Rachel didn’t say a word as I revved up the Redneck Ripper, the spinning blades whining like a buzzsaw on overdrive. When I glanced back at the barn, expecting her to be right behind me, she was still in the doorway. She had propped herself up against the frame, Boomstick Deluxe steady in her hands, and her eyes already scanning the chaos.

No conversation. No plan. She’d decided to hold the line from there.

Fine by me.

I didn’t bother with a second look. The Purrssians were already regrouping, those glowing eyes swarming like a synchronized nightmare. The first one lunged from the side, low and fast. I swung the weapon hard, the blades biting deep with a metallic shriek. The cat let out a distorted yowl before dropping in two twitching halves.

Rachel’s first shot cracked through the air just as I was stepping over the corpse. The sound was sharp enough to make me flinch, even with the constant buzz of combat. Her energy bolt streaked past me, just missing my left shoulder before slamming into a Purrssian mid-leap. It dropped like a sack of bricks, rolling to a stop a few feet away.

Another shot. Another kill. Rachel wasn’t just holding her ground—she was making it clear whose ground this was.

“Guess you’re staying back there,” I muttered under my breath, more to myself than her.

Elmo’s voice chose that moment to chime in, dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, look at her go. Miss Lone Ranger up there, saving the day. Meanwhile Tonto, you’re over here making Purrssian sushi. Truly a team for the ages.”

I didn’t bother responding, too busy dodging the next glowing furball barreling toward me. The ripper roared to life again as I swung upward, catching it mid-air. The impact rattled my arms, but the thing dropped in a messy heap at my feet.

For a second, I allowed myself the mental image—the slow-motion hero shot, the kind you’d see on a faded VHS cover in a bargain bin. The wind from the spinning blades—ruffled my mullet like I was some kind of post-apocalyptic Fabio, rugged and untamed. Sweat dripped dramatically down my face, probably catching the faint light in all the right places, because why not? Cue explosions in the background as I turned to face the next threat, steely-eyed and unflinching, like a Florida Man on a mission.

The reality, of course, was far less glamorous. My arms ached, my grip was slipping, and I was pretty sure I’d just stepped in cat guts. Still, a guy can dream. Maybe the mullet wasn’t just a hairstyle—it was a statement. A declaration that, no matter how ridiculous this world got, I was going to face it with blades spinning and hair flowing.

Another Purrssian lunged, shattering the brief fantasy. I gritted my teeth, swung the ripper again, and watched as the cat went flying, landing in a limp heap next to its buddy. No time for heroics, Blake. Just keep swinging.

Behind me, Rachel fired another shot, then another, each one precise, controlled. I could hear her muttering something, probably about my clumsy footwork, but I didn’t have the luxury of asking.

“You gonna leave some for me, or is this just your one-man audition for Nature’s Deadliest Idiots?” Elmo piped up again, because apparently, the chaos wasn’t loud enough.

I rolled my eyes, taking a moment to kick a twitching Purrssian off my boot before it got any more ideas. “Real helpful, Elmo. Thanks for the support.”

“Oh, I’m supporting,” Elmo shot back. “I’m supporting the comedy gold of watching you prance around like some kind of low-budget action hero.

I ignored him, swiping at another glowing furball. The blades made quick work of it, spraying more mess than I wanted to think about.

“By the way,” Elmo continued, his voice taking on a tone that was almost gleeful, “you’ve got blood in your mullet. And, oh—your mustache, too. Just a little heads-up, in case you were planning on eating later.”

I grimaced, swiping a hand over my face instinctively and instantly regretting it. My glove came away with a smear of glowing red. Fantastic. “You done yet?”

“Not even close,” Elmo said. “I mean, come on, this is peak entertainment. Mullet flapping majestically in the breeze, mustache stained with cat blood… You’re like the poster child for ‘why grooming matters in the apocalypse.’”

“Shut up, Elmo,” I growled, swinging again with more force than necessary. The last thing I needed was a running commentary from my personal peanut gallery.

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Elmo added with mock indignation. “If you’re gonna go full Florida Man action star, at least invest in a decent headband. You’re one sleeveless tank top away from a viral video.”

I let out a frustrated grunt, deciding it was safer to focus on the glowing cats than the voice in my head.

The pack wasn’t giving up. More glowing eyes emerged from the edges of the street, their movements low and predatory. I could feel the adrenaline surging, the ripper vibrating in my hands like it wanted to keep going.

Another shot from Rachel zipped past my head, hitting a Purrssian square in the chest.

“Careful with that!” I shouted, though it came out more of a bark.

“You’re fine,” Rachel called back, her voice calm, almost bored.

A Purrssian darted toward her from the side, claws outstretched. Before I could warn her, she spun on her heel and fired, point-blank. The thing didn’t even make it halfway.

Okay, fine. She had it handled.

Elmo snickered. “Hey, Blake, maybe let her take the lead? I mean, one of you has aim, and it sure ain’t the guy with the spinning weed whacker.”

I swung at another cat, ignoring the jab. The blades ripped through with a metallic screech, sending glowing fur and sparks into the air.

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Rachel fired again, the Boomstick lighting up like a handheld sun. “Keep moving, Blake. They’re circling back!”

The Purrssians were relentless, glowing fur streaking through the air as they darted and lunged like demonic blurs. Rachel fired off another shot, the energy bolt zipping past me and into the flank of a cat mid-pounce. It yowled in pain before collapsing in a heap of sparks and singed fur.

“Elmo, you got any bright ideas?” I grunted, slashing in a wide arc. The blades tore through another glowing menace, the machine roaring like it was alive.

“Sure, here’s an idea,” Elmo chimed in with zero urgency. “Run faster. Swing harder. Try not to suck.”

I growled under my breath, pivoting just in time to avoid another Purrssian leaping at my legs. The glowing thing skidded in the dirt and snarled, its claws digging into the ground as it prepared to spring again.

“You know,” Elmo continued, clearly enjoying himself, “you’re really giving me Tom and Jerry vibes right now. Except you’re the mouse. And the cat’s winning.”

“Do you ever shut up?” I snapped, slicing downward. The blades caught the Purrssian mid-lunge, the satisfying whirr-crunch of contact making up for Elmo’s nonsense. It hit the ground in pieces, glowing ichor splattering my boots.

Rachel called out from her position by the barn door. “Blake, they’re regrouping! Left side!”

I swung my gaze to the left just in time to see three pairs of glowing eyes charging in unison. “Got it!” I shouted back, revving the ripper and charging to meet them.

The first one went down easy, my blades cutting through its torso in a clean arc. The second darted away, too fast for a follow-up swing. The third leapt at my shoulder, claws outstretched.

I threw myself backward, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of me. My arm shot up instinctively, the blades humming to life just as the cat came down. The ripper connected mid-air, sending the Purrssian flying sideways in a shower of sparks.

“Nice one, Rambo,” Elmo quipped. “Now try doing that without looking like you fell off a lawn chair.”

“Not the time, Elmo,” I wheezed, rolling back to my feet.

Rachel fired another shot, her aim dead-on as a bolt of energy clipped the Purrssian I’d missed earlier. The cat hissed, its fur crackling with energy before it collapsed.

“How many of these things are there?” Rachel shouted.

“No idea,” I replied, swinging in a defensive arc as more glowing eyes emerged from the shadows. My arms were screaming, my grip slick with sweat and ichor, but there was no way I was stopping now.

Elmo chuckled, as unbothered as ever. “Hey, Blake, don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Just think of it as cardio. Really, really aggressive cardio.”

Rachel fired another shot, sending a glowing bolt into a Purrssian mid-leap. The cat crumpled in a heap of sparking fur, its momentum carrying it just shy of my feet.

“Nice shot!” I called out, swiping at another that had darted too close. The blades caught its side with a sickening whirr-crunch, and the beast let out one last yowl before going limp.

Rachel huffed, her voice tight with exertion. “I told you—keep moving, Blake! They’re trying to corner you again!”

“No kidding!” I snapped back, dodging another glowing blur as it lunged for my legs. I pivoted hard, the ripper singing its deadly tune as I swung wide. The cat barely avoided the blades, but Rachel was already lining up her next shot.

She fired, the bolt slamming into the Purrssian’s head with a brilliant flash. It dropped instantly, a faint sizzle rising from the singed fur.

“Elmo!” Rachel yelled, reloading with practiced efficiency. “You gonna tell us when we’re clear, or just keep up the peanut gallery act?”

“Relax, sharpshooter,” Elmo drawled. “You’ve got...oh, I dunno, maybe four left. Give or take. Don’t ask me to count when Blake’s over there turning them into disco-roadkill.”

“Not helping!” I shouted, taking another swing as two more Purrssians lunged at once. The first met the slash head-on, its momentum carrying it straight into the spinning blades. The second managed to claw at my arm before I could wrench the machine around. Pain flared as its claws raked through the fabric and into my skin.

“Dammit!” I hissed, shaking it off and bringing the blades down in a brutal arc. The blades bit deep, and the cat let out a bone-chilling screech before going still.

Rachel fired again, taking down another. “One left!” she called out, her voice sharp and urgent.

I turned, catching sight of the final Purrssian as it circled warily. Its glowing eyes locked onto me, its fur bristling as it hissed low and menacing.

“Looks like it wants you for a one-on-one,” Elmo quipped. “Better make it quick, champ. The mullet’s starting to lose its action-hero shine.”

Ignoring him, I revved the engine one last time. The beast lunged, and I met it halfway, the blades roaring as they tore through the air. Sparks and fur flew in every direction as the Purrssian’s momentum carried it into the whirling teeth.

When it was over, I stood panting, ichor dripping from my weapon as the last of the cats lay motionless at my feet. My arm throbbed from where I’d been clawed, and every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but we were alive.

Rachel stepped forward, the Boomstick resting on her shoulder as she surveyed the carnage. “Is it...done?”

I nodded, wiping sweat—and probably cat blood—from my forehead. “Yeah. Done.”

Elmo let out a low whistle. “Well, congratulations, you two. You’ve officially survived the world’s worst cat show. Now maybe take a minute to clean up before you get your tetanus booster.”

Rachel gave him a flat look before turning to me. “You okay?”

“Been better,” I admitted, glancing down at my arm. “But I’ll live.”

She nodded, her expression softening for just a moment. “Good. Let’s make sure nothing else is lurking around, and then we find a place to rest. We’re gonna need it.”

We moved cautiously through the carnage, her Boomstick still at the ready and my ripper dragging along the ground, too heavy to hold upright anymore. The air smelled like burned fur and damp dirt, but the eerie silence made it worse. Every creak of a branch or rustle of a bush had me glancing over my shoulder, expecting another glowing set of eyes to come tearing through the shadows.

We swept the yard first, kicking through the tall grass and peering under the skeletal remains of overturned patio furniture. Nothing moved. No glowing eyes, no growls—just the dull hum of silence.

“Clear,” Rachel said. “What about the house?”

“Let’s wait,” I muttered,

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

Back at the barn, the tension finally started to ease. Rachel propped the barn door closed with a rusted shovel, while I dropped onto an overturned crate with a groan. My body felt like it had been chewed up and spit out, but the lack of immediate threats was enough to let the exhaustion sink in.

“You good?” Rachel asked, sitting on a stack of hay bales. Her voice was calm but edged with concern.

“Still breathing,” I said, flexing my sore hands. “Gonna check the notifications and see what we got.”

I opened my system interface, half-expecting a snarky comment from Elmo before it even loaded. To my surprise, it was quiet—just a list of stats, experience gains, and a simple confirmation that the “Purrssian Pride” had been eliminated.

Rachel was doing the same, her brows furrowed as she scrolled through her interface. “Well, at least we got something out of it,” she muttered, not looking up.

I leaned back, staring at the barn ceiling. “Hey, Elmo?”

“What’s up, Whisker Slayer?” Elmo piped up, his tone chipper. “Finally ready to admit I’m your best asset out here?”

I ignored the jab. “Why haven’t I been hungry this whole time? Or, you know, needed a bathroom break? Feels...weird.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Elmo said. “All bodily functions are suspended while you’re in the trials. No food, no bathroom, no pesky biological distractions to slow you down. It’s a feature, not a bug.”

Rachel snorted, glancing at me. “So we’re basically meat puppets on a timer?”

“Pretty much,” Elmo confirmed, his tone way too cheerful for the subject. “You’re welcome, by the way. Imagine dealing with food poisoning in the middle of a glowing cat ambush. Not fun.”

I grunted, rubbing my temple. “Great. Just what I needed—another reminder that nothing here makes any sense.”

“Sense is for quitters,” Elmo quipped. “Now quit whining and get some rest. You’re gonna need it when the next batch of nightmares shows up.”