Luna was in a state of perpetual shock. The last thing she could remember was the horror of the depths - the frightening, deformed Monstrum tearing Sitabee apart. With a blink of her eyes, she had found herself in a world of scents, lights, pain and fear. It reminded her of ancient stories of Hel - the realm of the punished dead.
Was this her reward for wishing harm upon her people? To be damned to an eternity of clammy, wet clothing, of scorching lights and torturous demons?
The man in the black coat turned around to reveal his white, stony face- the last straw to break her strong will. She hurled the rock in her right hand with unexpected force, throwing it far past the man’s shoulder and onto the distant sands with a yelp.
“I’m not here to harm you.” The stranger crouched down next to her.
Even with sand-streaked, wet, honey-blonde hair, the woman was beautiful. Thin, quivering, sunburnt lips trembled in place; frozen, but so full of expression. Her tattered clothing revealed the blindingly pale skin visible through tears in the fabric - a most unusual fabric.
He reached a glove out to touch her black shirt, verifying that it was unlike any cloth he had touched before - that, in combination with her red, wide eyes, could only mean one thing.
“You’re one of Logo’s children… are you the one who called out for me?”
Her swirling mind attempted to understand his speech. Was this an overworlder? Was this the world beyond the surface - was this… air? She held a hand up to realize she was not wearing a mask, yet she could see her skin without burning her eyes. She could breathe without a rebreather and she had ran beyond hull-plating and atmospheric regulators.
“Logan!” Distant shouts sounded across the sands.
A black shade blanketed her body as the stone-faced stranger disrobed his coat and wrapped it around her with a whispered: “This is important. Don’t let them see your eyes. And don’t say anything about where you’re from. To them, Logos and his people are evil. I know better.” He zipped up her coat and pulled the hood over her face before raising a strong hand towards her.
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“Do you understand?”
All she could do was nod to confirm that the stranger’s speech had made sense to her. Of course she would be the evil - the books had spoken of ancient rivalries and wars… but why was he different? She wanted to ask him questions- to verify that her suspicions were correct; that she had somehow survived her journey to the surface. But a jerk of the flesh on the sands made the stranger grab her and insistently pull her back.
He attempted to cover her view of the disgusting monstrosities, but she saw one of them - the first he had cut down. It writhed and twitched, righting itself on the dune.
Organs hung from its open chest, yet its desperate, muscled arms dragged itself towards them - clawing into the warm sands.
In his arms, she was led back towards a beast that made her scream - a vast, hairy thing with brown, bulbous eyes and teeth to rival that of the stranger’s. In her weakened state, the world around her began to slip, the disorientation too great to power through.
The boys arrived to stare at the monstrosities on the sand - one gory mess reduced to a smoking pyre while the other two were still alive, staring eyeless faces at them.
Logan was cradling a coated form in his arms, staring at its face in silence.
Heaving for air, the twins reached for their weapons, only to find that they had made the horrible mistake of leaving them back at the camp.
“Abraham. Come here - take two flasks from the band around my chest.” Logan leaned forwards to present his strapped-on armory. Terror fueled the boy’s movements - a terror too great for him to hear that something had changed yet again in Logan’s voice.
He grabbed two spherical glasses and held them up before him, eyeing the swirling, yellow liquids with a keen interest.
“The only way to kill them is to do so much damage they can’t regenerate. Pour it on them - be careful. They can still lunge at you.” Abraham quickly nodded his understanding and with trembling hands began to pull at the cork. To his side, Marcel grabbed the other flask, uncorked it and stepped closer to sprinkle the contents on his distant enemy - careful to remain far outside its reach.
Wordlessly, Michael grabbed a tinderbox from his pocket and set a light, flicking the matchstick onto the bodies.
In a silent explosion of fire, the column extended far up in the canopy of the nearby trees - more fire than any of the boys had ever seen. Even in the skin-melting temperature - a taste of which blew their way - the creatures continued to creep ever-closer, bubbling flesh and blood and all.
“Come. We’ll need to get out of here before the rest come. Hurry.” He spoke more to his hound than any of the boys, but his message was clear.
This was the reality of the world beyond the mountain. This was a world where peace could be shattered without a moment's notice.
This was their world.