With the last rose turning to ash, I stepped into the tree line. My boots sank slightly in the wet, colorless mud that had replaced the bright field behind me. It was quiet. Not peaceful, but not hostile either. Not yet.

There was no pressure in the air, no warning crawling up my spine. No blood in the wind. Just a steady breeze stirring the upper leaves. The clearing, for all its fading beauty, had felt more unnatural than this stretch of woods.

Now I was just in a forest. Clouded sky above. Damp earth below. Rain on the way.

Pit. Pat. Pat.

The first drops fell through the trees and hit the ground in short bursts. Then came the full storm—a steady downpour that soaked the canopy and sent rivulets trickling down the trunks.

I didn’t mind it. I breathed in the smell of rain on soil and bark. Petrichor. The moisture in the air eased something tense in my chest. The noise helped too. The world got smaller when it rained—less sharp, less full of static.

The wings moved without needing a command. They curled up over my head and draped themselves forward, forming a hood. The material flexed without resistance. It wasn’t muscle or bone, but I could still feel it like a part of me. If I concentrated, I could shift the shape, tighten the folds. No delay. Just instinct.

I finished my last cigarette and flicked the butt into Frog’s mouth as he emerged from the mist, catching it with practiced timing.

Two of the three lightning runes on my right hand were glowing, charged and stable. Their glow pulsed in a rhythm that felt synced to my heartbeat. Ten seconds per rune. Faster than the crank, safer than improvised charging. The bracelet had already proven itself useful.

Frog coughed up a heavy pile of carbon steel. I crouched beside it and placed my hand on the mass. It shimmered and vanished, absorbed directly into me.

The change was immediate. My skin darkened into a smooth, matte black surface. Cold. Dense. Strong. I flexed my fingers—no stiffness. No lag. My body didn’t feel weighed down, just... reinforced.

Strength filled my arms and legs, but I didn’t lose any speed. The boots adjusted, helping me maintain balance. Every step landed exactly where I wanted it. Less wasted motion. Less drag.

I didn’t feel like I was wearing gear anymore.

I had become the gear.

A twig snapped.

The chain blade was in my hand before the sound finished. One short spin, and the blade arced sideways in a tight swing.

The undead behind me didn’t make a sound. Its head came off cleanly and hit the ground with a thud. The body dropped soon after.

So much for peace.

Shapes moved in the distance, deeper in the woods. The difference in lighting was just enough for my vision to pick them out—irregular gaps in the trees, subtle shifts in the shadows.

More undead. Maybe a dozen. Probably more.

I pushed off the ground and launched forward. The soil cracked beneath my boot. Wind pulled at my hair and clothes. The chain blade extended, held tight in my grip.

I spun mid-air and slashed through the next corpse in my path. Dark fluid splattered across the underbrush. The body twisted and collapsed, limbs twitching.

Another undead rushed me—this one quicker, arms outstretched, mouth open wide.

I stepped on its shoulders and vaulted over it, hitting the ground in a sprint and not looking back.

A howl came from behind. Loud. Wet. It echoed across the trees.

Too late.

The horde had been called.

Dozens more emerged from the darkness—some moving on all fours, some dragging limbs. Their eyes were dim and their movements uneven, but they were fast. Faster than the ones near the clearing.

I climbed up the nearest tree. The bark was slick, but I found footing. One leap. Then another. I caught a thick branch and kept moving, stepping from limb to limb like a path of stepping stones through the canopy.

My eyes caught each target point before I landed—judging the strength of each branch, the angle of descent. I didn’t think about it. I just acted.

The forest floor below was a shifting mass of bodies. They clawed at bark, trying to climb. A few reached halfway up before falling back down.

But I was already two trees away. Then three.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

My muscles began to strain. The fatigue hit suddenly—too much movement, too fast, too long.

I activated the bracelet.

The device whirred to life. It spun rapidly, then locked into a rhythm.

Electricity surged up my arm, and within seconds, my fatigue began to fade. My focus returned. My hands steadied.

I could breathe again.

I looked ahead—and stopped moving. Something was there.

Not undead. Not human. Taller than the rest. Too quiet. Standing still between two thick trees.

It didn’t make a sound.

It didn’t need to.

I could tell by its posture, by the way it stood perfectly upright, that it was aware of me. Watching. Waiting.

Not a lurching corpse. Not a random spawn.

Something that hunted. Something with purpose.

The Boon of Mystery didn’t just give you warnings. It gave you assignments that had already started.

And mine? Ten vampires. Ten werewolves.

They were out there. Somewhere in this forest. Maybe even watching from the dark.

Time to see if I was ready.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ito dragged the side of his palm slowly across his cheek, not out of discomfort, but from the kind of restless tension that had nowhere else to go. His other hand moved on its own, lifting a half-burned cigarette to his lips. He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. His eyes were locked on the mirage-like display hovering in front of him, a translucent screen cast by the shopkeeper to show them Jaeger’s progress.

The image flickered slightly with the rain and shifting light of the forest Jaeger now moved through. The sound was muted, but the visuals told them more than enough.

The keeper hadn’t allowed them to leave without watching. It was part of the process, he’d said—to observe the weight of what they had chosen on behalf of another. At first, it had been fascinating, even admirable, watching Jaeger adapt to his new gear. He moved fast, made quick decisions, and looked sharper than he had when they first met.

But as the minutes passed, something shifted.

The group began to realize just how dangerous this trial actually was.

There was no rest between threats. No dialogue. No breaks. Just Jaeger alone in a dark, shifting forest, facing one threat after another without backup or guidance.

And then it happened.

Ito shot up from his seat like he’d been electrocuted. His chair toppled backward, clattering to the floor behind him.

“NO!” he shouted, voice sharp and cracked with panic.

Everyone’s head snapped to the screen.

On it, Jaeger had glanced down—just for a second. Maybe checking his footing, maybe reading something off the display on his wrist. But that fraction of hesitation was all it took.

A silver blur tore through the screen from the upper right corner, crashing through thick tree limbs like they were paper. Branches snapped in a chain of violence as the creature collided with Jaeger mid-turn. The impact was explosive, violent. Jaeger’s body flew sideways, limbs ragdolling, before vanishing behind a tree line.

Tao jumped to his feet right after, one hand clenched into a fist, the other gripping the edge of the table so hard the wood groaned.

“Werewolf!” he shouted, fury rising in his throat, followed by a string of curses none of them had ever heard from him before. Tao was always composed, always measured—but not this time.

Kito stepped forward instinctively, one hand reaching toward the screen like she could reach through it. Bjor and Drek were frozen, their laughter from earlier gone like it had never existed. Jax stood still, jaw tense, fingers twitching like he wanted to pull a trigger he didn’t have.

Jaeger had faced plenty before this.

But now the real fight had begun.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fuck you!” I shouted, voice ragged, as the cloth wings snapped outward from my back and latched onto whatever they could reach—branches, bark, anything solid enough to slow my fall.

The silver blur that had blindsided me wasn’t far behind. Even as I tumbled through the air, the beast closed the distance in seconds. Its speed was unreal.

Boom!

Two silver-tipped stakes fired from the derringer in my right hand. They hit center mass—the creature clutched its chest with a deep, snarling grunt before it spiraled away and crashed to the forest floor.

My body kept falling. I twisted mid-air, turned hard, and hurled the chain blade out. It latched into a thick branch. The chain extended with rapid metallic clinks, desperate to keep pace with my momentum.

When it reached its full length, the force tore the branch free from the tree. The recoil nearly dislocated my shoulder, but it was enough. The violent lurch killed my speed. The chain retracted, yanking the broken limb back toward me. I caught it, then hauled myself up onto the nearest stable branch.

I dropped to my knees, coughing. Blood spilled from my mouth in wet splashes across the bark. My arms shook with strain. I barely managed to uncork a potion and force it down.

Relief came slow. The trembling faded. My heart finally slowed.

Then came the soft ding from the watch on my wrist. One confirmed kill.

I let out a sharp, breathless laugh.

In the far distance, another flash of silver moved through the trees. I wiped the blood from my hand, doused it with water from the flask on my belt, and dropped silently from the branch.

The wings reacted on instinct, flaring out to slow my descent. I wasn’t flying—nowhere near that. I had only had these things for maybe an hour. Movement felt unnatural, like trying to learn a new limb mid-battle.

I landed in a crouch and crept into a nearby bush, keeping my silhouette low. One hand reached out and grabbed a nearby branch. The wood shimmered and turned metallic under my touch as the rune on my hand shifted. The glowing symbol for lightning faded, replaced by one for wood.

My torn skin hardened as it absorbed the new material—tough bark crept across my arms and chest, like a second hide made from blackened darkoak.

Frog appeared briefly in the mist, plucked the metal-transformed branch into his internal space, then vanished again without a sound.

I exhaled slowly. The metallic scent of blood was gone. My presence in the forest dropped to nothing.

Another silver blur shot through the air—this one clean and deliberate. A werewolf. It landed near the bush I’d just left, its claws slicing through the spot with ease. The force of the blow sent dirt and leaves flying.

The thing was huge. At least six and a half feet tall if it stood straight—but it didn’t. It crouched, tense, balanced like a predator ready to pounce. The body was lean, muscular, covered in silver-grey fur that looked more like overlapping strands of polished wire than natural hair. Every muscle was built for speed and precision.

Its face twitched as it sniffed the air, lifting the broken branch from the ground and examining it with a low growl. Red eyes glowed faintly beneath a heavy brow. The undead that wandered too close turned and ran without hesitation, scattering like rodents. Whatever aura the werewolf gave off was strong enough to drive them away.

Its presence was oppressive. Not magical. Just… instinctual. Like the weight of something that knew it belonged at the top of the food chain. It wasn’t snarling or foaming at the mouth—it didn’t need to. The confidence it carried was worse than rage.

It sniffed again, then stepped closer to where I had been. Its nose twitched. It was close. Too close.

Then it darted off—vanishing between trees with a burst of speed that barely made a sound.

I didn’t get the chance to feel relieved.

A moment later, something grabbed me from behind and ripped me backward out of the bush.

Branches cracked against my back as I hit a tree and slid down into the dirt. My side flared with pain—whatever had grabbed me had left gouges deep in my shoulder.

I looked up just in time to see the werewolf, still sniffing the original bush, turning slowly. Its nose twitched again as the scent of blood hit the air.

It knew now.

It locked eyes with me, then bolted forward.

Two shots from the derringer. Both hit. The creature staggered—once, then twice—and collapsed just a few feet away from where I sat.

It didn’t snarl. Didn’t scream.

Its glowing eyes dulled, fading from bright red to a dull, matte crimson and just like that the second one was down.

Only eight more to go.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Apart from Ito and the others near the shopkeeper, more eyes had turned toward Jaeger—though not from within the portal. Back at the fountain where their group had first arrived, a quiet crowd had begun to gather, drawn in as word quickly spread: someone was inside, alone.

They couldn’t see what Ito or Tao saw. There were no alternate views, no tactical updates or shared feed from allies. Only Jaeger’s perspective played out on the flickering projection above the plaza. His movement. His breath. His pain. No context, no safety net.

The display hovered above the stonework like a mirage, sourced through one of the synced watches still connected to the portal network. The image wavered slightly, as though projected through mist or smoke, but what it showed remained undeniable—Jaeger, bloodied and relentless, moving through a forest stalked by creatures that had no place in any natural world. Undead emerged from the dark without end, and silver-furred monstrosities with eyes like hot coals pursued him through the rain-drenched trees. There was talk—quiet, speculative—of something worse further ahead, just out of sight.

No one could explain how the broadcast was possible. Some whispered that it was part of the godly framework surrounding the sanctuaries, a final test monitored by higher powers. Others suspected the Boon of Mystery itself was manipulating what they were allowed to see, shaping the feed to its own ends.

None of that changed what they were watching.

People leaned on crumbling walls and sat on overturned crates, their eyes fixed on the shifting image. A few muttered among themselves, trading fragmented theories and half-guesses, while others remained silent—watching with pale faces and clenched jaws. The air in the square had taken on a different weight, heavier somehow, as though everyone was waiting for something they couldn’t name.

“He’s still alive,” a woman near the back said under her breath, barely audible above the quiet hum of the projection.

“For now,” someone replied, without looking away.

Speculation sparked arguments in pockets around the fountain—whether Jaeger was the last one left, whether this was some larger trial meant to choose a champion, or whether they were watching something far more orchestrated than it seemed. Nobody could agree. No one knew what to believe.

Solomon and Ana had left earlier, off to complete a task elsewhere, and likely had no idea what was happening. Malcolm and Jack had gone long before that and were even further removed from the current events.

But even if any of them were here now, there would’ve been little they could do. The reality was clear. The danger wasn’t something that could be reasoned with, bargained against, or pulled apart by strategy from the safety of the outside.

Whatever waited in that forest, Jaeger was already in the thick of it. Alone.

And the rest of them could only watch and hope he stayed standing

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I coughed hard, the metallic taste of blood still clinging to the back of my throat. My ribs ached, but nothing felt broken. The ground around me was still, no movement, no sound beyond the rain tapping overhead and the wind rustling the trees. The werewolf’s presence was still working to my advantage—its aura keeping the undead at bay for now.

I turned my attention to the corpse. Massive. Covered in silver-gray fur, now matted with blood. I’d seen a lot of bodies—human and not—and dissected more than a few for information. This was no exception.

Kneeling beside it, I dug the blade of my knife into its chest and began cutting. Muscle gave way reluctantly, but eventually I peeled back enough to examine the ribcage. Enlarged, widened, the bones stretched to accommodate the transformed frame. And between the ribs? A small gap—tight but vulnerable. The transformation clearly strained the connective tissue here. Skin pulled taut. A clean strike through this opening wouldn’t need much force to split it open.

I took mental notes, sharp and fast. The solar plexus was another weak point. Just like with wolves and larger predators—the sternum above it formed a kind of fault line. No armor. Just exposed tension.

The more I studied it, the more the fear ebbed. It wasn't invincible. Nothing was. Everything had a weak spot.

Still shaking, I pulled out a cigarette. The burn of smoke in my lungs helped settle the edge. Even if the fight had ended, my nerves hadn't caught up.

“This isn’t a game,” I muttered into the damp air. “This is survival.”

And it was. Every second. But knowing how something worked—even a monster—made it feel less unknowable. It wasn’t a myth anymore. It was just another problem to solve. I wasn’t fighting horror. I was picking apart a system with blades and bullets.

Frog appeared, silent as ever, and opened his mouth wide enough to take the werewolf’s corpse into his inner storage. It vanished with a gulp. Whatever secrets it held, I’d analyze later—or get someone else to. Maybe someone from Genome’s people would know how to break it down properly.

Another potion followed. My skin shed the bark-like darkoak from earlier, peeling away into splintered chunks that dissolved into the mud. I pulled a pile of rubber from Frog’s storage, charged a rune, and let it spread over my skin. It tightened across muscle and bone like a second layer of flesh—flexible, durable, resistant to blunt force.

I couldn’t conduct energy out now, but that was fine. I didn’t plan on getting close again.

The forest was still pitch black. No sign of morning. The watch claimed hours had passed, but the sky hadn’t shifted. Either time moved differently here, or the night had no end. My next move was clear—I started toward the cabin, following the false map stored in the watch.

By the time I arrived, the structure was barely visible through the dense fog. Something about it was wrong. Too quiet. No lights. No sound. I felt the air change the second I crossed into the mist—like stepping into someone else’s breath.

Still, I didn’t hesitate. I moved up to the front door, entered, and immediately locked it behind me. A thick wooden board clanked into place, bracing against a pair of iron horns on the wall.

Only then did I collapse in the farthest corner from the windows and let my body drop. The nap didn’t last more than an hour, but it was enough to recharge something essential.

When I woke, the world outside hadn’t changed. The sky was still black. The trees were still shifting. The night hadn’t moved on. I could feel something else in the dark, but not werewolves—not yet.

A creak.

No lights were on. None needed to be. I crouched beside the window, carefully peering toward the shadows. Something circled the cabin, moving in short bursts. Each time it passed a window, the light dimmed further—as if it was pulling the darkness toward it.

Eyes. Red. Narrow. Not glowing, but gleaming—just enough to stand out.

‘Werewolf,’ I thought, and pressed against the wall. The wings lifted and wrapped around me, now textured like rubber thanks to the rune. I shaped the cape tightly into a squared shell, something close to a storage crate. It bent easily, held together with no seams. When it covered me fully, I held my breath and waited.

The handle on the front door jiggled. Once. Twice.

Then—

CRRK—BOOM.

The door shattered inward. Wood exploded like shrapnel. A few chunks hit the cape and bounced harmlessly off. I didn’t flinch.

Heavy steps filled the room. The creature stomped forward, crushing furniture. I could hear it tearing apart the interior. Not searching—just reacting. It didn’t know I was here, but it was frustrated. My scent must’ve disappeared the moment I shifted materials.

It roared once, low and drawn out, and turned its head toward the back wall. A soft mechanical click echoed from the corner where a supply box sat. Something had shifted inside. The werewolf froze, then approached.

Right on cue, the derringer’s barrel slid out from the panel I’d left open. Two silver stakes launched straight into its chest. It stumbled, let out one final roar, and brought its claw down hard—but not before collapsing forward.

The blow struck the shell and hurled me into the far wall. The cape coiled tight and sprung, absorbing the force and bouncing me right back. Mid-air, I summoned the chain blade and drove it straight through the creature’s neck. The chain wrapped once, twice, and slammed its skull into the floor with a loud crack.

I emerged from the shell gasping, shaking, grinning like an idiot.

“Goddamn… thanks for the cape whoever it was …”

Creaaak.

I froze again. Something else was coming.

This one wasn’t loud. It didn’t stomp. It didn’t growl. Its aura was different—colder. More still. No fur. No weight.

I pressed against the wall and reshaped the cape tighter this time. Smaller. I wouldn’t get tossed again. If something hit me this time, I’d move with it.

Through the slit in the material, I saw it enter.

Tall. Lithe. Pale.

No claws. No tail. Elongated ears pressed to its skull. A gaunt face with sharp teeth and eyes that didn’t reflect light.

Vampire.

Maybe six feet tall. Built like a dancer, not a soldier. But it moved with fluid precision. Every step deliberate. It wasn’t sniffing. It wasn’t searching. It was acting.

I loaded the derringer with silver again. Same with the pistol. I had doubts about the effectiveness, but it was all I had. No signs of rot or aversion like the stories claimed. The werewolves didn’t react to silver unless it was through the heart. The same would probably go for this one.

The chain blade floated beside me. Not levitating—just guided. I used Enigma’s invisible arms, the ones gifted to me in that cursed exchange. I never relied on them, but I’d make use of them while I could. My real hands held both guns, steady and ready.

The vampire paused. It sniffed the air once, casually, and walked toward the hallway.

It knew I was here.

It wanted me to know it knew.

This wasn’t a random search.

This was theater.

And I wasn’t sure what act we were on yet.

If the wolves traveled solo—lone predators, territorial—then the vampires might move the opposite. Coordinated. In groups. Packs, like intelligence agents or hunters. If there were ten in total, then facing all of them at once wasn’t out of the question. They could strike as one. Five might be a scout team, but ten? That was a kill squad.

And if that was true, I was already boxed in.

I moved to the adjacent window, keeping low and minimizing my profile. From the shadows cast across the tree line, I could see movement. Fast. Light-footed. They weren’t circling for fun. This was a controlled maneuver—trying to provoke me. Force me out.

They didn’t want to breach the cabin. They wanted to draw me into the field.

Kill zone.

It wanted to lead me outside. Out of this choke point. The tight structure worked in my favor—it limited their numbers and angles. Outside, I’d be surrounded. Even if I won the fight against one or two, the others would tear me apart.

Frog emerged from mist beside me, landing quietly on the wooden floorboards. I knelt down and gave him a brief nod. This was it. If I was ever going to test a tactical exit, now was the time. It had to be fast. Clean. Precise.

All active runes dimmed and vanished from my skin, each one peeling off like ink evaporating under sunlight. The elemental charges—lightning, rubber, metal—all dropped. What was left were three blank slots. The lines beneath began to glow faint purple, charged with spatial energy.

Teleportation.

The most critical part wasn’t just having the power—it was managing the storage. With three empty rune slots, I could use the full charge: 450 feet. Anything less, and the range cut down in thirds. Worse if I miscalculated terrain, elevation, or impact surface. Spatial folding didn’t do well with obstacles. You needed a line of sight, or you risked breaking your damn legs.

I stepped toward the door, slow and casual. No tension in my body. I had to sell it. The idea that I had no idea what was waiting outside.

I leaned out, keeping the door open just enough for sound to carry.

“Hey, mister!” I shouted toward the edge of the mist. “You shouldn’t be out here alone! Come on in!”

The shadow ahead froze. Crimson eyes blinked once, confused. Its head tilted, and it raised a hand, pointing to its chest in mock surprise.

Me?

I smiled and nodded.

The vampire took the bait. It stepped forward, not fully convinced but curious enough to follow.

That was enough.

I stepped back, keeping my body language neutral. Inside, my arms moved with mechanical speed. Two pointed down both sides of the cabin, keeping watch. A third—the pistol hidden within the folds of the cape—snapped forward.

The vampire didn’t see it. It had been watching the wrong hands.

CRACK CRACK

Two silver stakes tore through its chest, exiting clean through the back. The impact knocked it off its feet. I turned to confirm the kill. The body hit the ground and twitched once. No regeneration. No scream. Just collapse.

They were weaker than the wolves, at least in terms of durability. Less mass, more speed. Their skin lacked the hardened sinew of the werewolves. But that didn’t make them less dangerous—just different.

From the edge of the clearing, something shifted.

The wind cut in a strange direction.

Green, faint but visible, streaked across my peripheral vision. Grass moving in clean, circular slices. Air displacement. Speed. They weren’t standing still anymore. They were circling. One fast enough to leave a trace was enough to tell me the others were moving just as quickly, just quieter.

One of them charged.

I didn’t even have to see the body—I felt the pressure change. I pivoted right and fired before my eyes confirmed the motion.

Three more shots. Center mass.

It was enough to slow it, but not stop it.

And I’d left my back exposed.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A little ball floated in the center of the cabin, Jack in fact had taken this from the underground colosseum and without a need for them handed one to Jaeger before he left. It was the equivalent to a mage bomb if cracked, all it needed was the mana or energy to drive it and it would explode. I couldn’t off handedly manipulate energy, but this didn’t mean that someone else couldn’t give him a crystal to feed it. There were mage lights, and I knew a thing or two about how dangerous they were. Tao had spent some time pouring holy infused energy into a crystal for everyone to wear incase a ghost or apparition attacked. This same necklace was wrapped around the crystal ball like mage bomb. It was the very first thing I set up before leaving the cabin, and at the rate it went, it would need another minute before hitting the climax.

 If Malcolm hadn’t robbed the place blind, and Jack and he hadn’t given him several of them along with other miscellaneous things he would be that much more down the river.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Boom!*

*Fwhoo* *Fwhoo*

*Boom!* *Boom!* *Boom!*

The cabin shook with each shot. My finger was quick, but the vampires were quicker—blurs in the dark, too fast for the average shooter. Even with reflex training, high perception, and muscle memory tuned for firefights, I was missing just as often as I was connecting.

They were testing me. Each time I fired and missed, they crept a little closer. Their movements weren’t erratic. They were measuring range, calculating angles. Every miss was a data point, a step forward. Not chaos. Pattern.

A sharp chill ran up the back of my neck. Instinct flared—but not fast enough.

A shadow blurred past, and in the next breath, I was flying.

Crash!

My back slammed through the front door. Pain spiked across both shoulders. The vampire had driven its hands into either side of my cape—into the reinforced cloth itself. I didn’t get skewered, but the sheer force rattled my bones. Something cracked. I couldn’t lift my arms fully.

“Gah—!”

I twisted mid-fall, gritting through the pain. The ethereal arms flared to life—Enigma’s gift. One gripped the chain blade, the other pulled it back, and I launched it up and into the vampire’s chest with everything I had.

The creature barely flinched. Its eyes locked onto mine, unblinking and inhuman. No hate. Just cold calculation. Then it glanced toward something behind me. Not the fight. Not my weapons. The golden pulse.

The teleport charge.

It hesitated.

But not enough.

I didn’t get time to think it through—just filed the reaction away in my head for later. It hadn’t reacted with fear or confusion, just… awareness. Like it knew what it was and accepted it.

This one was ready to die just to keep me pinned.

A howling scream shattered the moment.

AWOOOOOO!

The forest answered back. Dozens of heavy footfalls thundered through the wet earth. The first silver-furred shape broke through the trees like a missile, followed by another—then another.

Werewolves.

They weren’t allies to the vampires. That much was clear from the way both groups turned toward each other, snarling and posturing like rival predators. This wasn’t a pack coming to support. This was a gang war with fangs.

But I didn’t have the luxury of observing further.

I was still pinned.

My arm was screaming, half-locked in place, but my hand still worked. I brought the derringer up against the vampire’s gut, jammed the muzzle under its ribcage, and pulled the trigger.

Boom.

The silver stake punched straight through from stomach to spine, kicking the vampire’s body backward. Blood sprayed across my face, hot and fast, and the weight on my chest shifted just enough for me to shove it off.

It didn’t move again.

Dead. Finally.

I rolled over and coughed, trying to suck air into bruised lungs. My fingers pressed to the body. No pulse. No tension in the limbs. Good.

One down. A few more feet of breathing room.

Outside, the noise only got worse.

Growls. Screeches. Flesh hitting wood. Claws tearing into bark and earth.

The two groups—vampires and werewolves—were at each other’s throats. Literally. They weren’t fighting over turf. They were fighting over me. A blood-soaked, battered human in a torn cabin was apparently worth the trouble.

“Just a trophy…” I muttered. “They’re really gonna kill each other over a guy covered in mud and guts.”

I wiped the blood off my eyes and reloaded the derringer. There wasn’t time for pride.

Whoever won this brawl, I had to make sure I wasn’t still sitting here when it was over.

And if neither side won?

Then I’d have to start planning how to kill them all.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------