The journey through the woods grew more unsettling with each passing hour. The further they walked, the more twisted and skeletal the trees became, their bare branches reaching out like gnarled fingers. A thin veil of mist clung to the ground, curling around their boots as they trudged forward. The rain, a cold, miserable drizzle, had started in the morning and showed no signs of stopping.
John pulled his Hawaiian shirt away from his skin, grimacing at the damp fabric. “I swear, I’ve never missed a hoodie more in my life.”
Kaia glanced at him. “What’s a… hoodie?”
He sighed. “It’s like a cloak, but with sleeves, and a big pocket in the front. Oh, and a hood to keep your head dry. Basically, peak comfort.”
Thorin grunted. “Doesn't sound much different than a cloak”
John chuckled. “Your uncultured brute you'd never understand the finer things in life.”
The conversation faded into silence as they pressed on. The oppressive atmosphere weighed on them, and even John found himself unwilling to crack too many jokes. There was an eerie stillness in the air, broken only by the occasional rustling of unseen creatures in the underbrush. The rain dampened everything—their clothes, their spirits, their supplies.
By the time they reached a clearing suitable for camp, exhaustion was setting in. The ground was little more than damp earth and scattered rocks, but it would have to do.
John dropped his pack with a heavy sigh. “Alright, let’s get this miserable night over with.”
Kaia attempted to light a fire, but the wood was too soaked to catch. She frowned, rubbing her hands together. “No fire tonight.”
Thorin shook out his wet cloak, muttering under his breath before pulling out some dried rations. “Cold meal, then.”
John groaned, flopping onto a relatively dry patch of ground. “Fantastic. Nothing like soggy jerky and lukewarm despair to end the day.”
They ate in silence, the only sounds the quiet munching of their meager meal and the steady patter of rain against the trees. Occasionally, Kaia or Thorin would murmur something, but the weight of the journey hung heavy over them.
When the last bites of food were finished, they settled in for the night. John lay back, staring up at the murky sky. He was about to pull his damp shirt tighter when the rain finally stopped.
As if the world had been holding its breath, the clouds parted, revealing a bright, full moon. The pale light bathed the clearing, making the wet leaves glisten like silver.
John exhaled, letting the tension slip from his shoulders. “Well, at least the view doesn’t suck.”
Kaia, wrapped in her cloak, followed his gaze. “The moon is a good omen. It watches over travelers in the night.”
Thorin grunted in agreement. “It means we can see anything that tries to creep up on us.”
John smirked. “Always the optimist, Thorin.”
As they settled into camp for the night, the three companions instinctively fell into the routine they’d established on the road.
Thorin stretched out, arms behind his head. “John it's your turn for first watch”
Kaia nodded. “John first, then me, then you.”
John groaned, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Ugh, I've been dreading first shift. I hate staying up late. I'm old you whipper snappers”
“You also hate waking up in the middle of the night and it's your turn,” Kaia said simply.
Thorin chuckled. “And you make the best pot of wakeroot brew"
John grumbled but didn’t argue. It was true. They sucked at brewing wakeroot.
Resigned, he poured himself a steaming cup of wakeroot brew, letting the earthy aroma fill his senses. He took a careful sip, the bitter heat jolting his system. He needed it—staying up late had never been his thing. Years of waking up early for work had conditioned his body to be an early riser, not a night owl. His eyelids already felt heavy.
He pulled his blanket tighter, tucking himself in wishing there was a fire. Kaia muttering a quiet prayer before resting her head on her pack, and Thorin falling into sleep almost instantly, his soft snores soon filling the quiet.
John sighed, shifting to get comfortable. The rain had stopped, but the night was still damp and cold. He watched the moonlit forest, scanning for movement, listening for anything unusual.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
The world around him was silent. Too silent. The kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
He took another sip of his brew, eyes darting between the darkened trees. The creeping unease in his gut told him tonight wouldn’t be a peaceful one.
John shifted, trying to shake off the creeping exhaustion as he took another sip of his wakeroot brew. The night was damp and cold, the earlier rain leaving everything slick with mud. His companions lay asleep behind him—Kaia curled into her blanket, and Thorin sprawled out with his axe resting beside him.
The absence of a fire and the lingering dampness ensured John was miserable all night. Those two facts are the only reasons why John was able to stay awake and alert.
Then, the silence broke.
A long, bone-chilling howl echoed through the trees, followed by another, then another. John sat up straight, his heart hammering in his chest. He turned toward the sound just as Thorin shot awake, hand on his axe.
“Did you hear that?” John asked, already knowing the answer.
Kaia was awake now too, sitting up with a frown. “Werewolves.”
The three of them scrambled to their feet, forming a rough defensive line. The fire flickered weakly, offering no real protection. The first werewolf emerged from the darkness, eyes glowing an unnatural green. Then another. And another.
“Well, this sucks,” John muttered, tightening his grip on his dagger.
The first werewolf lunged. John barely dodged, rolling through the mud as claws slashed through the air where he’d been. Thorin met the attack with a roar, grabbing the first thing near him he brained it with a lantern. The werewolf shrieked, but another pounced before Thorin could finish it off.
Kaia raised her staff. “Paralysis!” she shouted, and the second werewolf froze mid-lunge. But two more charged in its place.
They fought desperately, mud and blood mixing as the werewolves attacked in waves. John took a slash across his ribs, wincing at the pain. He stabbed another werewolf through the eye, but another tackled him before he could recover. He barely managed to roll away, breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Kaia! Heal!” he shouted, and warm magic surged through him as Kaia’s spell took effect.
“I’m running low on mana!” she warned, panting.
John ducked a claw swipe. “If I get bitten—am I gonna turn? Am I gonna wake up tomorrow with a snout?!”
Kaia dodged an attack, smacking a werewolf with her staff. “I can cure diseases, John!”
He deflected another blow. “Okay, but, like, are you *sure*?”
“Yes!” she snapped. “Do you want a cure or not?!”
“I mean, sure, but I was also thinking—Kaia, you should come to Earth with me. We’d make a fortune fixing people!”
“FOCUS!” she yelled, blasting another werewolf with a slowing spell.
John’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest burning as he barely managed to shove another werewolf off him. His dagger felt heavier in his grip, slick with blood and rain. The mud sucked at his boots, making every movement a struggle.
Thorin grunted, fending off two werewolves at once, his axe a whirlwind of steel. “There’s no end to them!” he roared, slamming the blunt end into a werewolf’s snout with a sickening crack. The creature staggered but didn’t go down.
Kaia panted, her hands trembling as she cast another paralysis spell. The magic flickered, weaker than before. “I—I'm almost spent!” she admitted, eyes wide with fear.
John twisted, barely dodging a set of claws that tore through his already shredded shirt. His heart pounded against his ribs. They were slowing down. He *felt* it. The exhaustion, the endless onslaught—this wasn’t a fight anymore. It was survival.
A werewolf lunged from the side, faster than he expected. He didn’t have time to react. Its claws raked across his shoulder, white-hot pain exploding through his body. He cried out, stumbling, his vision blurring for a moment.
“John!” Kaia screamed.
John lay beneath it, gasping, too drained to move. His entire body was shaking. His arms, his legs—everything screamed in exhaustion.
Thorin turned, launching himself at the beast, tackling it to the ground, swinging his axe down with a crunch.
John forced himself upright, gripping his dagger so tight his fingers ached. His mind raced. They couldn’t keep this up. Not for much longer. His legs felt like lead, his arms sluggish. Kaia was practically swaying on her feet, and Thorin, even with his brute strength, was slowing too.
Another howl cut through the night, impossibly close. More glowing eyes appeared in the trees, dozens of them.
“Oh, *come on!*” John gasped, his stomach knotting.
Kaia wiped sweat and rain from her brow, eyes wild with desperation. “We can't make it much longer”
"Then I'll go to the underworld with honor surrounded by great friends," Thorin said
"Thorin I'm honored to be fighting with you big guy but I've got a beautiful wife to get home to. So let's show these ugly bastards they fucked up" John said
John's desire to get home fueled a second wind in him. The pack kept coming and John cut them down with a savage furry that boarded on mania. He lashed out with both daggers in a beautiful dance of death. Thorin starred on as John moved among the pack blades stabbing and stabbing and slashing gone before they could get tooth and claw on him. John's muscles began to scream with the strain but he was in a trance. Seeing his wife's face dance before his eyes. He only had one thought. Cut.
Kaia looked on with some worry. She had never seen John like this.
His vision narrowed and got dark. His head was pounding and breathing ragged. Cut
John's feet could barely move. Every step pulling his boots from the mud felt heavier than the last. Cut
But there was nothing there. He heard sounds in the distance. So so far away. Looking around He saw Kaia and Thorin yelling. Slowly his hearing returned.
The Sun had risen and with it the long night had ended.
John barely registered it, too busy trying to stay upright. His entire body ached, his wounds throbbing. He wasn’t sure if he could take another step, let alone another fight.
John blinked, his vision swimming as the world came rushing back in. His chest heaved, his body trembling from exertion. The mud beneath his feet felt like it was pulling him down, dragging him into the earth. He swayed but remained standing, daggers still clenched in his blood-slicked hands.
“John!” Kaia’s voice finally pierced the haze. She grabbed his arm, her grip firm but gentle. “It’s over!”
Thorin stood a few feet away, his axe hanging at his side, eyes wary as he studied John. “Damn, lad… I’ve seen men fight to survive before, but that—” He shook his head. “That was something else.”
John sucked in a sharp breath and let his daggers drop into the mud with a wet squelch. His hands ached, his fingers barely responding. He wiped at his face, only to smear more blood—his or the werewolves’, he wasn’t sure.
Kaia’s worry was evident as she placed a glowing hand on his shoulder, sending a soothing warmth through his body. “You were… somewhere else just now.”
John let out a bitter chuckle, running a shaky hand through his sweat-matted hair. “Yeah. I was home.” His voice cracked slightly. “Just for a second.”
Silence stretched between them, the only sounds the distant calls of morning birds and the crackling embers of what little remained of their campfire.
Thorin rolled his shoulders, sighing. “We need to move. This place reeks of blood, and I don’t fancy finding out what else it attracts.”
Kaia nodded, though her gaze lingered on John. He could see the unspoken concern in her eyes, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it.
With aching limbs and heavy hearts, they set to work. Thorin managed to coax a small fire back to life, the flames a meager comfort as they dried their clothes and cleaned what wounds they could. John scrubbed the blood from his skin, watching as red rivulets swirled into the muddy ground. Every motion felt sluggish, his body still running on fumes.
Kaia pressed a small bundle of dried meat and hard bread into his hands. “Eat.”
John smirked tiredly. “Doctor’s orders?”
She didn’t smile. “Yes.”
He ate without argument.
Once their clothes were dry and their wounds tended to, they packed up camp in silence, the weight of the night pressing down on them. The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake.
As they finally trudged away from the battleground, John cast one last glance back. The bodies were already dissolving into that eerie green light, fading as though they had never been there.
But John knew better.
His muscles ached. His mind was frayed. But deep in his chest, buried beneath the exhaustion, burned the same thought that had driven him into that frenzied fight.
John groaned. "Well. That escalated quickly."
Thorin chuckled, nudging a broken lantern with his boot. "I really love lanterns."
Kaia sighed and collapsed onto her back. "You two are ridiculous."
John turned his head toward her. “You love us.”
She exhaled slowly. “Unfortunately.”
As the sun climbed higher, the last remnants of the werewolves dissolved into green eldritch light, vanishing as if they had never been there. The night had been hell, but they had survived.
Barely.
John had to get home.
No matter what it took.