My eyes snapped open as a thunderous crash shook the door behind me. I was instantly alert, heart pounding, adrenaline surging through my veins. This wasn't good. I could hear talking coming from the other side of the door, but it was too muffled to make out. The cadence definitely sounded like talking, though.

I scrambled to my feet, tightening my toga as I set my stance, gripping Winchester in both hands like it was some kind of makeshift sword. A sudden blue light shone through the grimy windows, replacing the dim yellow light in the room. The voices outside grew louder, more urgent, and suddenly I could taste ozone on my tongue—sharp and metallic.

MOVE!

That voice in the back of my head screamed at me. What the hell was I doing? Practically tripping over myself, I darted behind the bar and crouched down, hoping that whatever was out there would think the place was empty. My hands shook as I clutched Winchester against my chest. I'd just gotten into position when a loud crack split the air, followed by a crash that rattled the room. The door was blown off its hinges, slamming into the center of the floor. Dust billowed out in thick clouds, and I struggled to keep from sneezing.

As the dust began to settle, I fought the urge to cough, my lungs burning with the effort. The acrid taste of ozone lingered on my tongue, mixing with the musty scent of disturbed debris. I strained my ears, listening for any sign of movement beyond the ringing left by the explosion. Every second felt like an eternity.

Slowly, cautiously, I peeked around the edge of the bar, Winchester clutched tightly against my chest. My eyes watered as I squinted through the haze, my heart thundering so loudly I was sure it'd give me away. Then, I heard coughing—someone else, definitely not me.

"Damn, Felix," a female voice said through more coughs, followed by footsteps approaching the door. "Of course a bolt of lightning is going to hit harder than my shoulder, you twat. Now look at this place."

They were speaking… English? Maybe not quite—there was an accent there that I couldn't place.

Through the swirling dust, I made out a second silhouette, shorter than the first. "Where's the talk about legendary strength now?" The voice was male, laced with amusement. "I recall someone boasting about being able to knock down any door with a single punch."

The first figure scoffed, half-laugh, half-cough. "Oh, shut it. At least I didn't suggest we try to pick the lock for an hour."

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed a third figure lagging behind the other two. They were smaller, their movements a little unsteady as they lifted something to their lips. A faint gurgling sound reached my ears, followed by a satisfied sigh.

"You two argue like an old married couple," the third voice chimed in. It was male, older, and his words were slightly slurred. "Can we focus on why we're here? This whole thing sucks."

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

I shifted slightly, trying to get a better view without exposing myself. The floorboard beneath me creaked, and I froze, breath catching in my throat. The conversation stopped abruptly, and I felt the weight of their attention shift toward the bar.

"Monster or Mortal?" one of them called out.

My mind misfired, struggling to process what I was hearing. People? Here? This strange, otherworldly place, filled with ruins and strange symbols, and yet... people? My pulse raced as confusion warred with hope. I blinked rapidly, my body stuck in a half-crouch, trying to wrap my head around what was happening. Focus, Ben.

Bright blue light flickered again, casting eerie shadows across the room. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen—pulsing, swirling with energy that felt alive, almost sentient. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Monster or Mortal?" the voice called out again, more insistent this time. The accent was thick, strange. Familiar, but foreign. I opened my mouth to respond, but no sound came out. My throat felt dry, constricted with fear and confusion.

I managed to utter the word "Mortal," but it came out more like a croak. I tried again, louder this time. "Mortal!"

The blue light flickered once more, then faded entirely. I heard a metallic click—someone had sheathed a blade.

"Shards and stars, man," the male voice, probably Felix, called out. "Why didn't you speak up when we were making a ruckus outside? I could have blown you up!"

"I'm going to come around the bar, don't panic," the female voice said. I could hear the smile in her voice.

"You can't just say 'don't panic,' Cassie. That makes people panic," the third, older voice replied, sounding amused but tired.

"What am I supposed to say then, Chas? You've been doing a shit job showing us the ropes, and now this?" Cassie shot back.

I cleared my throat harshly, partly to speak, but also to get their attention. Were they seriously bickering right now?

The argument paused. "Uhm, why don't I just stand up?" I offered, my voice louder than I intended.

"Oh, that's definitely easier!" Cassie said enthusiastically. "Do that."

Well, I was in it now. After everything that had just happened—people. Potentially friendly people? I braced myself. They could be anything. Disembodied heads? Ghosts? Tentacle monsters? I felt my body resist for just a moment before I pushed myself to my feet.

As I rose, my eyes adjusted to the dim light, and I was struck by how… casual these people seemed. They were loose, almost friendly, like this was just another day for them.

Cassie was tall, easily over six feet, with a muscular physique that screamed raw power. Her blonde hair was braided into intricate patterns, glinting with small metallic beads that caught what little light there was. Despite her imposing figure, she was grinning, almost too much—like she was trying really hard to seem approachable. She looked… Norse?

Beside her stood Felix. He was shorter, but his bronze skin caught my eye. Not tanned—actual bronze, like polished metal. His hair was cropped short, military-style, and there was a thin beard on his face. His expression was amused, but he was watching me closely.

Then there was Chas, the older one. Stocky, with skin as dark as cast iron. His face was weathered, etched with lines that told a lifetime of stories, but it was his eyes that drew me in. They shifted constantly, like a swirling galaxy of colors. He noticed me staring and grinned, lifting a flask to his lips.

"Now this is what you're supposed to say, Cass," Felix said, stepping forward and clearing his throat. He coughed, probably from the dust. And spoke as if reading from a script. "It appears you might be out of place. We're Monster Hunters. Do those words mean anything to you?" He paused, then cocked his head. "And… are you wearing a curtain?"