.¡±


    I pointed out a couple of bags of fertilizer in the corner of the garage, ¡°Those are yours now, take as much as you want, just not all at once. I¡¯ve heard high doses can cause harm to plants.¡±


    Bryndrel¡¯s eyes¡ªor at least the glowing amber where its eyes would be¡ªnarrowed in contemplation. The dryad stepped closer, the faint scent of moss and sap clinging to the air around it. ¡°Generous as ever, Max,¡± it said, its voice a rustle of leaves on a windy day. ¡°But what of the Splicing? Are you certain you will not perform the ritual before you leave this place? The bond would grant you strength, protection¡­ and deeper roots.¡±


    I shook my head, my hands planted firmly on my hips. ¡°Bryndrel, we¡¯ve talked about this. I¡¯m not ready for something like that. The Splicing isn¡¯t just some casual decision ¡ªit¡¯s forever.


    Bryndrel crouched down, its bark-like fingers brushing against the ground near the box I¡¯d set down. ¡°Then go with care, Max. The church is a place of many branches, but not all are strong. Seek the sturdy boughs and tread lightly.¡±


    I gave a half-smile at the metaphor, not entirely sure what it meant but appreciating the sentiment. ¡°Thanks, Bryndrel. I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡±


    Behind me, my brother called out from the car. ¡°Max, you good? We gotta go!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, coming!¡± I shouted back before turning to Bryndrel one last time. ¡°I¡¯ll be back when I can, alright? Don¡¯t let this place fall apart without me.¡±


    With that, I picked up the box and made my way to the car, trying not to let both the weight of leaving, and the excitement of living with more people hit me too hard. As I slid into the passenger seat, my brother raised an eyebrow at me.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°You and your magical friends,¡± he said with a smirk.


    *****


    ¡°Did you really bring the mini-fridge?¡± Dad asked, his tone laced with surprise as he spotted it in the back of the car.


    ¡°We had the space,¡± Marcus replied with a shrug. ¡°Figured we could sell it.¡±


    We were busy unloading the car, hauling our belongings to the section of the church designated for families¡ªjust an open area cleared for mattresses and personal items. My brother had the mini-fridge in his arms, but this wasn¡¯t just any fridge; it was a chrono-fridge. Easily the coolest thing we¡¯d found (read: shoplifted) during our escapades at the supermarket.


    According to the packaging¡ªand our own experiments¡ªit didn¡¯t just chill items; it froze them in time completely. We¡¯d tested it with our phones¡¯ stopwatches. No matter how long we left something inside, the timer didn¡¯t tick a single second. It worked like a charm.


    ¡°Huh,¡± Dad said, nodding as he considered the idea. ¡°Good thinking. I bet we could get a decent price for it. It¡¯s not like we really need it.¡±


    He was right. With its tiny size, it wasn¡¯t exactly practical for our needs. What were we going to store in it¡ªtwo imaginary milk cartons and a couple of eggs? Selling it made far more sense, especially given our current situation. Better to let someone else marvel at this technological wonder.


    By the time evening rolled around, we¡¯d finished bringing in the last of the boxes. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the churchyard in shades of amber and shadow, Dad spotted a soldier stationed nearby and waved him over. He pointed out the fridge, said how he wanted to sell it, the soldier looked skeptical at first, but as Dad explained what it could do, his expression shifted to one of intrigue. He gave a nod, gesturing for us to follow him.


    With the chrono-fridge in tow, we followed him into the maze of tents, feeling a spark of hope that our strange little find might actually help us out more than we expected.


    We walked on, and a creepy sensation started to creep up my spine, like it had before when I felt the auras of the shadow people. Only this time, it was fainter¡ªbut somehow, more insidious. Different. Wrong.


    What the hell was going on? Nothing should be here, there was still some daylight left, and we¡¯re surrounded by soldiers. This place was supposed to be safe.


    Yet as we kept walking, the feeling grew stronger, like a storm gathering just out of sight. By the time we reached the tent, it was almost unbearable. This was it. Whatever I was sensing¡ªit was here. Right inside that tent. The aura was overwhelming, and it was bloody.


    My stomach churned. Could I go in there? Nobody else seemed to feel it. The soldier leading us was already reaching for the flap, calm and unaware.


    ¡°Max, you coming?¡±


    The voice snapped me out of my frozen daze. I realized I¡¯d stopped walking, now a couple of meters behind the group.


    ¡°Uh¡­ yeah. Coming,¡± I mumbled. My voice felt distant, like it wasn¡¯t my own.


    I should¡¯ve said something. Should¡¯ve warned them. But my mind was racing, my chest tight with panic. The soldier was already stepping inside, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder. It was his job to protect us, right? He could handle whatever was in there. That¡¯s what I told myself, even though deep down, I knew I was just rationalizing my fear.


    The tent flap swung open. I watched from where I stood, too scared to move, as the interior of the tent came into view.


    There was a person inside.


    Another soldier, seated in a folding chair at a makeshift desk, shuffling through a pile of documents. He looked up as the flap opened, his face calm and expressionless¡ªuntil his gaze landed on me.


    And then it stayed there.


    Our eyes locked, and I felt it. The aura was pouring off him, thick and suffocating. It wasn¡¯t faint anymore.


    His lips curled into the faintest smirk, just enough to send a chill racing down my spine.


    That is when the soldier who brought us here interrupted the moment, ¡°Commander Greene, sir, these people here have a time stopping fridge they would like to sell.¡±


    Commander Greene¡¯s smirk faded as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a cool, unreadable expression. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer before shifting to my father and Marcus.


    ¡°A time-stopping fridge, you say?¡± His voice was calm, smooth, yet there was an edge to it¡ªsomething hard to place but deeply unsettling. He gestured for them to step forward, beckoning them closer to the desk.


    My father, ever the practical negotiator, cleared his throat and nudged Marcus forward with the fridge. ¡°Yes, sir. It¡¯s small but fully functional. We¡¯ve tested it ourselves. Stops time for anything inside¡ªfood, drinks, perishables. Perfect preservation.¡±


    Marcus placed the chrono-fridge on the desk carefully, avoiding the piles of papers scattered across it.


    Commander Greene leaned forward, studying the device with a measured intensity, his fingers drumming against the desk as though calculating its worth. He opened the small door and examined the interior before tapping the casing lightly. ¡°Lets test it then. Does it need power?¡±


    ¡°No, sir.¡±


    Commander Greene¡¯s eyebrow arched slightly at the answer. ¡°No power, huh? Convenient.¡±


    He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, a sleek, military-grade device with a hardened case. His movements were deliberate, almost exaggerated, as if he wanted to draw attention to every step. The tension in the air was palpable, though Marcus and Dad seemed oblivious.


    I, however, was still rooted to my spot outside the tent. Every instinct I had screamed for me to run, to put as much distance as possible between me and this man radiating an aura that felt like it could crush me if it wanted to.


    Commander Greene set the timer  phone,  inside the chrono-fridge  closed the door. ¡°We¡¯ll give it a minute,¡± he said, leaning back in his chair again. His eyes flicked back to me briefly, as though he could sense my unease. ¡°You. Outside. You¡¯re with them, aren¡¯t you? Come in.¡±


    I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I wanted to say no, to make up some excuse to stay out here, but my father turned around and motioned me over. ¡°Max, come on. Don¡¯t be rude.¡±


    Reluctantly, I stepped forward, my legs feeling like lead as I entered the tent. The air inside was heavy, oppressive in a way that had nothing to do with its physical atmosphere. Commander Greene¡¯s eyes followed me until I stood awkwardly near the back, trying to keep my distance.


    The minute passed. Greene opened the fridge and retrieved his phone. He held it up, showing the Then, with a calculated slowness, he reset the timer and placed it on the desk. ¡°Impressive,¡± he said, though his tone betrayed no real emotion.


    ¡°Three thousand euros,¡± he continued, locking eyes with my father. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m willing to offer. Take it or leave it.¡±


    Dad hesitated for a fraction of a second, his instinct to haggle clearly kicking in. But Greene¡¯s unflinching gaze seemed to make him reconsider. ¡°Deal,¡± he said, nodding firmly.


    The commander reached into a small lockbox beside his desk, retrieving a thick envelope of cash. He counted out the bills with an almost mechanical precision, placing them on the desk. ¡°Pleasure doing business with you.¡±


    Dad took the money and stuffed it into his jacket, thanking the commander with a polite nod. ¡°Appreciate it, sir.¡±


    We stepped out of the tent and into the fading evening light, the crisp air hitting my face like a lifeline. My chest still felt tight, but the weight that had been pressing down on me inside the tent started to ease, like I¡¯d been holding my breath the whole time and finally let it out.


    Marcus seemed oblivious to any tension, whistling softly to himself. ¡°Three thousand euros,¡± he said, grinning. ¡°Not bad for something we didn¡¯t even pay for.¡±


    The walk back felt longer than it should have, every step accompanied by the faint crackle of leaves underfoot and the low murmur of distant voices. I couldn¡¯t help glancing over my shoulder every few seconds, half-expecting to see Commander Greene standing there, smirking in the shadows. But the path remained empty.


    Eventually we reach the doors of the church and step inside.


    The interior of the church was bustling with quiet activity. Families were setting up their corners with whatever they had, small clusters of people talking in hushed voices. The dim light from the chandeliers above cast a warm, steady glow that seemed to calm my frayed nerves.


    Dad sat down beside him, pulling the envelope out of his jacket and counting the cash again, his expression a mix of relief and determination. ¡°This will help,¡± he said quietly. ¡°It¡¯s not much in the grand scheme of things, but it¡¯ll keep us going for now.¡±


    I sank onto my mattress, letting out a long breath as the tension in my shoulders finally melted away. The familiar hum of voices, the soft rustle of movement. For the first time in hours, I felt safe.


    Whatever that was back at the tent¡ªwhatever Greene was or wasn¡¯t¡ªit couldn¡¯t touch us here. Not now.


    It¡¯s time for some well deserved rest. I closed my eyes, letting the safety of the church wrap around me like a cocoon.

 Chapter 8

    That might have been the best sleep I¡¯ve ever had. I could hardly remember the last time I didn¡¯t have to get up in the middle of the night to stand watch.


    When I woke, I wasn¡¯t the only one already up. A handful of people were moving about quietly, speaking in hushed tones to avoid disturbing anyone still asleep. My own family, however, remained blissfully unaware of the morning, and Dan was nowhere in sight.


    I stretched and then tidied up my bed to the best of my ability, careful not to step on my brother or father who were next to my mattress. With that done, I wasn¡¯t quite sure what to do with myself.


    When in doubt, there¡¯s always one reliable course of action: eat. But do they serve breakfast here? Or was yesterday¡¯s meal a one-off? The tables where soup was served last night stood empty now, devoid of any signs of life.


    Well, no sense lingering around guessing. I¡¯d better find the priest and ask. If anyone would know, it¡¯s him.


    I took one last glance at my sleeping family and stepped away quietly, heading out of the sleeping area, and closer to the back of the church where the stage with the pedestal is, or whatever it¡¯s called. The morning light streamed in through the tall, stained-glass windows, painting the worn wooden floor in vivid hues of red, blue, and gold.


    There was a group of people gathered nearby, talking softly. I figured they were my best bet for some quick information.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± I said, trying to sound polite but still cutting through their conversation. ¡°Do you know where I can find the priest?¡±


    A middle-aged woman with a tired yet kind expression turned to me. ¡°He¡¯s probably in his office,¡± she said, pointing toward a narrow hallway off to the left. ¡°Second door on the right.¡±


    I nodded my thanks and made my way down the hallway. The muffled sounds of chatter and movement faded as I entered the corridor. It was dimly lit compared to the main hall, with plain wooden doors lining the walls. The second door on the right stood slightly ajar, and faint murmuring came from within.


    I knocked lightly before peering inside. ¡°Hello?¡±


    The priest was kneeling beside a young boy. The child was sniffling, holding his arm gingerly, while his mother hovered nearby, her face etched with concern.


    ¡°Hold still,¡± the priest said gently, his voice calm but firm. He placed a hand over the boy¡¯s arm, and a soft golden light began to emanate from his palm. The boy¡¯s sniffles subsided, his wide eyes fixed on the glow as warmth and comfort replaced the sting of pain. Slowly, the bruise that had darkened his skin faded away, leaving only smooth, unblemished flesh behind.


    I shouldn¡¯t be surprised by anything at this point, but this casual display of magic took me aback.


    ¡°There we go,¡± the priest said with a smile, ruffling the boy¡¯s hair. ¡°Good as new. Be careful next time, all right?¡±


    The boy nodded, his awe-struck expression mirrored by his mother¡¯s gratitude.


    I waited until the priest had risen to his feet and the family had stepped away before approaching him. ¡°How did you just do that?¡±


    The priest turned to me, his smile shifting into something both warm and enigmatic. "Healing magic," he said simply, brushing his hands together as if to dust them off. "It¡¯s a gift, one bestowed upon me by the Lord. Though I suspect that¡¯s not the reason you¡¯re here."


    I hesitated for a moment before responding. "No, you¡¯re right. I was actually looking for you to ask about breakfast. Yesterday, the food was... well, let¡¯s just say it was much appreciated, and I wasn¡¯t sure if that was a one-time thing or if there¡¯s something set up for the morning."


    The priest let out a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Ah, so you¡¯re on the hunt for breakfast. Practical, I like that. Unfortunately free meals will only be given out once a day in the afternoon, both today and tomorrow. The military will be leaving after that, and so will the supplies.¡±


    I nodded, though my stomach gave a faint grumble of protest. At least now I had a clear answer. ¡°Thanks for letting me know.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± the priest said. He hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand. ¡°By the way, I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve been properly introduced. I¡¯m Father Jackson.¡±


    I shook his hand, his grip firm but not overbearing. ¡°Nice to meet you, Father Jackson. I¡¯m Max Silver.¡±


    ¡°Well, Max, if you need anything else, my door is always open.¡±


    ¡°Appreciate it,¡± I said, and with a small wave, I stepped back out into the hallway.


    The quiet corridor felt a little less somber on the way back, the golden hues from the stained glass peeking through the main hall ahead of me. As I returned to the open space, I noticed a distinct shift in the atmosphere. My family was no longer bundled up on their makeshift beds. Instead, my parents were awake and up, talking softly near the center of the hall.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    ¡°Good morning,¡± I greeted them as I approached. My father turned to me, looking more alert than I would¡¯ve expected after the long night.


    ¡°Morning,¡± he replied. ¡°Where¡¯d you wander off to?¡±


    ¡°Just trying to figure out if there¡¯s breakfast,¡± I said with a shrug. ¡°Turns out, there isn¡¯t. Food¡¯s only in the afternoons while the military¡¯s here.¡±


    My mom excitedly suggested, ¡°Maybe we could shop around at the tents outside? Maybe there are some fresh ingredients.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a plan.¡±


    *****


    The gravel beneath their boots crunched with every step, the noise echoing in the still morning air as Samantha led her squad toward Commander Greene¡¯s tent. Kate walked alongside her, humming some off-key tune that was barely recognizable, while Helena and Diana trailed behind, their movements more measured.


    Helena¡¯s voice broke the silence. ¡°Are we going to be on time?¡±


    Samantha glanced at her wrist, checking her watch with practiced ease. ¡°Yes, the meeting starts in eleven minutes.¡± She scanned the area, noticing a few other squads heading in the same direction, the soldiers moving with the same mix of urgency and nonchalance that came with routine. The camp was already stirring to life, soldiers going about their daily business like clockwork.


    ¡°That¡¯s practically a lifetime,¡± Kate said, ¡°Don¡¯t know why we need to rush, honestly. Maybe Greene¡¯s got another one of those boring speeches lined up.¡±


    Samantha shot her a side-eye but said nothing. She knew Kate¡¯s disinterest in the routine meetings, but they had to go.


    ¡°Too noisy,¡± Diana muttered under her breath. Samantha didn¡¯t need to ask what Diana meant¡ªshe could tell by the slight furrow of her brow that her mind was already elsewhere. As usual.


    Helena, chuckled softly, her eyes gleaming with a strange sort of amusement. "If you think this is too noisy," she said, her tone light, "wait until you hear the briefing. The Commander¡¯s speeches could put a caffeine addict to sleep."


    Samantha slowed her pace slightly, letting the others fall into step next to her as they approached the canvas walls of Greene¡¯s tent. She wasn¡¯t particularly excited about the meeting, either, but it was part of the job.


    In front of the tent there were already twenty or so other soldiers, all waiting for Greene to step out and begin the speech. Samantha led her squad near the back of the bunch.


    The air felt thick with impatience as the squad fell in line behind the others, and the low murmur of voices filled the space between the soldiers. Some looked like they were mentally preparing for whatever Commander Greene had in store, while others seemed to have already mentally checked out.


    The chill autumn wind blew past, rustling everyone¡¯s hair and the branches of nearby trees. Samantha stood at ease, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, scanning the crowd.


    The minutes ticked by one after another until eventually the tent flaps parted.


    Commander Greene emerged, a tall, imposing figure who commanded attention without even having to raise his voice. His uniform was immaculate, his posture rigid, the face set in its usual stern expression.


    ¡°Alright, listen up,¡± Greene began, his gravelly voice cutting through the low murmurs of the soldiers. ¡°Tomorrow, we will finally move out to Frankensteins¡¯ manor. We¡¯ve gotten reports that all the local zombies have gone to defend the place so be prepared for that.¡±


    The squad tensed at the mention of Frankenstein¡¯s manor. They¡¯d all heard about it from briefings back in Belford before they moved out. A mad scientist who was doing experiments on corpses, hence the nickname.


    Greene continued, his voice hard, like the gravel under their boots. "We¡¯ve split the operation into two phases. Johnson¡¯s and Hank¡¯s squads will be positioned outside to clear the perimeter. Your primary task will be neutralizing the zombie hordes gathered around the estate. Expect heavy resistance, but keep it tight and controlled. No heroics, no running off to play with the monsters inside. You hold the line and make sure that mansion stays surrounded." His gaze swept across the group, locking with each soldier in turn.


    Greene paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before he continued, ¡°Stephens¡¯ and Samantha¡¯s squads will be going in through the back. Your objective will be to find and kill Frankenstein to finally put a stop to this undead plague. Once done, leave immediately and join the other squads in clearing the perimeter.¡±


    ¡°Timing will be critical,¡± Greene continued. ¡°The squads outside will create a diversion, drawing as much attention as possible. You¡¯ll have a short window to slip in undetected. Inside, expect confined spaces, close-quarters combat, and God knows what else. Shotguns will be provided for this task.¡±


    Greene¡¯s tone grew sharper, his gaze piercing as he finished. ¡°I don¡¯t need to remind you what¡¯s at stake here. If Frankenstein¡¯s experiments make it past this region, we¡¯ll be looking at an outbreak that spreads faster than we can contain it. You¡¯ve trained for this. Trust your squad, trust your instincts, and get the job done. Squad leaders meet me here again tomorrow for further details, same time as today. The rest of you will stay here at the church. Dismissed.¡±


    The soldiers began dispersing, some muttering among themselves about the mission, while others remained silent, their faces set in grim determination. Samantha turned to her squad, her mind already racing through the details of the operation.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got our work cut out for us,¡± she said, her voice steady despite the weight of Greene¡¯s words. ¡°Helena, Diana, I want a full gear check tonight. Make sure we¡¯re ready for close-quarters combat.


    ¡°Got it,¡± Helena said crisply, her earlier levity replaced by professionalism. Diana simply nodded, her expression unreadable as always, but Samantha knew she¡¯d do her part without fail.


    As the squad moved away from the tent, the tension in the camp seemed to weigh heavier on their shoulders. The knowledge of what lay ahead¡ªFrankenstein¡¯s manor, the hordes of undead, the mad scientist behind it all¡ªwas enough to make anyone uneasy. But Samantha knew they had a job to do, and hesitation wasn¡¯t an option.


    They returned to their tent in relative silence, the weight of the upcoming mission pressing down on each of them in their own way. Helena immediately set to work, checking their weapons with meticulous care. Diana sat on her bunk, sharpening her combat knife with slow, deliberate strokes, her focus absolute. Kate sprawled on her cot.


    The squad worked late into the night, ensuring every piece of gear was in perfect condition, every contingency planned for. When they finally turned in, the camp had grown quiet, the occasional crackle of a campfire the only sound breaking the silence.


    Samantha lay on her bunk, staring at the canvas ceiling of their tent. The weight of leadership was heavy, but it was one she carried willingly. Tomorrow, they¡¯d face whatever horrors waited in that cursed manor. Tomorrow, they¡¯d put an end to Frankenstein¡¯s madness.

 Chapter 9

    Nature was calling me.


    It was almost pitch dark inside the church, the only light coming from some solar powered lanterns scattered around. The thought of stepping outside made me shiver, but the portable toilet wasn¡¯t going to come to me. I got out of my mattress as quietly as I could, careful not to disturb anyone next to me, and got dressed in the light of my phone¡¯s screen.


    I maneuvered around our recent spoils from the shopping trip ¨C a whole crate of foodstuffs. That wasn¡¯t all we bought, dad also got a handgun though who knows where he kept it now.


    The cool night air hit me the moment I stepped outside, carrying with it the faint smell of damp earth and diesel fuel. The toilet stood a dozen or so meters away. Normally I wouldn¡¯t even consider going outside during the night, but I felt protected enough by the perimeter of campfires and soldiers around the front of the church, just outside the gates.


    Once done with my business, stepping outside ¨C I felt a familiar bloody aura rapidly getting stronger. I turned to the side and there I saw a dark cloud shooting towards me before coalescing into a human figure. It was commander Greene.


    ¡°Evening, Max, I hoped that you would come outside.¡±


    I froze, every fiber of my being screaming at me to run, but my legs felt rooted to the spot. ¡°I¡ªuh¡­¡± My voice faltered, and I realized my hands were trembling. ¡°Just needed the toilet.¡±


    My heart hammered in my chest. ¡°I should get back. Someone will wonder where I am.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll manage without you for a few minutes.¡± Greene¡¯s tone was light, almost casual, but his words felt like a command. Now closer, I could see that his eyes had a red colouring to them. The very air felt like it was murdered by him.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± I asked, my voice trembling.


    ¡°I thought the trip here would be just a boring cleanup job for a failed experiment and I could sneak in a meal in the middle of it, but I never thought I would find someone with such peculiar blood. Just what did you do to smell so good?¡± He smiled and his fangs doubled in size and sharpness.


    He was a bloody vampire.


    The hell was I supposed to do now? Scream? Would it even help me? He seemed confident enough in the situation that he even spent time talking to me. Think, I had to think. Garlic? I didn¡¯t have any garlic.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even try to run, it would be pointless.¡± Step after slow step he walked closer to me, as if savouring my fear.


    I had something in my pocket. That Bonetown trip ticket the shop manager gave me, he said that all I needed was to rip it and I would go on the trip. I prayed to all the gods that it would work now.


    ¡°That¡¯s it, just stand there, it won¡¯t hurt a bit,¡± he was already within reach.


    I ripped the Bonetown ticket in my pocket and with that reality became a swirl.


    I wasn''t falling. I wasn''t flying. I was simply elsewhere. The scenery dissolved, unraveling into threads of golden light that wove themselves into a swirling abyss. I couldn¡¯t think of anything more beautiful at that moment. I tried to breathe, but air had no weight here. My limbs flailed for ground that no longer existed. I felt stretched, as though invisible hands tugged at the edges of my skin, trying to pull me apart, thread by thread.


    There was no sound. Not even the rush of wind. Only the relentless hum of something ancient, vibrating just beyond the edge of hearing.


    I closed my eyes, but it made no difference. The swirling lights followed me behind my lids, twisting faster until they were a single streak of white. I couldn''t tell if I was moving through them, or if they were moving through me.


    Then¡ª


    Impact. Not painful, but sudden, like expecting another step down the stairs but you actually reach the landing. My feet struck solid ground. The lights vanished, leaving behind a ringing emptiness. I gasped and stumbled, knees buckling as the weight of the world returned all at once.


    The churchyard was gone. In its place I found myself standing atop a creaking ferry, staring down at rows of seats filled with people who looked far too relaxed considering how I got here. Cameras dangled from necks, and a few clutched guidebooks. One man pointed to the opposite shore with the enthusiasm of a sightseeing father at the Grand Canyon.


    I scanned the horizon. The banks of the river were lined with jagged rocks and distant structures that loomed like forgotten temples.


    the  picture of undead elegance. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that seem untouched by time, his pallid complexion and piercing silver eyes h an otherworldly charm. His voice, smooth as velvet, carrie the weight of centuries.


    ¡°


    ¡°Welcome aboard the Stygian Dream,¡± the guide continued, clasping his gloved hands before him. ¡°For those joining us for the first time, I am Charon, your escort and narrator for this leg of your journey. I assure you, all questions shall be answered in time. Except perhaps the ones you dare not ask.¡± His lips quirked into the faintest smile.


    A few chuckles drifted from the passengers, but I only gripped the railing tighter.


    Charon gestured to the riverbanks, where jagged outcroppings rose like ribs from the black water. ¡°To your left, the Ruins of Regret. Do not stare too long. Their whispers are not meant for mortal ears. To your right, the Drowned Spire, home to those whose secrets weighed heavier than their souls.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    My gaze drifted toward the spire, its crooked silhouette stabbing the dark sky like a broken tooth. For a moment, I swore I saw something move behind its shattered windows.


    Charon continued, stepping lightly as if the ferry barely carried his weight. ¡°Now, if you peer just ahead,¡± his gloved hand extended forward, ¡°you will see the gates to the town.¡±


    The gates loomed, massive bone-white arches carved to resemble two colossal skeletal hands. Their fingers curled overhead, meeting at the top to form a perfect frame for the bustling town beyond. Even from this distance, the flicker of lanterns and glow of spectral lights danced along the streets.


    The ferry glided closer, the black waters rippling softly as if reluctant to disturb the bones beneath. As the vessel crossed under the skeletal arch, a cascade of ethereal trumpets erupted from nowhere and everywhere at once. The sound was jubilant yet oddly dissonant, as if the bones of ancient musicians were trying to remember a song half-forgotten.


    ¡°Bonetown


    Charon bowed deeply, his coattails fluttering in the breeze.  The ferry nudged the dock with a gentle thud, the gangplank descending onto the ground. One by one, the passengers disembarked, chattering excitedly. I followed them of course, I did not want to be the odd one out.


    Once on the cobblestone street, we lined up and were greeted by a skeleton handing out bags of some sort.


    ¡°Welcome, traveler,¡± he said in a voice that crackled like dead leaves. ¡°Please accept this complimentary gift bag. Inside, you will find all you need to enjoy your stay in Bonetown.¡±


    Curious, I took a look inside.


    The first item was a brochure which doubled as a badge to be put around the neck, printed on aged parchment, the illustrations shifting as if alive. ¡°Your Guide to Bonetown¡± the back read in elegant black script. The first event on the list was ¡®


    A map came next, carefully folded and marked with strange symbols. The streets of Bonetown wove together in a labyrinth of twisting paths, each corner annotated sightseeing locations.


    I glanced down the main road. Lanterns hung from wrought iron posts, their pale flames casting an eerie but beautiful glow. The air was thick with the scent of charred wood and something faintly metallic. The buzz of distant voices and music drifted on the wind, drawing me forward.


    As I walked, stages came into view . Each one was a masterpiece of macabre design, their backdrops painted with images that shifted like living murals. Spectral figures floated above the platforms, their forms solidifying as I approached.


    On the first stage, Cleopatra lounged on a golden throne, her eyes glimmering like shards of emeralds. She gestured gracefully, commanding an audience of spirits who hung on her every word.


    The second stage held Leonardo da Vinci, his translucent hands sketching impossible blueprints mid-air, the lines glowing briefly before vanishing. Beside him, a skeletal automaton whirred to life, bowing to the crowd as they gasped and clapped.


    Further down, Joan of Arc stood bathed in ghostly flames, her armor glinting as she recounted tales of valor. Her voice rang with an ethereal strength, compelling even passersby to stop and listen.


    As I walked, I passed countless other figures¡ªspirits of emperors, explorers, artists, and warriors. Each stage was its own world, and every performance seemed to weave a story that clung to the air like mist.


    ¡®One Complimentary Meal at Any Participating Restaurant.¡¯


    A meal might not have been a bad idea, considering I hadn¡¯t eaten since... well, a while ago. I wasn¡¯t sure how sustenance worked in a place like this¡ªdid the undead eat? Would the food be edible for the living? Did I care?


    Samantha¡¯s squad assembled near the motor pool, their gear packed and ready.


    The convoy of military vehicles was lined up in tight formation, engines growling softly as soldiers boarded one by one. Samantha¡¯s squad climbed into a jeep near the back, Kate taking the drivers seat as usual.


    The convoy jolted into motion, the tires crunching over gravel as they rolled out of the camp and onto the winding dirt road that led to Frankenstein¡¯s manor. Outside the narrow windows, the landscape passed in a blur of gray and green, the forest stretching endlessly on either side of the convoy.


    The radio crackled to life, Commander Greene¡¯s voice cutting through the static. ¡°Convoy, this is Command. ETA to the manor is fifteen minutes. Stay alert. Reports indicate heavy undead activity in the area. Over.¡±


    The minutes passed by in silence until they eventually reached the manor.


    The surrounding grounds were choked with overgrown vegetation and the shambling forms of the undead.


    ¡°


    ¡°That¡¯s the idea,¡± Samantha said. ¡°The more noise they make, the less attention on us.¡±


    The trail curved, and the rear of the manor came into view. Unlike the front, this side was eerily quiet, the only movement coming from the swaying branches overhead. The jeep came to a stop behind a cluster of trees, hidden from view. Samantha signaled for the squad to disembark.


    The squad moved swiftly and silently, boots crunching softly on the forest floor as they followed Stephens¡¯ team toward the manor¡¯s rear entrance. Samantha kept her shotgun at the ready, her eyes scanning the area for any signs of movement. The rear of the manor loomed ahead, its dark stone walls rising like a fortress.


    After trying the door and finding it locked, Stephens¡¯ squad moved up to a window and busted it open. Everyone followed, climbing through.


    The two squads moved in tandem, their steps careful and deliberate. Samantha kept her gaze fixed on the spaces to the sides, knowing full well that in a place like this, danger could come from anywhere.


    As they reached a junction, Stephens held up a hand to halt. He turned slightly, his voice a low murmur. ¡°Splitting up here. My squad takes the left. You take the right.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Samantha replied. She gave a quick glance to her squad. ¡°Helena, Diana, keep it tight. Kate, watch our six.¡±

 Chapter 10

    ¡°Spare Ribs.¡±


    I was seated near the entryway, close enough to the window to catch glimpses of the street outside. Lantern light flickered on cobblestones, and skeletal passersby wandered by, laughing and chattering as though this was all perfectly normal.


    A waiter approached my table, his bony frame accentuated by the tailored cut of his jacket. He held a tiny notebook,  glancing at the badge dangling around my neck.


    ¡°What will the sir be having this evening?¡± he asked, his tone polished and professional.


    I sighed, closing the menu without a second glance. ¡°Just... get me the ghoulash.¡±


    He jotted it down with a flourish. ¡°An excellent choice,¡± he said, disappearing into the kitchen with a faint rattle of bones.


    Excellent choice? Sure. But the truth was, I didn¡¯t have the strength to face whatever horrors  might be lurking further down that menu.


    "Enjoy," the waiter said with a grin¡ªor at least the skeletal approximation of one, ¡ªbefore vanishing as silently as he¡¯d arrived.


    I took a tentative bite. To my surprise, the ghoulash was fantastic. Tender chunks of something-meat melted in my mouth, and the broth was hearty, infused with just the right balance of warmth and spice. If the undead could cook like this, maybe I¡¯d been too quick to judge.


    As I ate, I pulled the map from the complimentary bag and spread it across the table. The glowing lines and shifting symbols gave it a surreal, almost living quality, but it was surprisingly detailed. Bonetown¡¯s winding streets and clustered landmarks sprawled across the parchment, with labels that hovered and shimmered faintly. I traced my finger along the streets nearest to the restaurant, scanning for something to do after .


    Tarot reading. It sounded... harmless enough. And if I was being honest with myself, I was curious.


    I polished off the last of the ghoulash, the warm meal giving me a surprising amount of comfort. The waiter reappeared just as silently as before, collecting the empty bowl with a courteous bow.


    "Delightful, wasn¡¯t it?" he said, as if he knew the answer.


    "Actually, yeah," I admitted. "Thanks."


    He bowed slightly, stepping aside as I made my way to the door. Outside, the air was cooler, the faint metallic scent of Bonetown¡¯s streets mixing with the aroma of roasted chestnuts from a vendor nearby. I checked the map again, orienting myself toward the tarot reading.


    It wasn¡¯t long before I spotted the building. Nestled between two imposing stone facades, the emporium stood out like a glowing ember in the dark. The exterior was draped in thick, velvet curtains of midnight blue, embroidered with constellations that seemed to shift and twinkle as I approached.


    The door creaked open before I even touched it, and a voice drifted out, low and melodic. ¡°Welcome, traveler. Step inside and face the unknown.¡±


    I froze in front of the doorway, one foot poised in the air as if I¡¯d been caught mid-step. The voice from within¡ªthe one that had so melodiously invited me to "face the unknown"¡ªrepeated its greeting, slightly more insistent this time.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Welcome, traveler. Step inside and face the unknown.¡±


    I didn¡¯t move. Not an inch.


    A long silence followed, broken only by the faint murmur of Bonetown¡¯s distant bustle. Somewhere inside the emporium, I imagined Madame Nostalgia was peeking around a corner, watching me with growing confusion¡ªor annoyance.


    ¡°Traveler...?¡± the voice called again, now tinged with uncertainty.


    Still, I didn¡¯t budge.


    ¡°Are you... just going to stand there?¡± The once-melodic voice cracked slightly, the composure slipping.


    I tilted my head a fraction, as if considering the question deeply, but still, I didn¡¯t move. My foot hovered in the air like a statue frozen mid-stride. At this point, it was no longer about the tarot reading¡ªit was about seeing how long I could keep this up.


    Finally, the curtains parted, and a figure stepped out. Madame Nostalgia herself. She was tall, draped in shimmering robes, her glowing crystal ball hovered at her side, swirling with faint images I couldn¡¯t quite make out. She looked every bit the mystical seer, except for the fact that her expression was one of pure exasperation.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± she said, folding her arms. ¡°You¡¯re just... standing there?¡±


    I blinked at her, feigning innocence.


    ¡°I was considering my options,¡± I said finally, keeping my tone as serious as possible.


    ¡°Considering your¡ª?¡± She pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°You either come in or you don¡¯t. It¡¯s not that complicated, sweetheart. Are you sure you don¡¯t want your future read?¡±


    ¡°


    That got me. With a chuckle, I finally stepped forward, letting the velvet curtains fall behind me. ¡°Alright, alright, I¡¯m in. Let¡¯s see what the future holds.¡±


    Madame Nostalgia huffed, her earlier annoyance melting into a wry grin. ¡°About time. Honestly, you¡¯re lucky I¡¯m in the business of patience.¡±


    Her crystal ball floated beside her as she turned sharply on her heel, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, ¡°Mortals¡­¡±


    The interior of the emporium was exactly what you¡¯d expect from a place that promised to reveal your destiny. The air smelled faintly of incense, thick and spiced, and the walls were lined with heavy drapes that absorbed every stray sound, creating an unnerving silence. The only light came from dozens of flickering candles and the eerie glow of the crystal ball, which pulsed like a heartbeat as it hovered next to her.


    Madame Nostalgia gestured for me to sit.


    The table between us was covered in a cloth adorned with swirling, arcane symbols, and in the center sat a deck of tarot cards, their backs gilded and embossed with skeletal designs.


    ¡°You seek the truth of your future,¡± she intoned, her voice resuming its earlier melodic quality. ¡°The cards will reveal what lies ahead¡ªif you have the courage to face it.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting her theatrics unfold uninterrupted this time. She placed her hands over the deck and closed her eyes, murmuring something in a language I didn¡¯t recognize. The cards seemed to hum in response, their edges glowing faintly.


    She slid three cards from the top of the deck, placing them face-down in a row before me.


    ¡°Focus,¡± she instructed. ¡°Think of the questions that weigh on your soul.¡±


    I had plenty of questions¡ªmost of them variations of What the hell am I doing here?¡ªbut I nodded, doing my best to look contemplative. With a flourish, Madame Nostalgia flipped over the first card.


    ¡°The Death card,¡± she said, her voice low and ominous. ¡°But do not fear¡ªdeath in the cards does not always mean a literal end. It signifies transformation, the shedding of the old to make way for the new. Pain, yes, but also rebirth.¡±


    ¡°Comforting,¡± I said, though my voice betrayed my skepticism.


    She ignored me, flipping the second card.


    ¡°Judgement. Judgement represents reflection, reckoning, and awakening¡± she said. ¡°A call to account for past actions, and the opportunity to set things right.¡±


    I swallowed. The room felt suddenly heavier, the air thick and oppressive. Madame Nostalgia¡¯s glowing eyes fixed on me, unblinking.


    ¡°And the final card,¡± she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. She turned it over with a deliberate motion.


    The image was radiant: a golden sun beaming over a field of sunflowers, a child riding a white horse with arms outstretched in joy. Light seemed to pour from the card itself, chasing away the shadows that had crept into the corners of the room.


    ¡°


    I stared at the cards, my mind a swirl of conflicting thoughts. Transformation, reckoning, and then hope? It sounded like a journey¡ªone I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted to take.


    She leaned back in her chair, studying the three cards as if they formed a puzzle only she could solve.


    ¡°Your future is one of profound change,¡± she said finally. ¡°You will face challenges¡ªboth of the self and of the soul. But if you embrace transformation, if you confront what must be judged... you will find the light you seek.¡±


    I stared at the cards, their imagery almost too vivid, as if the scenes were alive. ¡°That¡¯s... a lot to take in,¡± I said.


    She chuckled softly. ¡°Destiny always is. But take heart¡ªthe Sun shines brightest after the longest night.¡±


    Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, I wasn¡¯t sure whether to feel reassured or deeply unsettled. The cards seemed to pulse faintly, their golden edges catching the candlelight.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said finally, rising from the table. ¡°I think.¡±


    Madame Nostalgia¡¯s smirk returned. ¡°Good luck, traveler,¡± she said as I turned toward the door. ¡°You¡¯re going to need it.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like your ferry is ready for you, just on time.¡±

 Chapter 11

    I shuffled onto the ferry with the rest of the tourists, the badges around our necks swinging slightly as we moved. Finding my way back had been surprisingly easy¡ªthanks to the map, which not only showed the streets of Bonetown but also tracked my location in real-time. Convenient and unsettling in equal measure.


    Charon stood at the helm, waiting with that same ominous yet oddly welcoming presence. His skeletal fingers tapped lightly on the ferry¡¯s railing as he greeted us, his voice carrying across the water like a low, resonant echo.


    ¡°Come, come,¡± he called, bowing theatrically. ¡°I trust you all enjoyed your time in Bonetown? So glad to see you again.¡±


    We boarded quickly, the gangplank creaking under our collective weight. The ferry rocked gently as we settled in, its lanterns casting long shadows over the dark, rippling water. Charon lingered for a moment, watching the dock with a thoughtful stillness that made me wonder if someone had been left behind. But before I could dwell on the thought, he clapped his bony hands together.


    ¡°Well then,¡± he said, ¡°we¡¯ve waited long enough, haven¡¯t we?¡±


    Without further ado, he gave the signal, and the ferry lurched forward with a soft groan, the oars dipping into the water with precise, rhythmic strokes.


    Did Charon know how many passengers there should have been? Was there a headcount, or was it more of a guess-and-go situation? I glanced back at the dock one last time, half-expecting to see some poor soul waving frantically as we drifted away. But the dock was empty, save for the flicker of lantern light.


    A few minutes later, a dense fog rolled in, enveloping the ferry in an eerie shroud. The scenery vanished, replaced by an impenetrable gray haze. Even the river below was lost to the mist, leaving us adrift in what felt like an endless void. The creak of the ferry and the rhythmic splash of the oars were the only sounds to remind us we were still moving.


    Charon cleared his throat, the rasp echoing unnaturally in the still air. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± he began, his voice as smooth and detached as ever, ¡°the time has come for us to part ways. First to depart is...¡± He glanced down at a small, faded ledger in his hand. ¡°Ah, yes. Gabriel Woodstock.¡±


    All eyes turned toward the named passenger, who stepped forward with a satisfied smile, as if their time in Bonetown had been everything they¡¯d hoped for. They made their way to Charon, stopping near the edge of the ferry at a spot that seemed conspicuously empty¡ªno gangplank, no railing, just the misty abyss yawning beyond.


    The passenger exchanged pleasantries with Charon, even shaking his bony hand as though this were nothing more than a routine disembarkation. I couldn¡¯t help but stare at the spot where they stood; it looked precarious at best, dangerous at worst. One wrong move, and there would be nothing to stop them from toppling into... well, whatever was below.


    With a final farewell, the passenger turned and leaped into the fog.


    There was no splash, no sound of impact. Only a jubilant yell that echoed faintly before fading into silence.


    I stared at the empty space where they¡¯d been, my stomach twisting into uneasy knots. The fog seemed thicker now, the ferry quieter. Charon, unfazed as ever, turned back to the remaining passengers with the faintest hint of a smile.


    ¡°Next,¡± he said, his voice calm and unhurried, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.


    One by one, the passengers stepped up to the edge and leapt off, each of them practically glowing with excitement. Their farewells were brief but cheerful, their voices fading into the mist with jubilant cries. Then my turn came.


    ¡°Max Silver,¡± Charon announced, his hollow voice carrying my name like a bell toll.


    I swallowed hard, my feet feeling rooted to the ferry¡¯s deck as I approached him. ¡°Uh, hi,¡± I said, trying to sound calm but failing miserably. ¡°So, this is my first time here. Can you, uh, explain what¡¯s going on?¡±


    Charon tilted his head, his eyeless sockets somehow managing to convey amusement. ¡°Ah, a first-timer! Not to worry. It¡¯s quite simple, really. When you jump, you¡¯ll find yourself back where you started before you embarked on this little journey. No harm, no fuss.¡±


    I frowned, my heart thudding in my chest. ¡°Yeah, but... what if I can¡¯t do it? I mean, I¡¯m not sure I can just jump like that.¡±


    Charon¡¯s bony hand clapped my shoulder in what I assumed was meant to be a reassuring way. ¡°That¡¯s not a problem either!¡± he said, his tone almost too cheerful.


    Before I could protest, he shoved me off the edge with surprising strength for someone who didn¡¯t have muscles.


    A scream tore from my throat as I plunged into the mist. The sensation of falling was brief but heart-stopping, my stomach lurching as the world blurred around me. And then, just as suddenly, that strange, familiar feeling of teleportation swept over me¡ªa tingling rush, like being pulled through space by invisible threads.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The next thing I knew, my feet hit solid ground, and I staggered slightly, blinking as the world reassembled itself around me.


    It was dark. Why was it dark? No¡ªwait. Not completely dark. My eyes adjusted slowly, picking up faint outlines in the shadows. I was in a room. And what was that crackling sound next to me?


    Fumbling in my pocket, I pulled out my phone and switched on the flashlight. A narrow beam cut through the gloom, illuminating fragments of my surroundings.


    Yep, I was definitely in a room¡ªa large one. The light from my phone barely scratched the surface, failing to reach the far walls. The air was heavy with a metallic tang and a faint chemical bite that stung my nose. I turned the flashlight sideways, and there was some sort of apparatus sitting just beside me.


    Curious, I stepped closer. The machine was a jumble of pipes, tubes, and dials that gleamed under the beam of light. Liquids of various colours swirled inside glass containers. A spindly metal antenna topped the machine, like a steel branch growing out of it. For a few seconds sparks faintly crackled along it and then stopped.


    I turned away from the odd machine and swept the light across the rest of the room. The beam caught glimpses of other strange objects: a tall cylinder filled with a murky, greenish liquid; shelves lined with vials, jars, and jars within jars; and what looked like a mechanical arm suspended from the ceiling by thick cables, its metallic fingers clenched as though frozen mid-motion.


    The far end of the room came into view as I crept forward. A massive workbench stretched across the wall, littered with tools, wires, and more glass containers. I raised my phone, illuminating the scattered notes pinned to a corkboard. They were diagrams, blueprints, and anatomical sketches¡ªmost human, others distinctly not.


    My pulse quickened. This wasn¡¯t just a room. It was some kind of laboratory¡ªa mad scientist¡¯s laboratory if the ominous atmosphere and questionable experiments were any indication.


    A notebook laid in the center of the table. After turning around and re-checking that I was truly alone in the room, I opened it and began to read.


    October 25.


    At last, the foundations of my work are being laid. The manor stands empty, its grand halls echoing with untapped potential. Today marked the first step in transforming this forgotten estate into a bastion of progress. Harold Bundewick, ever resourceful and discreet, arrived with the equipment as promised.


    The laboratory tables, vials, and apparatuses were transported in heavy crates, each bearing the weight of my ambition. Harold himself directed the laborers, ensuring no item was misplaced. The electromagneto generator was the most challenging¡ªits sheer size required ingenuity to maneuver through the narrow halls. Bundewick¡¯s wit shone through when he suggested dismantling the east door. I must admit, his practicality is a relief in contrast to the skeptics who plagued me at the university.


    ¡­


    October 29.


    Tonight, under the cover of darkness, the first shipment arrived. Five bodies, as promised. Their forms were swathed in burlap and bound with coarse rope, unceremoniously dumped at the manor''s rear entrance. Harold, ever the tactician, ensured the carter asked no questions. Money, it seems, greases even the rustiest hinges of discretion.


    It is peculiar how lifeless they appear¡ªmere vessels now. Yet, as I gazed upon their still forms, I could not help but imagine the possibilities they represent. Each body, though inert, brims with potential energy. The work that lies ahead will not be easy, but I am confident in my methods.


    ¡­


    October 30.


    The experiments began today. Despite my meticulous preparations, the results were... disheartening.


    Subject 001 was placed on the table, electrodes affixed to key nerve centers. The generator hummed to life, its coils sparking as energy coursed through the apparatus. A surge of 5000 volts passed through the subject¡¯s frame, causing the body to convulse violently. The soulcatcher was working perfectly. I was sure of it. The machinery hummed faintly, a sound not of this world, as if it drew its energy from the void itself. The principle of it was simple, yet profound: the device would draw in and deposit nearby any stray souls it found coursing the Ether. With a final surge of energy, the soulcatcher crackled.


    For a fleeting moment, I thought I had succeeded. The fingers twitched; the chest heaved as though drawing breath. But it was a cruel illusion. Moments later, the corpse unintelligibly thrashed against it¡¯s bindings.


    I repeated the procedure, adjusting the voltage, the placement of the electrodes, even the chemical infusion meant to stimulate cellular regeneration. Each attempt ended in failure. The bodies twitched and jolted, thrashed and wailed, but none sustained the spark of consciousness.


    ¡­


    I decided to skip the following details about the experiments and turned to the page of the last entry which is from five days ago.


    November 16.


    Harold Bundewick, the fool, the traitor! I should have seen this coming. From the very beginning, his gaze lingered too long on my work, his questions laced with skepticism masquerading as curiosity. And now, he dares to call my experiments failures? He dares to threaten me, to claim that my creations¡ªmy children¡ªshould be destroyed?


    He does not understand. None of them do. My work is no longer bound by the trivialities of mortality or ethics. Life and death are but tools to wield, and I have wielded them masterfully. Harold will rue the day he thought to cross me.


    Oh, how glorious they are! My legion of the reawakened. Flesh and bone, stitched together with care and precision, each one a masterpiece of resurrection. They were failures once, perhaps, but now they are perfect instruments of my will. They hear my call, and they come.


    Harold thinks he can silence me? That he can waltz into my manor with his hired thugs and end my work? Let him come.


    ¡­


    The sudden sound of approaching footsteps startled me, sending a spike of adrenaline through my veins. My instincts screamed at me to hide. Frantically, I scanned the room, my eyes darting from one shadowy corner to the next. There wasn¡¯t much time. My gaze settled on a closet nearby¡ªmy best option. Without hesitation, I slipped inside, easing the door shut behind me as quietly as I could.

 Chapter 12

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 Chapter 13

    Squeezed into the back seat of the military vehicle, I felt like I¡¯d stumbled into some weird action movie. Except instead of a dashing hero, I was the bumbling comic relief. Helena was on my left, her fiery red hair catching the light every time we hit a bump, and Diana was on my right, her calm demeanor making me even more self-conscious. Both of them were, objectively speaking, stunning women, but that only made my current predicament more awkward.


    The space was tight and I was painfully aware of how close we were. Helena¡¯s arm brushed against mine every time the car hit a bump, and her presence was electric in a way that made it impossible to ignore. Meanwhile, Diana¡¯s cool demeanor radiated a kind of quiet intensity that made me feel like I was somehow intruding on her thoughts just by existing.


    And here I was¡ªflustered, out of my depth, and hyper-aware of every inch of space I was taking up.


    Thankfully the ride was almost over, judging by the landmarks we passed.


    The vehicle crested a hill, and the church came into view, its stone walls rising against the gray sky, surrounded by multiple military trucks and a dozen or so tents.


    When the vehicle stopped in front of the church, I was already thinking ahead. As much as I didn¡¯t know what was going on¡ªhonestly, I was still trying to process everything that had happened¡ªI did know one thing: We needed something to keep us safe when we go talk to Greene. And that meant getting some holy water and a cross from Father Jackson. It felt almost absurd, but at the same time, it was the only logical step I could think of right now.


    "So, what''s the plan?" Kate asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.


    "I think we should pay a visit to the priest and grab some holy water and a cross. I''m not kidding when I say Greene''s a vampire." I said, my tone serious.


    Helena let out a quiet laugh, clearly entertained. "Alright, alright. Let''s go get your holy water, then. Just don¡¯t expect me to start believing in vampires any time soon."


    As we entered the church, I was struck by how much more crowded it was than the day before. Families clustered together on the pews, I was glad to see them, and it looked like they were glad to see everyone else as well.


    The squad moved through the church with purpose, heading toward the hallway that led to Father Jackson¡¯s office. The light from the windows cast long shadows on the stone walls as we passed by the rows of people. The hallway was dim, but I could make out the wooden doors at the end. I gestured toward the second door on the right, leading the way. ¡°His office is just down here,¡± I said.


    I knocked lightly before opening the door, stepping into the small, cozy room that smelled faintly of incense and old paper. Father Jackson was sitting at his desk, sorting through some papers, his spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. When he looked up and saw us all standing in the doorway, he raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by our sudden appearance.


    ¡°Well, well, this is a rather... eclectic gathering,¡± he said, his voice warm but laced with curiosity. ¡°What brings you all here?¡± His gaze lingered on me, the odd one out in this group.


    I stepped forward, trying to appear as calm as possible, though I was sure my nerves were evident. "Father Jackson, we need a favor," I said, doing my best to sound confident. "We need holy water and a cross."


    ¡°Holy water and a cross?¡± Father Jackson chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Well, you¡¯re not the first one to ask me for that lately. It seems like everyone¡¯s turning religious these days. Can¡¯t really blame them, though.¡±


    He stood up from behind his desk and walked over to a sturdy cabinet tucked away in the corner of the room. The sound of wood creaking under his weight echoed in the stillness as he retrieved the items I had asked for. Holy water in a small bottle and a worn wooden cross.


    He paused as he handed me the cross and the bottle of holy water, eyeing the squad behind me with an expression that suggested he knew we were up to something. ¡°Though, may I ask what exactly you plan to use these for?¡± His gaze shifted between the soldiers, clearly wary of the tension that hung in the air.


    Samantha stepped forward before I could answer, her face set in a calm but unreadable expression. ¡°It¡¯s just a precaution, Father. Nothing you need to concern yourself with.¡± Her tone was polite but firm, the kind that didn¡¯t invite further questions.


    Jackson studied her for a beat, his eyes narrowing slightly as though he wanted to press further but thought better of it. ¡°Well, if protocol calls for holy water and a cross, who am I to argue?¡± he said finally, a hint of dry humor in his tone.


    With the items in hand, we thanked him and left the office, stepping back into the hallway. The low murmur of voices from the main hall of the church greeted us, families chatting quietly or offering each other comfort. It was hard not to feel a pang of guilt, knowing we were keeping secrets in a place that had become a refuge for so many.


    As we headed outside toward the tents, Samantha led the way, her posture rigid, while Helena and Kate fell into their usual rhythm of chatter.


    ¡°So,¡± Kate began, her tone teasing, ¡°what do you think Greene¡¯s going to say when we show up with Max and a bottle of holy water? ¡®Hey, Commander, heard you might be a vampire, thought this might sting a little¡¯?¡± She made a hissing noise for effect, pretending to shield herself from sunlight.


    Helena smirked, leaning into the joke. ¡°Yeah, I mean, what¡¯s the protocol for interrogating your boss about whether he¡¯s undead? Do we just hold the cross up and see if he starts smoking?¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    I stayed quiet as we crossed the gravel lot toward Greene¡¯s tent. Samantha, ever composed, didn¡¯t acknowledge the banter, though the faint twitch of her jaw betrayed her frustration. I could feel the weight of the squad¡¯s skepticism pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. They didn¡¯t believe me about Greene¡ªnot really¡ªbut they were humoring me, at least for now.


    As we approached the command tent, that sinister aura hit me again. It was faint, almost like static in the air, but it set my teeth on edge. My skin prickled. The others didn¡¯t seem to notice; they walked on, unconcerned, they couldn¡¯t notice the aura after all.


    I hesitated for a moment as the others walked ahead, my feet rooted to the ground. Samantha glanced back at me, her sharp eyes narrowing. ¡°Max, let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± I muttered, forcing my legs to move. I clenched the bottle of holy water tightly in my hand, its cool surface grounding me. This was it¡ªtime to face a vampire.


    I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. This confrontation was shaping up to be the most dangerous thing I¡¯d ever been a part of. I just wished they would take this more seriously. At least they still had their shotguns with them.


    Inside the tent, commander Greene was seated behind a collapsible desk, scanning a map spread out before him. His sharp, dark eyes flicked up as we entered, and for a split second, his expression changed.


    When his eyes landed on me, it was only a flash¡ªthey widened ever so slightly, his mouth twitching as though he were about to say something¡ªbut then it was gone. His usual calm, authoritative demeanor slid back into place like a mask being adjusted. He straightened in his chair, clasping his hands on the desk.


    ¡°Well, this is unexpected,¡± Greene said, his deep voice carrying an air of authority. His gaze shifted to Samantha. ¡°Officer Moore, I wasn¡¯t aware we had a civilian joining us on this mission.¡±


    Samantha crossed her arms and stepped forward, her tone calm but pointed. ¡°Max has brought forth a heavy accusation about you. This will be just a quick conversation, Commander.¡±


    Greene raised an eyebrow, his lips curling slightly as though amused. ¡°A conversation? About what, exactly?¡± His gaze flicked to me, and I felt an invisible weight pressing against my chest. The aura I¡¯d sensed earlier felt suffocating now, like standing too close to a fire.


    ¡°Max here says you tried to attack him last night, and that you¡¯re a vampire.¡± Samantha said, clearly not believing it herself.


    Greene¡¯s laughter echoed in the small tent, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down my spine. ¡°A vampire?¡± he repeated, leaning back in his chair as if he found the whole situation endlessly entertaining. ¡°That¡¯s a new one. I¡¯ve been called a lot of things, but I can¡¯t say ¡®vampire¡¯ has ever made the list.¡±


    His piercing eyes locked on mine, and I felt as though he could see straight into my soul. ¡°Max, do you really believe this? That I¡¯m some... creature of the night?¡± Greene said, his voice suddenly softer but no less intimidating.


    The way he said it, so casual yet pointed, made my stomach churn. I swallowed hard, gripping the bottle of holy water in my hand. ¡°It¡¯s not just a belief,¡± I said, forcing the words out. ¡°I know what I saw. You¡ª¡± I hesitated, the memory of his predatory aura from the night before making my voice falter. ¡°You¡¯re not human.¡±


    Greene¡¯s expression darkened, just for a moment, before the calm mask returned. ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± he said, turning his attention back to Samantha. ¡°Do you really think I¡¯d be sitting here in broad daylight if I were a vampire? The sun¡¯s shining, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Helena snorted from the side. ¡°He¡¯s got a point, Max. Vampires aren¡¯t exactly known for their love of sunshine.¡±


    I ignored her, my hand tightening around the bottle.


    ¡°Max,¡± Samantha warned, her voice low. ¡°Don¡¯t do anything reckless.¡±


    But I couldn¡¯t stop myself. The oppressive aura Greene radiated had grown unbearable. My hand moved on its own, uncapping the bottle of holy water. Without another word, I splashed the liquid directly onto his face.


    The effect was immediate and horrifying. Greene let out an inhuman screech, a sound that pierced the air like nails on a chalkboard. His skin sizzled where the water made contact, steam rising as if he were burning from the inside out. He shot to his feet, knocking the desk aside as his eyes turned blood-red and his mouth stretched into a grotesque snarl, pitch black veins covered his face. Long, sharp fangs gleamed in the light, and his once-calm demeanor was replaced by pure, animalistic rage.


    The room exploded into chaos.


    Diana¡¯s arms wrapped tightly around my chest as she yanked me backward, dragging me away from the horror unfolding before us. I barely registered her firm grip or the terrified urgency in her movements; my eyes were locked on Greene. His monstrous form was a nightmare come to life¡ªred eyes blazing, fangs bared, and the steam from the holy water rising off his skin like smoke from a smoldering fire.


    ¡°Holy shit!¡± Helena¡¯s voice cut through the chaos, her words sharp with disbelief as she stumbled back, nearly tripping over a crate in her haste to put distance between herself and Greene.


    Kate¡¯s hand darted toward her sidearm, but her movements were hesitant, her fingers fumbling for the weapon. She froze for a split second, her eyes wide with shock as she tried to process what she was seeing.


    Samantha didn¡¯t hesitate.


    Her shotgun was up and leveled in an instant, her expression hard and unyielding. The barrel of the weapon was mere inches from Greene¡¯s face, and for the briefest moment, time seemed to stop. Greene¡¯s crimson eyes flicked toward her, his lips curling into a vicious snarl that promised bloodshed.


    I did not know guns could be so loud.


    The deafening blast of the shotgun shattered the air, the recoil slamming against Samantha¡¯s shoulder as the spray of buckshot hit Greene square in the face. His head snapped back violently, the force of the shot sending him staggering. Dark, viscous blood sprayed across the canvas walls of the tent.


    My ears were ringing from the gunshot but I was sure he was roaring as he fell to his knees. His hands clawed at his face, or what was left of it, jagged nails raking over his flesh as blackened blood poured from the wound.


    Samantha fired again, and Greene¡¯s body crumpled to the ground, what was left of his head hitting the dirt with what looked like a wet thud. I couldn¡¯t hear it¡ªnot over the relentless ringing in my ears. The sound of the shotgun blast had obliterated everything else, leaving only that static buzz in its wake.


    It was only then that I noticed I was on the ground near the entrance of the tent, sprawled awkwardly on my side. Diana was crouched beside me, her face pale and frozen in a mask of horror. Her wide eyes darted between me and the grotesque scene unfolding just feet away. When had I fallen? I couldn¡¯t remember. Everything felt disjointed, like I was watching the moment unfold from a step outside of my own body.


    Samantha remained rigid, her stance unwavering as she kept the barrel of the shotgun trained on Greene¡¯s remains. Her hands were steady, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed the storm of adrenaline surging through her. She didn¡¯t so much as blink, her piercing gaze locked on the unmoving corpse as if daring it to rise again.


    Kate, meanwhile, looked like she was fighting a losing battle with her stomach, she swayed slightly on her feet, one hand pressed tightly to her mouth. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her eyes flicking between Greene¡¯s shattered body and the dark pool spreading beneath it.


    The edges of my vision began to blur, a creeping blackness dimming the world around me. I tried to focus, tried to ground myself, but the relentless hum in my ears drowned out every other sensation. My stomach churned violently, and the metallic taste of bile clawed at the back of my throat. I turned to the side, barely managing to brace myself, and retched onto the ground.

 Chapter 14

    I was down on the ground and wondered how grass, how dirt could feel so real. Each piece of grit poking in my palms, each blade of grass brushing up against my skin, tingling it, every sensation magnified. It was as if the entire world had sharpened its focus on this single moment, and in doing so, reminded me how fragile I really was. I had just watched a man¡ªa creature, something¡ªbe reduced to a heap of meat.


    I thought I understood what I was getting into. The sequence of events was simple, stupidly simple, I had gone over them in my head before ¨C Talk to Greene about him being a vampire, pour holy water on him, shoot him when he goes vampire-mode. Simple, easy. Though apparently seeing someone, or something, be killed triggers an oddly singular part of the mind which in this situation makes one realize that he is surrounded by four soldiers, each carrying a matte-black tube of steel just one finger twitch away from turning anything in front of it into pulp.


    I was thrown out of my contemplations when the tent¡¯s canvas flaps flew open, the muted afternoon light spilling in as a group of soldiers rushed inside, their boots pounding against the ground mimicking my heartbeat. Their rifles were drawn, eyes darting between us and then lingering on the grotesque remains of Commander Greene sprawled on the ground in a pool of pitch black blood. The inhuman color of the blood seemed to freeze the soldiers in place, for just a moment at least.


    ¡°What happened here?¡± one of them demanded, his voice sharp with authority.


    Samantha lowered her shotgun, raising her other hand palm outwards in a steadying gesture. ¡°Stand down, the situation is over now.¡±


    ¡°What sort of a situation, and where is Greene?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re looking at him,¡± Samantha said flatly, nodding toward the remains on the ground. ¡°Turns out, our commander was a vampire. Look at the blood. That¡¯s not human.¡± The soldier frowned, looking at the body on the ground, probably a lot more questions on his mind.


    While Samantha and the soldier went back and forth with the questions and answers, a hand extended into my field of vision. It was Diana, offering me a hand to help me get up. After considering for a moment whether or not I would be able to stand without fainting, I graciously accepted her offer and finally got off the ground. My legs felt like they didn¡¯t belong to me¡ªtoo solid, yet trembling like jelly¡ªbut somehow, I managed to stay upright.


    ¡°You should probably go.¡± She said quietly. ¡°And don¡¯t tell anyone about Greene.¡±


    *****


    I couldn¡¯t focus, I just couldn¡¯t, no matter how hard I tried, my mind was a storm I couldn¡¯t quiet. Okay, I had to calm down. Calm down, just calm down. I told myself this over and over, but the words felt hollow, like a chant whispered to the void. I thought diving into a bit of magic practice might help, give me something else to latch onto, but no. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to block out the clutter of my mind, the phantom echoes of Commander Greene¡¯s screams, the soldiers¡¯ voices, Diana¡¯s words from yesterday.


    After everything that happened, lying to my parents about why I went on the Bonetown trip was¡­ impossible. They didn¡¯t buy my half-hearted excuse that I was ¡®just curious¡¯ and tore the ticket on a whim. So, I told them the truth, most of it. I told them about Greene being a vampire. Thankfully, the news didn¡¯t go beyond our family. If it had, the church could have spiraled into chaos, if they believed it at least.


    Now, in the present moment, I found myself perched on a weathered bench outside the church. In one hand, I held a sprig of Bryndrel¡¯s lightning lichen, its faint crackling hum brushing against my palm like static electricity. In the other, just a simple, unremarkable stick. What was I even doing? What was I trying to achieve here? Alchemy? Distraction? Maybe both.


    Bryndrel had explained it clearly¡ªor as clearly as he ever did. This was the next step on the alchemical path. The first step was to perceive auras, which I¡¯d managed to grasp, as evidenced by the faint crackling static field I could now see shimmering around the lightning lichen in my hand. The second step? Transmutation¡ªor transference, or whatever term he used that day. Essentially, it meant manipulating the essence within an object, bending it, moving it, shaping it. The simplest application was transferring that essence from one object to another, using yourself as the bridge between them.


    What else could essence be used for? Bryndrel hadn¡¯t been sure. He¡¯d admitted as much, though his eyes had lit with excitement as he spoke about the endless possibilities. Alchemy, he believed, was a vast, untapped frontier¡ªthe art of transferring essence so complex and nuanced that even a lifetime of study would barely scratch its surface.


    Now it was my turn to try. The lichen hummed softly in one hand, the stick lay dull and lifeless in the other. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, and tried to imagine myself as a conduit between the two. A bridge. I pictured the lightning essence soaking into my skin, rippling through my veins, crackling in my lungs, then surging out into the stick in my other hand like a bolt of electricity seeking a new home.


    I focused harder, squeezing the image tighter in my mind, willing it to become reality. Nothing happened.


    Again, I pushed. Nothing. The lichen sat stubbornly in my palm, indifferent to my efforts.


    The best I got was to have the lichen let out a spark the moment I recalled the sound of Samantha¡¯s shotgun.


    A sigh escaped my lips, dissipating into the crisp morning air. Around me, the world carried on, indifferent to my frustration. The church¡¯s courtyard was quiet save for the occasional rustle of leaves or chirp of birds. The gravel path leading up to the church entrance gleamed faintly in the pale sunlight, still slick from the dew that clung to the grass lining either side of the trail. It was the kind of morning that should¡¯ve felt serene, but all I felt was frustration, or was it anger, perhaps something else entirely.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I slumped back against the bench, letting my head fall to the side. I¡¯m not sure how long I sat like that, but eventually I saw two figures dressed in military camo walking up the path. Once closer, I recognized them as Diana and Helena. Diana walked a step ahead, her posture sharp and upright, the kind of confidence that seemed carved into her frame. Her camo jacket fit snugly over her lean, muscular build, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal a pair of tanned forearms. Her dark hair was tied into a tight braid that trailed down her back.


    Helena, by contrast, had a more relaxed air about her. Her jacket was unzipped, her hands tucked into the pockets of her fatigues. Her red hair spilled loosely around her shoulders, softening the sharp angles of her face.


    When they were close enough, Helena raised a hand in a casual wave, her lips quirking into the faintest of smiles. "Hey," she called out, ¡°How are you holding up?¡±


    I hesitated, my gaze dropping to the stick in my hand. "I don¡¯t know," I admitted finally. "Still trying to wrap my head around it, I guess. Feels like my brain¡¯s stuck in a loop or something."


    Helena¡¯s sharp eyes flicked to the lichen in my hand, then to the stick, and her lips twitched into a smirk. ¡°Playing with twigs and weeds, huh? You know, most people take up knitting or something when they¡¯re stressed.¡±


    I managed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a scoff. ¡°I needed something to distract myself with. Why are both of you here anyway?¡±


    ¡°Sam wanted us to check up on you, make sure you haven¡¯t spilled the beans since yesterday. You haven¡¯t, have you?¡± Helena asked, her tone light, but there was an edge of concern beneath it.


    ¡°About the journal or Greene?¡± I replied, my gaze darting between the two of them, trying to gauge how serious this was.


    ¡°Both, I guess,¡± Helena said with a shrug. Her smirk faltered slightly, the humor bleeding out of her expression. ¡°Though mostly the journal.¡±


    The damn journal. Just thinking about it made my stomach twist. What kind of conspiracy had I stumbled into by reading it? Harold Bundewick, leader of the Restoration Front party, funding secret experiments to bring the dead back to life. A noble-sounding goal, until you dig deeper. A mad scientist turning his research into a nightmare, creating a zombie army. And then Bundewick himself sending a unit led by a vampire commander to clean up the mess.


    I swallowed hard, trying to keep my face neutral. These were the kinds of secrets people got killed over. ¡°I definitely haven¡¯t mentioned anything about the journal to anyone,¡± I said firmly. ¡°I¡¯d rather not get involved with all of that.¡±


    Diana nodded, her sharp eyes studying me closely. ¡°Good,¡± she said. ¡°The less anyone knows about it, the safer you¡¯ll be.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think they even kept Greene around?¡± I asked, frowning. ¡°I mean, surely they knew he was a vampire?¡±


    ¡°Hell, maybe the whole party is full of vampires. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised about it at this point. Politicians turning into real life bloodsuckers? Sounds about right.¡±


    I didn¡¯t say anything, but the thought lodged itself in my mind, heavy and cold. If Greene was just one piece of this puzzle, what else was lurking out there?


    Diana broke the silence. ¡°Listen,¡± she said, her tone softening slightly. ¡°Sam¡¯s squad¡ªme, Helena, Kate¡ªwe¡¯ve been talking. None of us want to get dragged any deeper into this mess. Greene being a vampire was the last straw. If the Restoration Front is hiding something like that from its own soldiers, what else are they keeping in the dark? We don¡¯t want to stick around and find out.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°Wait¡ªyou¡¯re leaving the army?¡±


    Diana nodded, her jaw tightening. ¡°We¡¯ve all agreed. Greene was supposed to be our boss. Instead, he was part of a conspiracy so big and twisted it makes my head hurt just thinking about it. Staying in the army after something like this? It doesn¡¯t sit right with any of us.¡±


    Helena crossed her arms and leaned against the side of the bench, her tone losing its usual levity. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re leaving. And not in some dramatic way, we¡¯ll just not join the convoy back to Belford. Normally we would hand in our resignations to Greene, but that won¡¯t really work now.¡±


    ¡°So what, you¡¯re just going to walk away? Won¡¯t they come after you?¡±


    Diana shook her head. ¡°They won¡¯t waste resources chasing us down. Probably. What would they do? Put us in prison and give us free food?¡±


    Helena glanced toward the gravel path leading back to the tents. ¡°Oh right, gotta mention, army will be packing up and leaving tomorrow morning, so if there¡¯s anything you need¡ªfood, supplies, even just a warm coat¡ªyou¡¯d better get it before they¡¯re gone.¡±


    I nodded slowly, the weight of their decision sinking in. Diana and Helena were stepping away from the army¡ªand the chaos that came with it. Part of me envied them for it. They had each other, a plan, and the guts to walk away from all of this. Meanwhile, I felt stuck.


    Helena gave me a grin, though it didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes. ¡°Take care of yourself, Max. And don¡¯t spend too long playing with that moss out here. You¡¯ll catch a cold.¡±


    I chuckled faintly, but it didn¡¯t feel real. ¡°Yeah. Thanks. Also, it¡¯s lichen not moss¡±


    Helena nodded once, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. ¡°Stay safe,¡± she said simply as she turned to leave. Her hands still stuffed in her pockets, her boots crunching lightly against the gravel. Diana followed a moment later.


    Alone again, I let out a long, shaky breath and sank back against the bench.


    For a while, I just sat there, listening to the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze and the chirping of birds. The world felt too calm for everything that had happened. Too quiet for what I knew was still out there.


    Finally, I turned my attention back to the lightning lichen in my hand. The faint hum of its static energy brushed against my skin. The stick in my other hand looked just as lifeless as before, but I wasn¡¯t ready to give up yet. Not entirely.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I muttered to myself, sitting up straighter on the bench. ¡°One more time.¡±

 Chapter 15

    I sat on one of the wooden pews near the back, head bowed, hands clenched tightly around the same two objects as before¡ªa sprig of Bryndrel¡¯s lightning lichen in one hand, a dull, lifeless stick in the other. It had been two days. Two days of trying. Two days of nothing.


    It should work. It should. Bryndrel made it sound simple, almost natural¡ªlike breathing. I¡¯d pictured it, over and over. I closed my eyes, tuning out the murmuring voices around me, the distant shuffle of boots on stone. I imagined it again¡ªthe current traveling from the lichen, soaking into my skin, threading itself through my body like veins of lightning, then flowing out into the stick.


    Nothing.


    Damn it.


    I ground my teeth, staring hard at the lichen, willing it to do something.


    A hand clapped down on my shoulder.


    ¡°Hey, Max! What¡¯s up?¡±


    I flinched, nearly dropping the lichen and stick as my focus shattered. My head jerked up to see Dan looking down at me, completely oblivious to how badly I wanted to scream.


    I exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of my nose. ¡°Dan,¡± I muttered. ¡°I¡¯m kind of in the middle of something.¡±


    Dan either didn¡¯t notice my frustration or ignored it. He plopped down beside me on the pew, leaning back casually. ¡°Yeah, I figured.¡± He nudged my arm with his elbow. ¡°What are you even doing?¡±


    I clenched my jaw. ¡°Alchemy.¡±


    Dan squinted at the lichen in my hand. ¡°Alchemy? You mean, like¡­ turning stuff into gold?¡±


    ¡°No, Dan.¡± I sighed. ¡°I¡¯m trying to transfer essence.¡±


    Dan raised an eyebrow. ¡°Right. That thing you mentioned the other day?¡± He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. ¡°So, is it working?¡±


    I pressed my lips into a thin line. ¡°No.¡±


    Dan nodded sagely, as if he understood. He didn¡¯t. ¡°Huh. Well, I mean, it can¡¯t be that hard, right? Have you tried¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes, Dan.¡±


    He blinked at my sharp tone, finally catching on to my irritation. ¡°Oh. Uh. Alright, then.¡±


    I let out a slow breath, trying to shove down the frustration boiling in my chest. Dan wasn¡¯t trying to be annoying. He was just¡­ Dan.


    ¡°Why are you even here?¡± I asked, massaging my temples.


    Dan shrugged. ¡°Wanted to see how you were doing. You¡¯ve been sitting here for hours.¡±


    I had. Ever since the army left yesterday morning, the church had become more crowded, nobody wanted to stay outside anymore. More displaced families, more people looking for answers, for safety. And me? I was sitting in the middle of it all, trying and failing to transfer essence from a piece of lichen to a stupid stick.


    Is this my limit? Is it actually impossible for me to learn this magic? That would explain why I¡¯ve made exactly zero progress.


    All the fantasy and supernatural chaos around us had me believing¡ªhoping¡ªthat I could be more. That I could become something more. A wizard, an alchemist, someone with actual power. It would have been a dream come true. But after two days of trying and failing, all I felt was doubt clawing at the edges of my mind.


    Was I just fooling myself?


    Would I always be a nobody? Just an ordinary human, stuck struggling through this new world with nothing but luck and stubbornness keeping me alive?


    Maybe I wasn¡¯t made for this.


    Maybe.


    I let out a slow breath, trying to push away the frustration weighing down on me. My fingers clenched around the lichen and the useless stick before I finally sighed.


    Maybe I just needed some fresh air. I¡¯d been sitting here too long, stewing in my own thoughts.


    ¡°I need to go outside for a bit.¡±


    Pushing myself to my feet, I stretched my stiff limbs and quietly made my way out of the church. The air inside had grown thick and stifling with the press of too many bodies, hushed conversations blending into a constant murmur that never fully faded. I needed space. Somewhere quiet.


    I stepped through the heavy wooden doors and into the cool autumn afternoon, the air carrying the faint scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. I took a deep breath, letting it settle in my lungs as I descended the stone steps of the church. My feet carried me toward one of the worn wooden benches near the edge of the yard, just far enough from the church doors to be alone with my thoughts.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    As I sat, my gaze drifted across the open space before me, to the remnants of the military¡¯s presence. The ground was scarred with deep tire tracks, cutting through the dirt and gravel where armored vehicles had once been parked. Scattered patches of blackened earth marked where campfires had burned, now nothing more than ashen circles surrounded by stray boot prints. Just yesterday morning, the place had been teeming with soldiers. Now, it was empty. They were gone. They had at least some direction, some plans, some certainty. I had none of that. All I had was this useless piece of lichen, this stupid stick, and the gnawing frustration that refused to leave me alone.


    I had seen magic with my own eyes. I had witnessed forces beyond human understanding. I knew this was real¡ªit had to be. And yet, no matter how hard I tried, I was failing.


    Was I just not good enough?


    No. No, I refused to believe that.


    I wasn¡¯t going to just sit here and accept my own failure. I grabbed the lichen and the stick once more. I couldn¡¯t do the alchemy while calm and focused? Fine. If calm wasn¡¯t working, maybe rage would.


    I closed my eyes and pictured it again. But this time, I didn¡¯t try to be careful. I didn¡¯t try to be patient. I let the frustration surge through me, let the failure, the doubt, the sheer fury at my own incompetence fill every inch of my being.


    The world had changed, had thrown me headfirst into a storm of magic and monsters, and I refused to be powerless in it. I refused to be nothing.


    I was going to make this work.


    I forced the image into my mind. The lightning, crackling and alive, twisting through me like a raging storm. I imagined it not flowing but exploding through me¡ªpouring from the lichen, tearing through my veins, surging into the stick with the fury of a thunderclap.


    For a moment, there was nothing.


    Then, everything happened at once.


    A blinding flash of white-hot energy ripped through my body, burning, setting my nerves alight with pure electricity. I barely had time to gasp before the power detonated outward, shooting into the stick in my hand like a lightning bolt from the sky.


    A deafening crack split the air as the stick exploded, splinters and jagged shards flying in all directions. The force of it slammed into me like a punch to the chest, sending me sprawling backward off the bench, my vision swimming with stars.


    I tried to get back up, but something was wrong, my right arm did not want to support my weight. I looked down and saw a stump of a hand, poking into the muddy ground. Everything past my wrist was a mangled, smoking ruin¡ªflesh charred black, bones exposed in jagged, unnatural angles. Blood poured freely, a deep crimson soaking into the dirt beneath me.


    The pain slammed into me fully now, white-hot and merciless. My vision blurred, my breaths came in sharp, panicked gasps.


    I couldn¡¯t even scream.


    I was dimly aware of voices¡ªshouting, footsteps pounding against the dirt¡ªbut they felt distant, like echoes from another world.


    ¡°Max? Max!¡± A sharp voice cut through the haze, pulling me back to the present.


    Boots skidded against gravel. Someone dropped to their knees beside me.


    ¡°Oh, hell¡ªKate, help me!¡±


    Samantha. I recognized the voice even through the pounding in my skull. She grasped my shoulders, steadying me as my body trembled violently.


    ¡°Shit, what happened to his arm?¡± Kate¡¯s voice was tight with alarm.


    I tried to speak, to force out some kind of explanation, but the only sound that escaped my lips was a ragged, gasping wheeze. The pain was too much. Too raw.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Samantha snapped. ¡°We have to move him¡ªnow.¡±


    Kate cursed under her breath but nodded.


    Strong arms hooked under my shoulders while another set grasped my legs. A groan tore from my throat as they lifted me, jostling the ruined mess of my arm. My vision dimmed, and for a terrifying moment, I thought I might black out completely.


    ¡°Stay with us, Max,¡± Samantha muttered. ¡°You¡¯re gonna be fine, just hang on.¡±


    The world rocked as they carried me, my head lolling weakly to the side. I caught glimpses of the churchyard, the concerned stares of people gathered near the doors, their whispers a dull hum in the background.


    The inside of the church passed by in a blur. Thinking back on it now I remember hearing my parents, all shocked and everything, asking what happened. Someone told someone to get me to the priest.


    I was barely aware of being lowered onto something, a chair maybe, probably. My body sagged against the wood, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts. The pain was all-consuming now, burning through my veins like liquid fire.


    A new presence knelt beside me. ¡°Easy now,¡± a calm, steady voice murmured. ¡°Let me see.¡± It was the priest, Jackson.


    He reached out, his hands hovering over my ruined arm, his fingers trembling slightly before steadying. His expression was grave, but his voice remained gentle.


    ¡°This will hurt,¡± he warned, his eyes meeting mine.


    I barely managed a nod. My whole body shuddered with pain, sweat soaking my clothes. Jackson exhaled, then pressed his palm lightly over the smoking remains of my wrist.


    ¡°Holy light, guide my hands,¡± he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. A golden glow flickered to life beneath his fingertips, warm and soft at first, like the first rays of morning sun breaking through the dark. ¡°Mend what is broken, restore what is lost.¡±


    I dared to look.


    Before my eyes, the shredded, charred remains of my arm were changing. The ruined flesh mended, knitting itself back together in slow, deliberate waves of golden light. Muscle reformed, tendons realigned, skin stretched back into place. It didn¡¯t happen all at once¡ªit was a slow, agonizing process¡ªbut the impossible was happening.


    When the last tendrils of golden light faded, Jackson swayed slightly, exhaling a long breath. Sweat lined his brow, his shoulders trembling with exhaustion. But he met my gaze with quiet certainty.


    I lifted my hand, flexing my fingers. Whole. Unscarred.


    Samantha let out a shaky breath beside me, her hands hovering near my newly healed arm like she wasn¡¯t sure whether to touch it or not.


    Kate, on the other hand, had no hesitation. She grabbed my hand, turning it over, inspecting the smooth skin with something close to disbelief. ¡°Holy shit,¡± she breathed. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s insane.¡± She pressed her fingers against my palm, as if checking to make sure it was real. Then, abruptly, she smacked my shoulder¡ªhard.


    I hissed, more out of surprise than pain. ¡°Ow! What the hell, Kate?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s for scaring the crap out of us!¡± She pointed an accusing finger at me, her brows furrowed in frustration. ¡°It sounded like a gunshot outside, everyone got panicked immediately.¡±


    I had been reckless.


    I took a slow breath, forcing my voice past the tightness in my throat. ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m sorry.¡± My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but I meant it. I looked at each of them, feeling the burn of shame creeping up my spine. ¡°I was stupid. I wasn¡¯t thinking. I just¡­ I just wanted it to work.¡±


    I had let my frustration blind me, let my desperation push me into recklessness. And it had nearly cost me my life.

 Chapter 16

    Two days later, I sat on the same wooden bench in the churchyard, staring blankly at the ground. The air was crisp, the faint scent of damp earth and fallen leaves lingering in the air, but I barely noticed. My hands rested limply in my lap, the memory of the pain still fresh in my mind. My arm was whole again, thanks to Jackson, but the scars on my psyche were far from healed.


    I felt hollow. Empty.


    The explosion had shaken more than just my body¡ªit had shattered whatever fragile confidence I¡¯d been clinging to. I¡¯d been so sure I could do it, so convinced that I could harness the magic, that I could be something more than just another helpless bystander in this chaotic, dangerous world. But I¡¯d been wrong. I¡¯d failed. And worse, I¡¯d nearly gotten myself killed in the process. The shame of recklessness gnawed at me, but worse tha that was the weight of doubt. Maybe I was just ordinary after all.


    My family had been kind at least, bringing me food and water, trying to coax me into conversation. Dan too tried to lighten the mood.


    The sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see Father Jackson approaching, his black coat swaying slightly with each step.


    ¡°Max,¡± he said, his voice steady and warm. He stopped a few feet away, giving me space but still close enough to feel present. ¡°Mind if I join you?¡±


    I nodded and he sat down beside me on the bench, the wood creaking softly under his weight. For a moment, he said nothing, just gazed out at the churchyard, where the golden light of late afternoon filtered through the bare branches of the trees.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re doubting yourself,¡± he started. ¡°But that¡¯s not a bad thing. Doubt means you¡¯re thinking, questioning. It means you¡¯re not reckless, even if it feels that way right now. What happened¡­ it was a lesson. A hard one, but a necessary one.¡±


    I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, cutting me off.


    ¡°I¡¯m not just saying that to make you feel better. I mean it. You¡¯ve got a sharp mind, Max, and a determination that most people lack. But you need to channel it. You need to keep moving forward.¡±


    Jackson turned to me, his expression softening. ¡°I think you need a change of pace. Something to remind you that you¡¯re still capable, even if it¡¯s not in the way you expected.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Sergeant Moore¡¯s, that is Samantha¡¯s squad, is heading out soon,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re going to scavenge a hardware store on the edge of town again. Your ¡®aura vision¡¯ may be useful, who knows what they might miss without it. It¡¯s not glamorous work, but it¡¯s important. And I think it¡¯d be good for you.¡±


    I stared at the ground, my mind racing. Part of me wanted to refuse, to stay in the safety of the churchyard where I could wallow in my self-doubt. But another part of me¡ªa smaller, quieter part¡ªwhispered that maybe Jackson was right.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I said finally, my voice hesitant. ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡±


    Jackson nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ¡°Good. I think you¡¯ll find it¡¯s exactly what you need.¡±


    As he stood and walked away, I stayed seated, my thoughts swirling. The idea of going on the trip still made me uneasy, but then something occurred to me¡ªan idea that sent a flicker of excitement through my chest. If I went with Samantha¡¯s squad, I¡¯d be leaving the church grounds. And if I was leaving the church grounds¡­ Maybe I could convince her to make a stop by my house. I could meet Bryndrel.


    Could I truly do it? He insisted it would be fine, that I was capable of handling it. But what had happened to my resolve, my firm decision not to go through with the Splicing? It had vanished, lost somewhere in the chaos of the explosion that had torn my hand.


    Oh, I didn¡¯t want to rely on shortcuts to power? Please. Have I ever truly been independent? Did I not depend on farmers for food, teachers for knowledge, or my house for shelter? I¡¯ve even been consuming those crystals to gain aura vision. Without that external influence, I¡¯d have no magical abilities at all. So where exactly is the line between power that comes from within and power that¡¯s borrowed from without? I was a fool to draw such a line at all.


    *****


    The minivan rattled and groaned as we sped down the empty road, its suspension sagging under the weight of our haul. Planks of wood, boxes of nails, coils of rope, and scattered tools filled every available space, crammed between seats and underfoot. A blue tarp was half-draped over a pile of supplies in the back, shifting every time we hit a pothole. The biggest prize - a brand-new water pump we¡¯d yanked from the hardware store. It was going to make life a hell of a lot easier for the people living


    Kate was driving with her chaotic energy, one hand on the wheel and the other gesturing wildly as she recounted some story about a construction job gone wrong. Helena, sitting next to me, kept interjecting with morbid jokes that made me laugh despite myself. Samantha occasionally glanced back at us, her sharp eyes scanning the road ahead.


    As we got closer to my house, my nerves started to kick in again. The plan was to stop by so I could meet Bryndrel, but now that it was actually happening, I wasn¡¯t sure I was ready. What if something went wrong? What if I messed this up too?


    ¡°You sure it will be a quick trip to your house, Max?¡± Kate called over her shoulder, her voice cutting through the noise. ¡°Because we were not exactly meant to go on joyrides this close to sundown.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, It¡¯s not far now. Just a few more minutes. Thank you for driving me there, I¡¯ll be quick, in and out.¡±


    Samantha glanced back at me, her expression unreadable. ¡°You¡¯ve been quiet back there. Everything okay?¡±


    "I''m fine," I said, though my fingers were still curled tight around my knee. "Just thinking."Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Relax, Max,¡± Helena said, her voice dripping with mock sincerity. ¡°We¡¯re not going to judge your weird little hideout. Probably.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I muttered, rolling my eyes. ¡°That¡¯s reassuring.¡±


    "Guys," Samantha interrupted, her voice low.


    The van slowed, and I followed her gaze. On the side of the road, a car sat in ruins. The doors were shredded open like paper, long, deep gouges carved into the metal. Claw marks. The windshield was smashed, and something dark stained the torn seats.


    Nobody spoke.


    Kate shifted forward, eyes narrowed. "Fresh?"


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t there the last time I drove here¡±


    "Keep driving," Helena murmured. Her voice had lost its usual amusement. "Slow, but don¡¯t stop."


    Samantha pressed the gas just a little, guiding us past the wreck. As we passed, I caught a glimpse of something¡ªa shape, a smear of rusty red, a torn jacket sleeve caught in the twisted metal.


    I exhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling crawling up my spine.


    Those claw marks¡ªdeep, deliberate¡ªweren¡¯t from any animal I knew. Metal wasn¡¯t supposed to tear like that, not unless something impossibly strong had gotten its hands¡ªor claws¡ªon it.


    The others didn¡¯t say much after we passed the car, but I could feel them thinking the same thing. If something could do that to steel, what would it do to us?


    The rest of the drive was tense. Even Kate, usually the loudest in any situation, kept her focus on the road. Every shadow in the trees felt like it was watching us, and the clawed-up wreck in the rearview mirror refused to leave my mind.


    When my house finally came into view, I let out a slow breath. It was still standing at least.


    "Alright," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. "Give me ten or fifteen minutes."


    Samantha gave me a long look. "Alright, Max. If you¡¯re not back by then, we¡¯re coming after you."


    I nodded. "Won¡¯t take long."


    Nobody questioned why I wasn¡¯t inviting them in. They had their suspicions probably, but I¡¯d been vague about my reasons for stopping here. Thankfully, they were too tired to press the issue.


    I stepped out of the van and shut the door behind me. The evening air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. The sky had darkened to a deep blue, the last streaks of sunlight barely clinging to the horizon.


    I jogged past the garage, my boots crunching over dead leaves. The treeline loomed ahead, thick with tangled branches and towering trunks. Just beyond the first row of trees, where the shadows ran deeper, I saw it. Bryndrel.


    It tilted its head as I approached. Its voice, when it finally spoke, was like wind rustling through leaves, layered and distant.


    ¡°You have returned.¡±


    I swallowed, my pulse quickening. "Yeah," I said. ¡°And I¡¯m ready to do the Splicing.¡±


    Bryndrel¡¯s luminous amber eyes studied me, unblinking. The dryad¡¯s form was both mesmerizing and unsettling¡ªits bark-like skin shimmered faintly in the fading light, and its hair, a cascade of ivy and moss, swayed gently despite the absence of wind.


    ¡°You are nervous,¡± Bryndrel observed, its voice echoing softly in the stillness of the forest. ¡°This is natural. The Splicing is not a trivial act. It will bind us, if only briefly, and it will change you.¡±


    I nodded, my throat dry. ¡°I know. But I need this. I need to be better at alchemy, or magic, or whatever if I¡¯m going to help the others. If I¡¯m going to survive. I learned my lesson. I tried to do alchemy as you taught me to, but all it lead to was me exploding my hand. I¡¯m ready to receive help.¡±


    Bryndrel extended its hands, the bark-like texture of its skin shifting and groaning like an ancient tree in the wind. ¡°Then take my hands, Max. And do not let go, no matter what.¡±


    I stared at its outstretched hand, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure Bryndrel could hear it. My palms were slick with sweat, and I wiped them on my jeans before reaching out. The moment my fingers brushed against Bryndrel¡¯s, a jolt of energy shot through me, sharp and electric. I gasped, but I didn¡¯t pull away.


    The dryad¡¯s grip tightened, and I felt something shift beneath its skin. Tiny roots, thin and fibrous, began to emerge from its palm, winding around my wrist like living tendrils. They were cool to the touch at first, but as they tightened, a dull ache spread through my arm.


    ¡°Breathe,¡± Bryndrel instructed, its voice calm and steady. ¡°The pain will come, but you must endure it. Focus on your purpose.¡±


    I nodded, though my jaw was clenched so tight it hurt, and then I felt it¡ªthe first sharp sting as they pierced my skin. I hissed, my body instinctively trying to pull away, but Bryndrel¡¯s grip was unyielding.


    ¡°Do not let go,¡± it reminded me, its voice firm.


    I forced myself to stay still, my breath coming in shallow gasps as the roots dug deeper, burrowing into my flesh. The pain was unlike anything I¡¯d ever felt¡ªsharp and burning, but also strangely alive, as if the roots were searching for something inside me. My vision blurred, and I swayed on my feet, but Bryndrel held me steady.


    ¡°Focus, Max,¡± it urged. ¡°This is only the beginning.¡±


    The roots reached my shoulder, and I cried out as they plunged deeper, weaving through muscle and bone. The forest around us seemed to blur, the trees and shadows melting together as the pain consumed me.


    And then, just as I thought I couldn¡¯t take anymore, something shifted. The pain didn¡¯t lessen, but it changed, becoming something else¡ªsomething more. I felt a strange warmth spreading through my body, a connection forming between Bryndrel and me. It was as if I could feel the dryad¡¯s essence, ancient and vast, flowing into me. Images flashed in my mind¡ªforests older than time, rivers carving their way through stone, the slow, deliberate growth of roots beneath the earth.


    ¡°You are strong, Max,¡± the dryad murmured, its voice softer now, almost soothing. ¡°Stronger than you know. This bond will not break you. It will make you more.¡±


    I clung to those words as the roots reached my chest, their tendrils wrapping around my heart. The pain was excruciating, but beneath it, I felt something else¡ªa strange, pulsing energy, a power I couldn¡¯t yet understand.


    And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the Splicing was over. The roots cut off at our hands, still inside my body, twisted within my flesh. I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air, my body trembling. I could feel the roots inside me, a lingering warmth that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.


    Bryndrel knelt beside me, its expression unreadable. ¡°It is done,¡± it said. ¡°The bond is forged. You will find your alchemy stronger now, more intuitive. Use it wisely.¡±


    I nodded, too exhausted to speak.


    With that, the dryad turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me alone in the quiet of the forest. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and then pushed to my feet.


    I looked down at my forearms and I could see the roots beneath my skin, dark brown and twisting around my veins.

 Chapter 17

    The roots embedded beneath my skin pulsed faintly, a dull thrum in sync with my heartbeat. It didn¡¯t hurt anymore, but I could feel them¡ªreally feel them, like they were a part of me now.


    With a slow exhale, I turned back toward the house and began to walk. The minivan sat idly on the road, its headlights cutting through the darkness and casting elongated shadows across the gravel. The others were waiting, just as they had promised. It seemed I had been gone for less than fifteen minutes, though the weight of the moment had made it feel like an eternity.


    I rolled my shoulders, wincing at the odd stiffness in my joints, then forced myself into a jog. The world felt different, sharper somehow. My footfalls were lighter, my breathing more controlled. Even the air tasted¡­ fuller, like I could sense something beneath the surface of it.


    By the time I reached the van, I¡¯d managed to school my expression into something neutral. I yanked the door open and climbed inside, shutting it behind me.


    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± Kate muttered, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. ¡°That was pushing fifteen.¡±


    ¡°Everything alright?¡± Samantha asked, her tone even.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I lied smoothly. ¡°Just had to grab a few things.¡±


    Helena arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. ¡°Uh-huh. And where are they then?¡±


    Shit. I did not think this through.


    I looked down at my hands and not only were they empty, but also illuminated far better in the light of the car than the in the twilight outside. What did it matter? Apparently the roots in my hands were a lot more visible in brighter lighting.


    ¡°Max,¡± Diana spoke up for the first time, her voice quiet but firm. ¡°Your hands.¡±


    I froze. My fingers were still shaking slightly, and worse¡ªthin, dark lines ran beneath my skin, branching from my wrists like veins made of wood.


    I swallowed hard and curled my hands into fists, hoping they wouldn¡¯t notice just how deep those lines went.


    Kate let out a low whistle. ¡°Damn. What exactly did you ¡®grab¡¯ back there?¡±


    Samantha didn¡¯t look away. Neither did Helena.


    For a long moment, the van was silent except for the faint rumble of the engine.


    Then, finally, Samantha exhaled and turned back to the front. ¡°Whatever. For now, we need to get back before it gets any darker. But we will talk about this later.¡±


    Kate didn¡¯t need to be told twice. She threw the van into gear and pulled away from my house, the headlights bouncing off the trees as we merged back onto the road. The supplies in the back shifted, wood creaking against metal as we rumbled over a pothole.


    I let out a slow breath, trying to ignore the way my hands still tingled, and the way the others subtly kept their hands near their handguns. They might¡¯ve dropped the subject for now, but I wasn¡¯t out of the woods yet¡ªliterally or figuratively.


    The van rumbled along the narrow forest road, the headlights slicing through the thick darkness. The trees loomed on either side, their gnarled branches clawing at the edges of the light. The air inside the van was tense, heavy with unspoken questions and sidelong glances. I kept my hands tucked under my thighs, hoping to hide the roots.


    We¡¯d been driving for about five minutes when it happened.


    Kate slammed on the brakes, and the van skidded to a halt, sending all of us lurching forward. My seatbelt dug into my chest, and I heard Samantha curse under her breath.


    ¡°What the hell, Kate?¡± Helena snapped.


    Kate didn¡¯t answer. She just pointed ahead. My stomach dropped as I followed her gaze.


    A massive tree lay across the road, its trunk thick and gnarled, its branches sprawled like skeletal fingers. It hadn¡¯t been there on our way in to the house, now it was blocking the road back.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not good,¡± Diana said quietly, breaking the silence.


    ¡°No kidding,¡± Kate muttered, shifting the van into park. She leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. ¡°It¡¯s too big to drive over. We¡¯re gonna have to move it.¡±


    ¡°Move it?¡± Helena echoed, incredulous. ¡°Do you see the size of that thing? It¡¯s a tree, not a twig.¡±


    ¡°We have a chainsaw back at the house just for situations like this one, happens often when living in a forest. We just need to drive back for it.¡± I said.


    Kate groaned, throwing the van into reverse. ¡°Fine. But this is already taking way longer than I wanted. Let¡¯s just hope nothing else decides to fall while we¡¯re¡ª¡±


    Her words were cut off by a deafening *crack* behind us. My heart leapt into my throat as I whipped my head around. Another tree, just as massive as the first, crashed down across the road, its branches snapping and splintering as it landed. The van rocked slightly from the impact, and for a moment, no one spoke.


    We were trapped.


    ¡°You were saying?¡± Helena said dryly, though her voice wavered slightly.


    Kate muttered something under her breath, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. ¡°Alright, new plan. We¡¯re not moving those trees. So, what now?¡±


    Samantha unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for her handgun, her movements calm but deliberate. ¡°Get your handguns out. Lock the doors. There is no way that those trees fell over randomly..¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Before anyone could respond, Helena pointed out the window. ¡°Look. At the base of the tree behind us.¡±


    I followed her gaze, squinting through the darkness. At first, I saw nothing but shadows. Then, movement. Small, hunched figures darted around the base of the fallen tree, their eyes glinting in the van¡¯s taillights. They were no taller than my knee, their skin a mottled greenish-gray, and their movements quick and jerky, like insects.


    Now that I knew where to focus, I could feel their putrid little auras, now a lot more intensely than ever before the splicing. How did I not notice them sooner? I really need to test out my limits someday.


    ¡°Bloody gremlins,¡± I said, voice exasperated. ¡°I¡¯ve seen them before.¡±


    ¡°Gremlins?¡± Kate echoed, her tone incredulous. ¡°You mean, like, the little troublemakers from the movies?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± I replied, my eyes never leaving the figures outside. ¡°These ones are real bastards, but shouldn¡¯t be anything we can¡¯t handle. They¡¯re small, weak, and stupid.¡±


    As if on cue, an arrow shot into the windshield, punching through and getting stuck into it when the tip was only an inch away from Kate¡¯s face.


    Her hands gripped the wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. ¡°Weak and stupid, my ass!¡±


    The gremlins outside let out high-pitched chittering noises, their beady eyes glowing in the darkness. More of them emerged from the underbrush, their wiry frames skittering toward the van.


    Samantha moved first. She rolled down the passenger window just enough to poke her handgun through and fired. The gunshot roared in the confined space, and one of the gremlins jerked back, a spray of dark blood misting the air. The others shrieked, scattering for cover.


    Helena followed suit, popping the lock on her door just enough to squeeze her arm through and fire off a few rounds. Her shots went wide at first, but one clipped a gremlin in the leg, sending it tumbling into the dirt.


    Kate gritted her teeth and grabbed her gun, rolling down her window just enough to get a clear shot. She squeezed the trigger twice. Another gremlin fell, its small body twitching before going still.


    Diana was the most precise. She leaned back against her seat, braced her wrist against the doorframe, and squeezed off a single, perfectly aimed shot. A gremlin¡¯s head snapped back, and it collapsed.


    All of them were fighting. Defending the van.


    And me?


    I just sat there.


    I didn¡¯t have a gun. I didn¡¯t even know how to use one. My pulse pounded in my ears as I gripped the seat beneath me, useless.


    CRACK!


    My window shattered from a well placed arrow.


    Shards of glass sprayed across my lap as a gremlin tried to lunge inside, its jagged claws reaching for me.


    ¡°Out! Everyone out!¡± Kate shouted.


    The doors flew open, and the four women scrambled out, guns raised.


    I kicked my door open, sending the gremlin flying from the impact. How were there so many of them?


    The moment I step outside I feel something latch onto my leg from below the van, biting into it, as if the bastard was waiting for me to step outside. I fell over from the pain and the surprise, hitting the dirt road hard, my palms scraping against gravel.


    Around me, gunfire rang out as Kate, Samantha, Helena, and Diana took up defensive positions around the van, two on each side, picking off the gremlins one by one. Unfortunately they are busy with their own targets and don¡¯t see me scrambling on the ground trying to rip off the gremlin on my leg. Bloody hell it hurt. How was I supposed to rip it off??


    I kick and I kick, but all it does is make its needle-like teeth scrape my flesh and sink deeper inside. I kicked wildly, but it held firm, shaking its head like a rabid dog trying to tear off a chunk of flesh.


    My vision swam. My leg burned.


    I grabbed the bastards head with both hands so it at least stopped shaking its head around so much, and the moment I did I felt something.


    What was the difference between the aura of the lightning lichen with which I tried to do alchemy back at the church, and the aura of the gremlin? Why did both have auras? As far as Bryndrel told me, Lightning lichen has the essence of lightning inside of it. Wouldn¡¯t that mean the gremlin here on my leg also has some kind of essence inside of it? And if it¡¯s essence, what if I tried some alchemy?


    As if waiting for it, the roots in my skin pulsed. Even though I couldn¡¯t see any, it felt like roots extended out of my fingertips and plunged into the skull of the gremlin. For a moment nothing happened. But then I tried stirring them.


    The gremlin shrieked.


    Its body convulsed violently, its grip on my leg entirely forgotten.


    The gremlin collapsed onto the dirt, twitching, its limbs jerking spasmodically. It was still alive. I gasped, stumbling back. My hands shook. The roots beneath my skin throbbed.


    Breathing heavily, I looked down at my leg. The wound was deep, blood soaking through my pants. I tried to get up, but the pain was too much.


    Now that I had the time to look around I realized that the gunshots had already stopped at some point. The gremlin writhing on the ground next to me was the last one.


    Kate walked up to me and put a bullet in its head, the sharp crack putting an end to this fight.


    Helena was the first to kneel beside me, her brows furrowed as she took in the state of my leg. ¡°Shit, Max. That little bastard got you good.¡±


    I let out a shaky breath, still trying to wrap my head around what I had just done to that gremlin. The roots beneath my skin felt like they were still writhing. ¡°Yeah, no kidding.¡±


    She glanced over her shoulder at the others. ¡°Diana, grab the first aid kit from the van. Kate, keep an eye out in case more of those things show up. Samantha, help me here.¡±


    Diana moved quickly, darting back to the van and rummaging through the supplies. She returned moments later with a small white kit, which she handed to Helena. Samantha crouched beside us, her expression grim but focused.


    Helena opened the kit and pulled out a roll of gauze and a clean cloth. She pressed the cloth firmly against the wound, applying pressure to stem the flow of blood.


    ¡°Hold still,¡± Helena said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She worked quickly, her hands steady as she wrapped the gauze around my leg, securing the cloth in place. The pressure was uncomfortable, but I could already feel the bleeding slowing.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I managed to say, my voice strained.


    Helena didn¡¯t respond immediately, her attention still on the wound. When she finally looked up, her eyes were hard. ¡°You¡¯re lucky it didn¡¯t hit an artery. But we need to get you somewhere safe so we can clean and stitch this properly.¡±


    Samantha exhaled sharply, tucking her gun back into its holster. ¡°Alright, we need to move.¡± Her gaze flickered to the fallen trees, then back to me. ¡°We¡¯re not going to make it to town like this. Max clearly can¡¯t walk on that leg.¡±


    ¡°So, back to his house, then?¡± Diana asked, dusting off her jacket.


    Kate frowned, glancing toward the treeline. ¡°It¡¯s closer than town, but is it safe?¡±


    ¡°It should be good enough, the windows are boarded up and we put locks everywhere.¡±


    Kate rolled her shoulders and walked over to me. ¡°Alright, up you go.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°Wait, what?¡±


    Before I could protest, she crouched down, slung my arm over her shoulder, and lifted me onto her back like I weighed nothing.


    Kate just smirked. ¡°Hold on tight. We¡¯re getting the hell out of here.¡±


    With that, she started walking, and the others fell in step around her. My leg throbbed, my head spun, and the roots in my skin still pulsed with something other¡ªbut for now, I just held on as Kate carried me back toward the house.

 Chapter 18

    Kate lowered me onto the couch with surprising gentleness, her strong, tattooed arms carefully maneuvering me until I sank into the cushions with a relieved sigh. My leg throbbed, the pain sharper now that the adrenaline had faded.


    Helena was already digging through the first aid kit, pulling out antiseptic and fresh bandages. She knelt beside me, her pale face set in concentration as she poured the antiseptic over the wound. The sting was immediate and brutal. I sucked in a breath, my fingers gripping the couch.


    ¡°Hold still,¡± she muttered, her tone firm but not unkind. ¡°This is gonna hurt.¡±


    No kidding. My jaw tightened, but I forced myself to stay quiet. A stupid part of me wanted to pretend I could handle it, that this pain was nothing compared to what I¡¯d already been through. But my body had other ideas, every nerve screaming as she worked.


    I focused on the others instead.


    Kate was pacing near the door, her handgun still in her grip, her restless energy filling the space. Samantha stood by the window, her tall, broad-shouldered silhouette tense as she peered through a crack in the boarded-up glass. Diana, ever the quiet observer, had settled into an armchair, flipping through the journal they¡¯d taken from Frankenstein¡¯s lab.


    After a few agonizing minutes, Helena tied off the last bandage with a decisive tug. ¡°That should hold for now. At least until we get you back to the church.¡±


    I exhaled, glancing down at my leg. The bandage was already starting to soak through with blood, but at least it was better than before. ¡°Thanks,¡± I muttered, my voice rough.


    Kate suddenly stopped pacing and turned to face me, her arms crossed over her muscular frame. Her tattoos peeked out from under her sleeves. ¡°Alright, spill. What the hell happened back there?¡± Her eyes locked onto mine, unyielding. ¡°And don¡¯t even try to brush it off. I saw those roots in your hands. And what you did to that gremlin¡­ that wasn¡¯t normal.¡±


    Samantha was watching me now, her expression unreadable but intense. Even Helena had leaned back on her heels, arms crossed, her gaze expectant.


    They wanted answers.


    I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their stares. Stay calm.


    "I meant what I said earlier¡ªafter the explosion that took my hand," I began, keeping my voice steady despite the pain in my leg. "I¡¯ve been trying to learn alchemy, to actually get better at it. To be more than just... helpless. But after what happened at the church, I realized I couldn¡¯t do it alone. I needed help."


    I held up my hands, the faint, branching lines beneath my skin visible. "These roots¡ªthey¡¯re not some random mutation or curse. They¡¯re a tool."


    Kate raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over her face. "So you¡¯re saying you¡¯re not turning into some kind of monster? Because that¡¯s my main concern."


    I shook my head. "No. This isn¡¯t some out-of-control transformation. It¡¯s deliberate. And I know it¡¯s hard to trust me right now, but when we get back to the church, I¡¯ll show you. I¡¯ll demonstrate the alchemy¡ªproperly this time. No explosions. No mistakes."


    Silence settled over the room. Doubt clear in most of their eyes.


    Diana broke it first, flipping a page in the journal loudly, the sound sharp in the stillness of the room. Her dark eyes stayed fixed on the text, brow furrowed as she traced a line with her finger. The others turned toward her, momentarily shifting their focus from me.


    Kate sighed, finally giving up on pacing. She dropped onto the floor, leaning against the wall with her legs stretched out, boots scuffing the wooden boards. Her handgun rested loosely in her lap, though her fingers kept tapping against the grip.


    "So," she said, breaking the silence, "what now? We just sit here?"


    Samantha, still by the window, pulled her gaze from the crack in the boards. "We stay the night," she said firmly. "Moving Max in his condition is too risky, and we can¡¯t handle another ambush in the dark. We¡¯ll take shifts on watch."


    Helena, perched on the arm of the couch, nodded. "Makes sense. I¡¯ll take first watch. You all look like you need the rest." Her tone was dry, but there was a quiet concern beneath it.


    No one argued. We were all exhausted.


    Samantha checked her handgun one last time before holstering it. "Alright. Helena, wake me when your shift¡¯s up."


    Helena gave a lazy salute. "Will do."


    Diana, still immersed in the journal, didn¡¯t look up as she spoke. "I¡¯ll take third watch."


    Kate rolled her shoulders with a wince. "Guess that leaves me with last shift. Lucky me."


    Satisfied with the plan, Samantha finally stepped away from the window, heading toward the corner of the room where a pile of blankets lay¡ªones my brother and I had left behind when we moved to the church.


    *****


    The early morning light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the forest road. The minivan sat idling, its engine a low hum beneath the sound of the chainsaw roaring in the near distance. I sat in the backseat, my leg propped up on the seat beside me, the bandages Helena had applied last night still holding firm. The pain had dulled to a steady ache, but my mind was anything but calm.


    Helena was keeping watch outside, her sharp green eyes scanning the treeline, while Diana leaned against the van, her hands full of pouches with coins in them, her expression unreadable as she counted their contents. Apparently the gremlins we killed had silver and gold coins with them. Gremlins dropping gold ¨C as if we didn¡¯t live in a big enough fantasy world already.


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    Through the windshield, I could see Samantha and Kate working together to cut through the massive tree blocking the road. Samantha¡¯s shoulders strained as she guided the chainsaw, her movements precise and efficient. Kate stood nearby, ready to help haul the cut sections out of the way.


    I should¡¯ve been out there helping. But my leg made that impossible, and the others had made it clear I wasn¡¯t to move unless absolutely necessary. So here I was, stuck in the van, left alone with my thoughts.


    And my thoughts were loud.


    They¡¯d be worried, my family. No, worried was an understatement. They¡¯d be frantic. I¡¯d disappeared for a whole night, again. First the explosion, now this. How many times could I put them through this before they started to resent me?


    But it wasn¡¯t my fault. Not really. I couldn¡¯t have known we¡¯d get ambushed by gremlins, couldn¡¯t have predicted the trees falling, trapping us. I¡¯d made the best decision I could at the time. That had to count for something, right? Still, the guilt gnawed at me, a quiet, insidious thing that I couldn¡¯t quite shake.


    What am I going to tell them?


    The question annoyed me. I couldn¡¯t tell them the truth¡ªnot yet. Not about Bryndrel, not about the Splicing, not about the roots. They¡¯d never understand. They¡¯d see it as just another reckless decision, another example of me putting myself in danger without thinking about the consequences.


    The chainsaw¡¯s roar cut off abruptly, snapping me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see Samantha stepping back from the tree, the largest section now cut and ready to be moved. Kate moved in, grabbing one of the cut sections of the tree and dragging it off the road with a grunt.


    For a moment, I felt a pang of envy. They moved with such purpose, such confidence. They didn¡¯t second-guess themselves the way I did. They didn¡¯t leave their families wondering if they were alive.


    Or maybe they did? What did I even know about them? Nothing.


    I shifted in my seat, wincing as the movement jostled my leg. The bandages were holding, but the wound still throbbed. The time for Jackson to heal it couldn¡¯t come soon enough.


    Eventually, the van door opened, and Kate climbed into the driver¡¯s seat, her movements brisk. ¡°Road¡¯s clear,¡± she said, her tone clipped. ¡°We¡¯re heading back.¡±


    No one said much as Kate started the engine and pulled onto the road, the van bumping over the uneven surface.


    I leaned my head against the window, watching the trees blur past. My thoughts circled back to my family, to the worry I knew would be etched on their faces when I finally walked through the church doors. They¡¯d been through so much already, and I kept adding to their burden. But what choice did I have? I couldn¡¯t stop now, not when I was so close to understanding alchemy.


    The van rumbled along the forest road, the tension inside palpable. No one spoke, each of us lost in our own thoughts with the music from the radio as a background. It felt almost peaceful, if not for the lingering unease that clung to us after the gremlin ambush.


    Suddenly the music stopped. It was a news broadcast, the tone urgent and grim.


    ¡°A military barracks in Belford was reportedly set ablaze late last night. The cause of the fire is still under investigation, but early reports suggest it may have been an act of sabotage. Casualties are unknown at this time, but authorities are urging anyone with information to come forward. The barracks housed several units, including¡ª"


    Samantha, sitting in the passenger seat, stiffened. Her jaw tightened, and her hands clenched into fists. "Belford," she muttered, her voice low. "That''s where our old unit was stationed."


    Helena, sitting behind me, leaned forward, her sharp green eyes narrowing. "You think someone we knew was there?"


    Samantha didn¡¯t answer immediately. Her gaze was fixed on the road ahead, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. "It¡¯s possible," she said finally. "But there¡¯s nothing we can do about it now. We¡¯re not exactly in a position to investigate."


    The van fell silent again, the weight of the news hanging over us like a storm cloud. I could see the worry etched on their faces, the unspoken fear that someone they cared about might have been caught in the fire.


    A few tense minutes later, the van rumbled to a stop in front of the church, tires crunching over loose gravel. The engine cut off, leaving only the faint rustle of wind through the trees.


    Kate was the first to hop out, circling around to my side before I could even try to stand on my own. ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± she muttered, offering me a shoulder. I took it happily¡ªmy leg felt like it had been through a meat grinder.


    As we stepped onto the lot, we spotted someone sitting on the church steps. The slumped figure barely moved, just a hunched shadow against the early morning light. It wasn¡¯t until we got closer that recognition hit.


    Jackson.


    Even from a distance, something was wrong. His usual calm, collected demeanor was shattered. He sat hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as if in prayer. His clothes were rumpled, stained by something dark.


    Samantha was the first to react. She stepped forward, her voice steady but edged with concern. ¡°Jackson?¡±


    He didn¡¯t move.


    She took another step, this time firmer. ¡°What happened?¡±


    Slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, raw.


    ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± he rasped. ¡°They took them. Killed them.¡±


    A chill settled over us. Kate¡¯s grip on my arm tightened. She was stock-still, her whole body wired with tension.


    He let his clasped hands fall apart¡ªand that¡¯s when we saw it. The dried blood smeared across his fingers, caked beneath his nails.


    Helena swore under her breath. ¡°Shit.¡±


    Kate stiffened beside me. ¡°Jackson,¡± she said carefully, shifting so she was between him and me, ¡°whose blood is that?¡±


    Jackson paused for a moment to take a steadying breath. His hands trembled as he stared down at the blood staining his fingers, his voice low and hollow when he finally spoke. "It''s... it''s not mine," he said, his words heavy with grief. "They came last night. I don¡¯t know how many. I was in my office when I heard the screaming. Gunshots. Chaos. I tried to get out, to help, but..." He trailed off, his gaze distant, as if reliving the moment. "There was a vampire. Blocking the door. It just stood there, staring at me. It didn¡¯t attack, didn¡¯t move closer. It was like... like it was afraid of me, but it wouldn¡¯t let me past. I don¡¯t know why."


    He swallowed hard, his throat working as he fought to keep his composure. "I couldn¡¯t do anything. I was trapped. I could hear everything¡ªthe screams, the fighting. And then... it just stopped. The vampire left, like it was called away. When I finally got out, the hall was empty. Everyone was gone. Just... bodies. A few of them. The rest... taken."


    His voice broke, and he looked up at us, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and despair. "I ran outside, but it was too late. I saw vehicles driving away into the night. I couldn¡¯t stop them. I couldn¡¯t save them."


    A cold dread crept through me. My family. Were they among the taken? The dead? My mind raced.


    Samantha stepped forward, her voice firm but gentle. "Jackson, who¡¯s gone? Who did they take?"


    He shook his head, his shoulders slumping. "I don¡¯t know everyone. It was chaos. But... your dad, Max," he said, his eyes meeting mine. ¡°He must have fought back. It¡¯s better if you don¡¯t go inside, not yet.¡±


    I felt Kate¡¯s grip on my arm tighten, holding me upright as my legs threatened to give out. My chest tightened, I completely forgot how to vocalize anything. This couldn¡¯t be happening.


    My vision blurred, and I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. My father. Dead. The man who had always been there, who had always tried to protect us, was gone. And the others¡ªmy brother, my mother¡ªtaken.

 Chapter 19. The Story Begins

    Dirt spilled down in a steady stream¡ªsandy, orange, and dark. Grainy granularity broken by scattered pebbles and tangled roots.


    ¡°Scripture tells us in John 11:25, ¡®I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.¡¯¡±


    The sky was clear with a few wispy, fluffy clouds, incredible weather to be honest, even a bit warmer than usual.


    ¡°Theodore was a gift to all who knew him¡ªa light in the lives of his family, a source of love, kindness, and strength. We mourn his passing, but we also give thanks for the time we were given to walk alongside him in this life.¡±


    Pour, pour, pour. Trickle, trickle, trickle.


    The soil slipped between the roots entwined around Bryndrel¡¯s hands. I didn¡¯t have the strength to raise the shovel.


    ¡°Let us not say goodbye in sorrow, but with faith that one day, we shall meet again in the presence of our Lord. Until that day, we entrust Theodore to God¡¯s mercy, knowing that in Him, there is no more pain, no more suffering¡ªonly peace everlasting.¡±


    The white sheets that once wrapped the body were gone from sight now, swallowed by the earth. Bit by bit, the grave filled.


    ¡°Now, as we return Theodore to the earth, we remember the words: ¡®Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.¡¯ May their soul find eternal rest in the arms of the Lord.


    Go in peace.¡±


    I wanted to kill something. Someone. The birds were too loud, they had no business being so noisy this late in the evening.


    "Max," The priest said gently, his voice thick with grief of his own. "I know words won¡¯t do much right now, but I need you to know¡ªyour father was a good man. A strong man. If anyone fought until the very end, it was him."


    I swallowed hard, my throat burning. I didn¡¯t want to talk about him in past tense. I didn¡¯t want to hear how noble or strong he was. I wanted him here. Not under six feet of dirt. Not gone.


    Bryndrel stepped forward, its amber eyes glowing faintly in the fading light. The dryad¡¯s presence was calm, almost soothing, almost, but I wasn¡¯t in the mood for its cryptic wisdom. ¡°Max,¡± it began, its voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind, ¡°grief is a storm that must pass. It will not be calmed by force, nor by vengeance. You must let it move through you, like the wind through the trees.¡±


    I turned to face Bryndrel. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I said again, my voice cold. ¡°I don¡¯t need your metaphors. I don¡¯t need your comfort. What I need is to find the rest of my family.¡±


    The dryad went oddly quiet.


    Jackson sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging under the burden of the day¡¯s losses. ¡°I¡¯d be lying if I said I wasn¡¯t tempted to go on a crusade after today,¡± he admitted, his voice heavy with sorrow. ¡°We¡¯ve buried too many people. ¡°But we need to be careful. Patient. Calm. Now is not the time to rush headfirst into something we can¡¯t control.¡±


    I clenched my jaw. ¡°I¡¯m not rushing. No one¡¯s rushing. All I¡¯m gonna do is go inside and have a good, long talk with Samantha and the others.¡±


    Jackson studied me for a moment, his gaze searching. He opened his mouth as if to argue, to remind me of the dangers of acting on emotion, but then he hesitated. His expression softened, and he gave a slow nod. ¡°Alright,¡± he said quietly. ¡°But I¡¯m coming with you. You shouldn¡¯t be alone right now.¡± His tone left no room for argument.


    I shot him a look, but he wasn¡¯t budging. Neither was Bryndrel, who followed silently.


    Fine. Let them come.


    Pushing open the door to my house felt strange¡ªlike stepping into another life. The air inside was thick, tense, humming with the quiet energy of an argument that had already begun before we arrived.


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    Samantha, Helena, Kate, and Diana sat around the dining table, a single journal placed at its center. Pages filled with notes and diagrams lay open, their edges worn from being flipped through too many times. The candlelight flickered over their faces, casting sharp shadows that mirrored their expressions¡ªfrustration, skepticism, determination.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you,¡± Kate said, her voice calm but firm, ¡°Harold Bundewick is a vampire.¡± She tapped the open page with one finger. ¡°It makes too much sense. He¡¯s the one who sent Commander Greene here to clean up Frankenstein¡¯s mess, the mess Bundewick himself sponsored. And Greene was a vampire.¡± She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. ¡°Do the math.¡±


    Samantha, who had been silent until now, exhaled sharply. ¡°Kate¡¯s got a point.¡± She drummed her fingers against the table, her expression tight. ¡°Greene¡¯s cover was blown, and suddenly we have people disappearing. The attack on the church. And the fire at the barracks in Belford.¡± She looked up at us as we stepped inside. ¡°If Bundewick didn¡¯t care about being exposed, why go to all this trouble? Why start wiping people out?¡±


    I pulled out a chair and sank into it. Jackson stood nearby, while Bryndrel lingered in the doorway, its presence almost blending into the shadows.


    Helena, sitting with one leg draped over the other, shrugged. ¡°Because it¡¯s a clean-up job.¡± Her voice was dry, edged with something bitter. ¡°If the barracks in Belford had people who knew the truth, then burning it down was the easiest way to silence them. No witnesses, no problem.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re all saying that Bundewick is probably the reason why my father is dead and the others captured?¡±


    A heavy silence followed.


    Samantha nodded. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m saying.¡±


    Jackson let out a slow breath beside me. His earlier words echoed in my head. Now is not the time to rush headfirst into something we can¡¯t control. But how the hell were we supposed to sit back when Bundewick was tying up loose ends¡ªwhen we were the loose ends?


    ¡°Great, when are we going to pay him a visit?¡±


    Samantha exchanged a glance with the others, her expression a mix of caution and resolve. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, and spoke in a measured tone. "Max, I get it. I do. But we can¡¯t just storm in there. Bundewick isn¡¯t some low-level thug¡ªhe¡¯s powerful, connected, and dangerous. And a vampire for gods sake. If we¡¯re going after him, we need a plan. A real one. Not just rage and revenge."


    Kate nodded. ¡°She¡¯s right. We need weapons, supplies, a way in and out. We don¡¯t even know where he is.¡±


    I clenched my fists, the roots beneath my skin pulsing faintly. They were right, of course. Charging in without a plan would be suicide. But the thought of waiting, of doing nothing while Bundewick continued to destroy lives, made my blood boil. Still, I forced myself to nod. "Fine. We¡¯ll prepare. But we¡¯re not waiting forever."


    An idea flickered in the back of my mind¡ªa way to get the supplies and equipment we needed.


    The dryad shifted in the doorway, its amber eyes glowing faintly. ¡°The roots of corruption run deep,¡± it said, its voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind. ¡°But even the tallest tree can be felled.¡±


    Samantha¡¯s squad startled, nearly knocking over the candle on the table. Kate flinched so hard her hand flew to the knife at her belt, while Helena muttered a curse under her breath at the dryad¡¯s voice. Apparently they still haven¡¯t gotten used to it, to Bryndrel.


    The conversation shifted, the tension in the room easing slightly as the focus moved away from Bundewick. Samantha leaned back in her chair, her gaze settling on me. "There¡¯s something else we need to talk about, now that I think about it" she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "Your alchemy. You said you¡¯d demonstrate it. Show us what you can do."


    I exhaled through my nose, glancing at the box the others had helped me bring inside¡ªthe one holding my supplies. ¡°Fine,¡± I said, though my stomach twisted with nerves. Would I be able to do it this time? Last time, my hand got blown off. At least Jackson was here now.


    I rifled through the box, looking for something simple to demonstrate with. But my gaze kept drifting back to the bundle of lightning lichen. My fingers twitched. Yeah, this time, I¡¯d do it right.


    Grabbing a handful of lichen, I sat back down at the table, surrounded by expectant eyes. I didn¡¯t have a stick to transfer the essence to¡ªshould I go outside to grab one? No. I had a better idea.


    I picked up the candle in the middle of the table.


    Their stares burned into me, so I shut my eyes. Alright. How was I supposed to start? Not with anger¡ªthat was a disaster last time. I thought back to the gremlin I stunned, how it felt when immaterial roots extended from my fingertips and into its skull. This time, they sank into the lichen.


    It was working.


    The storm inside the plant hummed against my senses, crackling with potential. It was beautiful.


    I pressed forward, focusing on my heart. The roots entwined with my arteries and veins, pulsing in perfect rhythm. They weren¡¯t just roots, though. They were pathways. If arteries carried blood, then maybe these carried essence.


    Let¡¯s test that theory.


    I concentrated, searching for the right sensation¡ªthe mental muscle I needed to pull essence through the tendrils in my hands. My heartbeat pulsed once. Twice. Then¡ªzap.


    Electricity jolted through me like eels and angry bees. It buzzed under my skin, radiating from my chest, raw and untamed. I only held onto it for a second, just long enough to channel the energy through my other hand¡ªstraight into the candle.


    The result wasn¡¯t controlled. Not even close.


    But it was stunning.


    The wick flared to life, glowing like the inside of a plasma ball, crackling with an eerie, electric whine¡ªlouder, sharper, more volatile than any taser.

 Chapter 20

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    ¡°We¡¯re going shopping.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Max, you¡¯ve said that already,¡± Samantha replied, her tone flat. ¡°What I want to know is where.¡±


    ¡°To the Infinimart. Kate, take the next left.¡±


    ¡°You know ¡®Infinimart¡¯ doesn¡¯t mean much to me. Care to explain?¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± I said.


    ¡°Max.¡± This time, her voice carried an unmistakable warning.


    I sighed. ¡°Alright, fine. It¡¯s a shop run by the undead. A huge shop. I¡¯ve worked there before¡ªdon¡¯t ask, it was awful.¡±


    ¡°You mean like those shambling corpses Frankenstein raised?¡± Helena asked from beside me in the minivan. Diana, seated on my other side, remained silent. She rarely spoke in groups from what I¡¯d seen.


    ¡°No, no, not those. These ones are sentient. Or was it conscious? Either way, they¡¯re pretty chill. Just don¡¯t try to steal anything.¡± I turned to Diana. ¡°You got the coins, right?¡±


    She answered by lifting a leather pouch and giving it a shake. The jingle of metal inside made me shake my head in disbelief. The gremlins who ambushed us actually carried gold and silver coins. What was the world turning into? A video game? Sure, why not. We already had vampires and zombies.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± I said, glancing out the window. ¡°Just¡­ keep your guns down. It¡¯s completely safe inside. I think.¡±


    ¡°Gee, thanks for the confidence,¡± Kate muttered from the driver¡¯s seat.


    The minivan rolled up to the Infinimart¡¯s entrance. From the outside, it looked as unremarkable as ever¡ªjust another old, half-forgotten store. But the aura, the presence only I could see, told a different story. Once, that lingering dead energy had made my skin crawl. Now that I knew it came from the employees and customers, it felt¡­ less ominous.


    The doors slid open with a ding, and we stepped inside. Jackson and Bryndrel had opted to stay behind and hold down the fort back home, so it was just the five of us.


    The moment we entered, I felt it¡ªthe subtle pull of the shop¡¯s magic, shifting its layout in response to our intent. Aisles stretched impossibly far, disappearing into the distance, shelves stacked high with everything from the mundane to the outright bizarre.


    Kate slowed her steps, frowning at a nearby shelf. ¡°Umm¡­ is that normal?¡±


    I followed her gaze. Rolled-up carpets lined the shelf, each embroidered with moving battle scenes¡ªsoldiers clashing, cavalry charging, banners burning. The miniature warriors fought with eerie precision, locked in endless, looping warfare.


    ¡°Completely normal,¡± I said without stopping. ¡°Let¡¯s keep going.¡±


    I had a destination in mind. That was how this place worked¡ªit could sense what you were looking for and guide you there, as long as you kept your focus. And I could feel them before I saw them, their auras standing out.


    ¡°Ah. There they are,¡± I muttered. ¡°Everyone, please keep your cool.¡±


    I glanced back at the squad. Their hands hovered near their holstered guns, their nerves obvious. Perfectly understandable¡ªthis store had given me the creeps too, once.


    We turned the corner.


    Two figures crouched around the remnants of a small, burnt-out campfire, clad in dusty, weathered uniforms.


    ¡°Heya, Greg. Gary.¡±


    Both looked up, momentarily startled. Then Greg¡¯s single eye widened, his skeletal grin spreading across his decayed face.


    ¡°Max! Didn¡¯t expect you back so soon¡ªyou barely left!¡± He laughed, voice full of mirth.


    Gary, as usual, simply lifted a hand in a lazy wave.


    ¡°Yo.¡±


    I waved back. ¡°Yo.¡±


    Out of curiosity, I glanced over my shoulder to see the squad¡¯s reactions. As expected, their faces were priceless¡ªKate¡¯s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline, Samantha¡¯s jaw tensed, and Helena¡¯s fingers twitched dangerously close to her gun.


    ¡°Ladies,¡± I said, gesturing toward the two undead, ¡°meet Greg and Gary. They¡¯re harmless.¡±


    Kate¡¯s expression remained skeptical.


    ¡°They¡¯ll be helping us find what we need,¡± I continued. ¡°They know this place way better than I do.¡±


    Greg let out a low whistle. ¡°Oho, that¡¯s some high praise, coming from the Employee of the Night.¡±


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t remind me.¡±


    Greg chuckled, standing up. ¡°Alright, what do you need?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    The reminder of why we were here dropped my mood straight into a ditch.


    I exhaled. ¡°I won¡¯t bore you with the details, Greg. But we¡¯re hunting a vampire.¡±


    Greg¡¯s grin faded. He nodded, his usual humor giving way to something more serious. ¡°That, I can help with.¡±


    *****


    By the time we left the Infinimart, two hours had passed, and we had spent every single coin we brought. Our bag of loot was packed tight: six emergency shirts, a full kilogram of garlic, two water guns, and a couple of boxes of ammo for our handguns.


    What are emergency shirts, you ask? Apparently, they¡¯re some kind of enchanted armor disguised as ordinary T-shirts. According to the packaging, each one can absorb a single fatal strike before disintegrating. Hopefully, we wouldn¡¯t have to test that claim anytime soon.


    After securing our necessities, we decided to splurge a bit, Kate had the brilliant idea to treat ourselves to some elvish shortbread, and honestly? Worth it. The stuff melted in my mouth, buttery and light with just a hint of something floral. Kate practically swooned over it, even Diana, normally stoic, wore a small smile as she savored hers.


    On the drive back, my mind wandered. If Elvish shortbread existed, did that mean elves were real too? Maybe they were out there, hidden away in some untouched forest, living their lives beyond human sight. Hell, they might be closer than I thought, just another thing lurking at the edge of this strange, broken world. I wouldn¡¯t know¡ªI hadn¡¯t exactly gone exploring. Too much risk, not enough backup. But maybe if I got stronger, I could explore more.


    Someone should figure out where those gremlins were coming from, anyway. With the gold they carried, that job could be very profitable.


    But first, there were more pressing matters. Bundewick. My mother. My brother. The rest of the people who were at the church.


    And then I remembered my dad.


    I exhaled through my nose and rested a hand on my holster, fingers brushing the grip of my pistol. His pistol. The same one he used to defend himself back at the church. The same one he¡ª


    Diana noticed the movement. She looked at me, silent, then reached over and squeezed my shoulder.


    I let the moment pass. Enough moping. We had work to do.


    The house greeted us with warmth, the shift from the cold afternoon air making my nose run almost instantly. The scent of home lingered¡ªsmoke, old wood, and something faintly herbal, probably from Bryndrel. We shuffled inside, the narrow hallway forcing us into an awkward single-file line.


    No one bothered taking off their boots. What was the point? Better to be ready for anything.


    The kitchen was as cozy as ever, the fire in the potbelly stove crackling softly, casting a dim, flickering glow across the room.


    Bryndrel sat at the heavy wooden table, its bark-like skin blending so well with the furniture that it almost looked like part of it. Across from the dryad, Jackson was murmuring prayers over rows of water bottles, a silver cross in hand. The air around them hummed with power¡ªI could feel the holiness radiating from the bottles.


    I pulled out a chair and sat down, as did Helena and Kate. Samantha stood near the boarded-up window, peering outside through a gap. Diana wandered off to the living room, already lost in the journal she always carried.


    I glanced at Jackson¡¯s work. ¡°Looks like you¡¯re about done with the bottles.¡±


    ¡°Aye, that I am. I thank the Lord for making this possible,¡± he said with reverence.


    ¡°Your Lord,¡± Bryndrel corrected, voice dry, irritation barely concealed.


    Jackson sighed. ¡°Oh, let¡¯s not start this again.¡±


    Helena, sensing potential entertainment, leaned forward with a smirk. ¡°Whoa. Sounds like tree-man isn¡¯t a fan of Christianity.¡±


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°Okay, while you guys have fun debating theology, I¡¯ll be busy in the living room. Got some alchemy to do.¡±


    I grabbed a handful of the freshly blessed bottles and one of the ammo boxes before heading to the next room. The moment I stepped inside, the tension of the kitchen melted away. The living room was quieter, more peaceful. Diana was curled up on the couch, flipping through Frankensteins journal, only half paying attention as I settled into an armchair.


    I turned the items over in my hands¡ªholy water and handgun rounds.


    My plan was simple. The same process I used before with the lightning lichen and the candle: basic essence transference. Bryndrel had described it as channeling a magical essence from a single-affinity object and imbue it into a mundane object. Here, I had holy water, its essence clear and strong, and I had bullets.


    You can probably guess what I was trying to create.


    Exactly. Holy bullets.


    Those vampires were about to have one hell of a surprise.


    If I could get the enchantment to stick.


    That was the problem. Every time I successfully infused a bullet, the essence bled out within minutes. The glow would flicker, the energy would dissipate, and I¡¯d be left with an ordinary round, useless against anything supernatural.


    Half an hour passed. Half an hour of failure. Half an hour of watching my work unravel before my eyes.


    I was about ready to throw something across the room.


    Instead, I stood up with a sigh. Time to ask Bryndrel.


    I walked back into the kitchen, still rolling one of the useless rounds between my fingers, just in time to step into what sounded like the tail end of a very heated argument.


    Bryndrel let out a sharp scoff. The firelight flickered across his bark-like skin, casting deep grooves in shadow, making him look even more ancient than usual. ¡°His will?¡± the dryad echoed, incredulous. ¡°You speak of divinity as if it is something you alone understand. Do you even realize how young your God is?¡± He leaned forward, his wooden fingers tapping the table like the creaking of old branches. ¡°The roots of this world were here long before your people named them. You think your cross has power because you believe it does. But belief is not the same as truth.¡±


    Jackson bristled. ¡°You mock what you don¡¯t understand. Faith is not just belief¡ªit is the truth. The miracles I perform, the blessings I bestow¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªAre fueled by the very same essence you claim is unnatural,¡± Bryndrel interrupted, exasperated. ¡°You call it a blessing. I call it energy. And yet, here you sit, using it all the same.¡±


    Helena let out a low whistle, grinning from ear to ear. ¡°Damn, tree-man¡¯s got a point.¡±


    Kate chuckled beside her, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed. ¡°This is better than TV.¡±


    Jackson shot them both a glare before turning back to Bryndrel. ¡°It is not the same,¡± he said through clenched teeth.


    Bryndrel tilted his head, a slow, deliberate motion, like a tree bending in the wind. ¡°Is it not?¡±


    Samantha, still standing near the boarded-up window, let out a long sigh. ¡°Alright, that¡¯s enough philosophy for one night. We have actual work to do.¡±


    Bryndrel turned his attention to me, his expression unreadable. Jackson sat back in his chair, muttering something under his breath before crossing his arms.


    ¡°What is it, young shaman?¡± the dryad asked.


    I set the box of ammo and the bottles of holy water on the table. ¡°I¡¯m trying to make holy bullets,¡± I explained. ¡°It works for a little while, but then the essence just¡­ leaks out. I can¡¯t make it stick.¡±


    ¡°Must be a material problem. The lead of the bullet does not wish to hold that essence. Maybe you can give it something which convinces it to hold the essence?¡±


    Add something that helps hold the essence to it?


    I think I know something which can do it.