The halls of the Kremlin were dank and musty. A smell of mold and decay permeated the air. From what I had been told, in the last ten years it had only been occupied by the undead and other unholy creations of Rasputin.

The platoon of thugs Stalin had brought were well-armed but didn't move with any unit cohesion. They tramped down the wide hall, casting fearful glances in every direction and jumping at every sound.

I stayed close and moved carefully, trying to make no sudden noises. I was in more danger from these poorly-trained troops than I was from the hordes of the damned. At least, that was my thought until the huge rats with the long fangs and the glowing green eyes swarmed out into the hall from a dozen places at once. They charged at us with fangs bared.

The communists opened fire in every direction. Bullets ripped into the floor and walls, and remarkably few of the rats. As I was at the back of the line, a number of the little buggers came at me from behind. I turned and aimed carefully, shot some, stomped others, and kicked quite a few.

I tried to keep track of what was going on with the rest of Stalin's platoon. The next man in line went down screaming, buried in the glowing green monsters. I ran over and knocked a few of them away with the end of my submachine gun, then I grabbed the man and hauled him to his feet. Evil rats hung by their teeth from his arms and legs. The man's eyes were rolled back. His legs kicked out at nothing, heels scrabbling against the floor. He gave a gargling choke, and green-tinged foam spewed from his mouth.

I dropped him and took off down the hall towards the rest of the group. They had stopped most of their panicked fire and were backing away. I passed a few more bodies twitching and convulsing as the rats devoured them. The fallen seemed to distract most of the vermin. Between that and the ones we had killed, the attack was effectively over, at least until the ones feeding on dying Russians decided whether they were still hungry or not. I didn't wait around to find out.

As we ran, I started noticing traces of glowing light running along the walls and ceiling. They swirled and formed into patterns before dissipating again, and they were getting stronger as we went forward. I didn't know a damn thing about magic, but this struck me as bad.

"Slow down!" I yelled. "It's a trap!"

Two of the men running in front of me glanced back, but didn't slow. The rest of the group continued to pound down the hall in front of me. I couldn't see to the front of the pack, just bobbing heads and gun barrels in the dark distance, illuminated by flashlights and lanterns. Some of the lanterns had been dropped, and the hallway ahead was illuminated mostly by bobbing flashlight beams whipping to and fro.

The green glow walls and ceiling flared bright with dancing runes. Bolts of green lightning shot down into the crowd in front of me. I couldn't see hits, but the results were immediate: shouts, cries, and bursts of gunfire. I realized with a shock what had just happened. It was the same thing I had seen in the room with the barrier-generating jar of magic. This was a trap that possessed people. Some of the communist guerrillas had just turned on the rest of us.

The result was a bloodbath.

The firing intensified. A bullet whipped down the hall past my ear. One of the men slightly in front of me was hit and fell. The platoon of communist rebels had just turned into a circular firing squad, and I had to get out of the line of fire.

I ducked into the nearest doorway, a heavy wooden door hanging half off its hinges. The room was an office, with cabinets and desks. Those weren't the room's most interesting feature. That had to be the giant hulking bone golem that crouched in the corner, glaring at me with faintly glowing eyes.

I stood there in the dark, for a long moment just looking at it as it looked at me. It wasn't moving. It was waiting.

This whole building was a massive death trap. No surprise, but the full realization was damn terrifying.

I could shoot it. I had harmed one before with bullets, but how many would it take? The submachine gun had lighter rounds than the machine gun I had been using before. All of this flashed through my mind as the monstrosity of bones stirred.

I hit the hall at a dead run. I dodged past wounded and dying rebels, one of which still had glowing green skin and was moving feebly even though he was riddled to Swiss cheese by bullets. The other non-possessed rebels shouted as I dashed past. Doorways to my right and left broke open, and more bone monstrosities emerged. The rebels, momentarily distracted by my dash past, turned to fire at the new enemy.

Ahead, one of the monsters was already blocking the hall. The bone creature pulverized one rebel and was reaching for another who fired at it in a panic. I dodged behind the gunman just as the monster's bony fingers wrapped around his torso. I didn't stop. For a moment, I wondered why the hell I was running deeper into the building. Surely the Russian army outside would be safer?

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Then I spotted a tight group of communists ahead standing at an intersection of halls. Stalin was with them, and they seemed to be paying no attention at all to the chaos. There was a man standing with him who was not wielding a rifle but instead had a bulky box with a handle in one hand and a metal wand in the other. He waved the rod around. It looked a lot like an old-fashioned Geiger counter. Instead of clicking, it gave an up-down warbling tone. Another man standing next to him was studying a map. The one with the map was pointing to the left. “Definitely this way. The library. Most likely.”

I was almost to them as they disappeared around the corner. I slowed my pace only slightly as I rounded the corner after them, but pulled up short as a rifle barrel was shoved in my face. I pushed it to one side with two fingers.

Stalin glanced back at me with an almost lazy expression. "He's with us.”

Down the hall behind me, heavy machine gun fire boomed. Bullets slammed into the end of the hallway at the T-intersection. There was a crunching, growling sound, and confused Russian shouting.

Whatever survivors were still back there, they wouldn't be for long, pinned between the bone monsters and the newest threat. The army had arrived, and they weren't messing around.

"We should move quicker," I commented.

Stalin didn’t even glance at me. "Hush."

The man with the Geiger counter device rushed forward eagerly, but stopped just short of a massive door.

"That's it! The amulet of St. Seraphim, with the power over the undead!"

"Shut up," Stalin growled as he pulled the other man back by the shoulder. He waved the rest of the group forward. "In.”

"Wait," I called before the first man could move. Stalin glanced at me with a glare of irritation. "It's trapped." I pointed up towards the top where a glow of green played across the wood paneling.

He glared at the glow and then back at me. This was not a man that took disagreement well. "You," he said, pointing to just one of his underlings. The small and wiry man carried a pump shotgun. "Breach it."

The man's face was nervous and wild-eyed. I pitied him. Before his hand touched the door, I spoke up. "I suggest a jar of holy water, if you have one." The man's look in my direction was full of relief.

Stalin glared at me again as the man reached into, pulled off his backpack, and produced a glass jar. He hesitated a moment as if unsure what to do with it. "Just splash it," I said.

The small man began unscrewing the lid of the jar. Stalin, his patience apparently almost gone, drew a revolver. The man glanced at him in alarm, then moved faster. An instant later, the lid was free.

He splashed the jar over the door. It was like throwing acid onto a sizzling frying pan. Steam billowed and hissed, and the wood of the door started to melt.

There was a tramp of many boots from the hall where we had come in.

Stalin was hefting his gun and eyeing us as if deciding which one he could shoot to speed up the rest of us. There was no time to waste. "Step back," I said, then stepped forward and kicked open the door.

Locks broke, wood splintered, and the double wood-paneled doors flew apart in a cloud of hissing smoke. Fortunately, my boot leather wasn't from an unholy cow and it didn't melt off of my feet.

As soon as the door was open, the group surged forward. The room had once been a library, but shelves had been cleared aside, and books were dumped in piles along the wall.

I had been expecting an apparatus like what I had seen down in the basement. Instead, on the cleared space at the center of the room an evil pentagram had been drawn. I could tell it was evil because it looked like every evil pentagram I had seen in movies and anime. Arcane glowing runes surrounding the edge of it. Giant star with cross lines inverted. It had the works.

All around the outer edge were lighted candles. Only they weren’t wax, but just light bulbs stuck on candelabras and wired up to cables snaking crazily across the room.

In the center of the pentagram on a small pedestal was a glowing gem. It was attached to a chain, and I realized it was actually a necklace.

The communist squad came to a halt just outside the edge of the ring of lights. The sound of boots was still growing louder as the Russian army approached. Stalin gestured to one of his men with his revolver. "You, take the necklace." The threat was clear.

The man hesitated only an instant before stepping forward. As soon as his foot touched the circle, he exploded into flames of green light. His body stiffened, but he didn't make a sound. An instant later, green tongues of fire still coursing over his skin, he turned. Stalin shot him in the face just below his glowing eyes, and the rest of his men opened fire, riddling the man with bullets.

His face, shattered by at least two of the shots, still sneered at us in a twisted, inhuman expression, before the fire in the eyes died and the body crumpled into a heap.

Stalin pointed to another of his men. "You, you're next."

The man took a step back. He shook his head. "No!" He didn't even get out the entire syllable before Stalin shot him through the heart.

Stalin looked over his men and seemed to reconsider. They all looked back at him with wide, terrified eyes. Finally, his gaze landed on me. "Comrade Golem, your services are required."

His gun was leveled at my heart.

"Of course," I said. I stepped forward slowly and deliberately, trying not to show hesitation as I took my time. With one hand, I fished into my bag and brought out the one jar of holy water that I had.

"No, don't!" Stalin started to shout, but I had already tossed the jar.

It hit the ground at the edge of the circle and shattered, splattering water everywhere. The whole thing began to boil and hiss, only the water wasn't what was boiling, but the floor itself. Stalin stalked two paces forward and peered at the effect. He turned to glare at me. "You're lucky no drops landed on the amulet."

I immediately wished I had another jar.

The bubbling and hissing was dying down. The pentagram's glow had dimmed, but not gone out.

"Now," Stalin said, leveling his revolver again, "retrieve the amulet carefully and give it to me." He held out his other hand, palm up.

I looked from him to the gun and back to the amulet. Whatever happened in this room, I knew Comrade Stalin could not be allowed to leave with that necklace.