The cracked remnants of an old road stretched across the barren wasteland, its faded markings barely visible under the dust. Jagged rocks and sparse, thorny plants dotted the landscape, casting long shadows under the failing light. The air was thick with the scent of dry earth and decay, the silence oppressive.

Vigdis moved with measured steps, the weight of her axe a steady comfort against her palm. The air was heavy, the silence unnerving in a way she’d learned to recognize. The kind of quiet that meant she wasn’t alone.

Then, she heard it.

The faint, desperate cry for help.

Her lips pressed into a grim line. She’d been expecting it. The Magician’s warning, the way the wasteland had gone too still—it all pointed to one thing.

She slowed her pace, crouching low as she approached the direction of the voice. The cries grew louder, more desperate. They were good, she admitted. Convincing. But she’d heard enough real pleas for help in her life to know the difference.

Finally, she saw them.

A figure stumbled into view, their clothes tattered, their body thin and trembling. They raised a hand weakly, their face obscured by the failing light of dusk.

“Help me,” the figure rasped, their voice raw, breaking. “Please... I—”

Vigdis didn’t move. Her grip on her axe tightened as she scanned the shadows around the clearing, her gaze sharp and untrusting. She knew better than to look at the bait. The real threat was always in the places you weren’t looking.

The figure staggered a step closer, collapsing to their knees with a pitiful whimper. “I can’t... I can’t move,” they choked out.

Still, Vigdis didn’t move. Instead, her eyes locked on a darker shape emerging behind the “victim.”

They were tall and gaunt, their movements deliberate, unnervingly smooth. The failing light caught their face—a pale, sharp visage with hollow eyes that stared unblinking at Vigdis. Their mouth curved into a smile that was too controlled, too knowing.

They looked human, but only just.

The gaunt figure tilted their head, the smile deepening, as though they knew she’d already seen through the ruse. The “victim” on the ground stilled suddenly, their trembling ceasing like a puppet with cut strings. They straightened, slowly lifting their head to reveal the same pale complexion, the same hollow eyes.

The two figures stood now, side by side, watching her. Silent. Waiting.

Vigdis tightened her grip on the axe. Her heart beat steady, her body relaxed. She’d fought worse things than this before, and she knew better than to let fear creep in.

“You want me?” she said, her voice low, steady. “Come and get me.”

The pale figures exchanged a glance, their smiles widening unnaturally, and then they began to move.

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Vigdis moved deliberately, her axe held low but ready. Her sharp green eyes scanned the wasteland, noting every crevice, every rock large enough to hide behind. The desperate cries had stopped, replaced by the stillness that always came before a fight.

Then she felt it—a ripple of awareness crawling up her spine. Her instincts screamed a warning before her ears could register anything. Something was behind her.

She spun on her heel, the axe arcing upward in a powerful diagonal swing. The movement was fluid, her muscles coiling and releasing like a tightly wound spring. The blade met flesh with a wet, sickening sound, cutting clean through the cannibal’s chest and shoulder.

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For a moment, the pale figure staggered, its hollow eyes wide in shock. Then its body fell in two jagged pieces, collapsing to the cracked asphalt with a dull thud. Dark, viscous blood oozed from the halves, pooling around the corpse.

Vigdis exhaled sharply, her grip tightening on the axe as she scanned her surroundings. The wasteland seemed to hold its breath.

Then everything began to move.

From behind rocks and cracks in the broken road, more figures emerged. Tall and gaunt, their faces pale and hollow-eyed, each of them wearing that same controlled, too-knowing smile. They moved with deliberate precision, their footsteps eerily synchronized, as though guided by a single mind.

Vigdis shifted her stance, her body coiling like a predator ready to strike. She counted quickly—six, no, seven of them, circling her in the failing light. They didn’t rush her. They were careful, studying her, waiting for an opening.

The closest one stepped forward, a rusted blade gleaming in its hand. Its smile widened, and then it lunged. Vigdis met it head-on, her axe slamming down with brutal force, splitting its skull cleanly. The cannibal crumpled to the ground as the others surged forward, their movements no longer measured but frenzied.

Vigdis pivoted, her axe whistling through the air as she struck again and again. The wasteland echoed with the wet crunch of bone, the sharp ring of steel, and the guttural growls of her attackers. Blood splattered across her cuirass, staining the cracked road beneath her boots.

She knew this fight wouldn’t be easy. She was strong, but they had numbers—and they were relentless. Her muscles burned with every swing, her breaths coming quick and shallow. But Vigdis didn’t falter. She couldn’t afford to.

This wasn’t just a fight for survival. It was a test. And she had no intention of failing.

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Vigdis stood amidst the carnage, her chest heaving as she surveyed the bodies sprawled across the cracked road. The wasteland was silent again, save for the faint whistle of wind and the slow drip of blood pooling at her feet.

One of them was running.

The last cannibal—wounded, staggering—had broken from the fray and was limping away toward a cluster of jagged rocks. Vigdis didn’t hesitate. She raised the crossbow, the familiar weight steady in her hands, and fired.

The green-glowing bolt cut through the air, striking the fleeing figure in the thigh. He screamed as he collapsed to the ground, clawing at the cracked asphalt. Vigdis approached slowly, her boots crunching against the road. The sound of his ragged breathing grew louder as she loomed over him.

The pale figure twisted to face her, hollow eyes wide with a mix of pain and fear. The knowing smile was gone, replaced by a trembling grimace. He tried to scramble away, but his injured leg dragged uselessly behind him.

Vigdis knelt, seizing his collar in one hand and dragging him upright. The motion was rough, her strength evident as she shoved him against a jagged rock. Her axe hung from her belt now, but her presence was no less threatening.

“You’re going to tell me everything,” she growled, her voice low and ice-cold. “Where’s your cave?”

The cannibal spat blood, his lips twitching as though considering defiance. Vigdis’s hand shot out, gripping his jaw and forcing his head back against the rock with a dull thud. Her green eyes burned into his, unflinching.

“Let’s skip the part where you act tough,” she said, her tone deadly calm. “You’ve already lost. If you don’t want to end up like your friends, you’ll talk.”

The cannibal’s gaze darted to her crossbow, then to the glowing green bolt still embedded in his leg. He swallowed hard. “You... you wouldn’t understand,” he rasped.

Vigdis raised an eyebrow, her fingers tightening on his jaw. “Try me.”

When he didn’t respond immediately, she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You think you’re the first one I’ve dealt with? I’ve seen men like you before—weak, hiding behind fear and numbers. And I know how to make you talk.”

With her free hand, she grabbed one of the jagged shards of bone dangling from his necklace. She twisted it sharply, the makeshift adornment cutting into the sensitive skin at his throat. He cried out, the sound raw and desperate.

“Where’s. The. Cave.” Each word was punctuated with a slight twist of the bone, enough to make him flinch but not enough to kill.

“It’s—! It’s in the cliffs!” he gasped, his voice cracking. “A mile east! Please—stop!”

Vigdis eased her grip slightly but didn’t release him. “How many are left?”

The cannibal’s breathing was shallow and rapid. “Ten... maybe more. The leader—he’ll kill me if—”

“Not if I get to him first,” Vigdis interrupted. Her voice was as cold as the steel of her axe. “You’re going to take me there.”

The cannibal stared at her, his mouth opening to protest. But the look in her eyes—the unyielding promise of violence—silenced him. He nodded weakly, his head drooping in defeat.

“Good,” Vigdis said, releasing him roughly. She stood, grabbing her crossbow and slinging it over her shoulder. “Start walking.”

The cannibal struggled to his feet, limping forward with her bolt still buried in his leg. Vigdis followed closely behind, her axe in hand. She didn’t trust him, but she didn’t need to. If he tried anything, she was more than ready to remind him why running wasn’t an option.