Rook’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You sure?”
Russell nodded, his lungs burning. His dry throat threatened to tear if he spoke another word.
Everyone stared at the monster now standing a few yards away, back on its feet for more.
“On me!” Bradford shouted as he led the charge.
“Watch out for its lunges!” a familiar voice called out beside Russell.
“Clay?” he croaked.
His friend clutched the sledgehammer close to his chest. “Man, you sure that isn’t some kind of boss monster?”
Russell swallowed the meager spit in his mouth and took another deep breath. “No. Nothing like that,” he said, resting his head on the pillar. “Just your run-of-the-mill Scaletooth.”
The fighters—a dozen of his old teammates and a handful of other men—had the monster surrounded, employing what Tommy and Caleb had done earlier, only in a larger scale.
And like earlier, they weren’t making any progress.
“Aim for its stomach!” Russell called out in a rough voice.
Bradford jumped away before the monster could swing its tail at him. “Shit. You think we aren’t trying?!”
“Try harder.”
Rook heeded his advice. The guy wielded a metal stool, timing his approach before he swung at monster’s belly.
But the mutt must’ve learned its lesson. It leapt to the side, avoiding Rook’s attack. It snarled at anyone coming too close, whipped its tail at anyone coming from behind, and prioritized dodging any blows aimed at its underside.
“We need to hold it in place!” Rook shouted.
Bradford cursed as he was forced to withdraw another time. “Use your trays! Block its tail and pin it down!”
And they did just that. Two of the jocks closed in from the back and used their serving trays as their shields, blocking the monster’s tail. With a combined effort, they neutralized its lethality, dragging it to the ground, restrained.
Those in front used their trays as either mirrors or drums, confusing the monster, keeping it distracted. The rest swung their makeshift weapons—chairs, table stands, even a throw pillow. More of their attacks landed, pelting the monster’s lumbering form like a communal drum, and some even managed to hit the monster from below.
And they still couldn’t deal a fatal blow.
The monster roared and flung away the men holding its tail down. With a twist of its body, the beast whipped its freed tail around in a deadly arc, forcing the rest to jump back.
Its maw gaped open, its sharp fangs out in display as the monster snarled at them.
“Our blows aren’t doing anything!” someone cried out.
Rook dropped the stool and wiped the sweat from his face. “We need to let Flynn deal the damage.”
“The fuck, we will,” Bradford said as he inched forward from the monster’s blindside, only to step right back when its jaws snapped at him.
“Yo, Flynn!” Rook called out. “Still have a few rounds left in you?”
Russell bit back a curse as he pushed himself away from the pillar.
“You good, man?” Clayton asked.
Russell searched for his flashlight, spotting it underneath the broken coffee table. “We only need to land one decisive blow,” he said as he picked up his trusty weapon and hefted it in his hand.
Clayton stepped up beside him, his sledgehammer at the ready. Russell furrowed his brows before he reached out his flashlight to Clayton. “Here. Switch with me.”
“Aw, man…” Clayton grumped, though he still exchanged weapons with Russell. “Can you even kill it in one blow?”
“We’re about to find out.”
Russell told his friend to head to one side and wait for his chance while Russell went the other way. He watched the standoff between the monster and the fighters surrounding it, the night sky outside the wall windows a bright red behind them.
“You think you can pin it down a second time?” he asked aloud.
Bradford snorted. “You must be kid—”
“We can,” Rook said, hauling the metal stool over his shoulder.
Russell nodded at the man’s confidence. “Do it.”
Bradford grumbled under his breath while Rook looked around his men. “Halftime’s over, ladies. You ready for the second half?”
Cheers resounded. Hands gripped weapons and teeth clenched. The silence stretched as the men waited for the kickoff.
“Go!” the captains shouted as one.
Everyone charged at the same time, and the monster met them with a defiant roar.
The pocket collapsed. Weapons rose and fell. Men dove into the fray, fighting as a team, grunting. Shouting. Screaming.
Russell hung back as he watched it all happen. Air filled his lungs in slow, deep breaths as he centered himself, his mind calming, his nerves settling. It was the last play of the match. Only seconds left on the clock. And no timeouts. This play would either win them the game, or they would lose—and losing here meant death.
So he waited.
And waited.
And—
The monster tumbled to the side.
Russell shot forward just as a gap opened.
He raised his weapon all the way behind him. Planted his feet on the floor. Roared as the beast's eyeless gaze found him in the melee.
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It whirled around.
Russell swung.
He was never a fan of golf—but he swung that sledgehammer like he was a freakin’ pro driving a golf ball.
Metal hit metal. One gave way.
A heavy clang resounded followed by a loud crack. The monster was lifting a few feet into the air when something slammed into him.
He saw windows. Saw the ceiling. The lobby upside down. Then something else crashed against his back before darkness welcomed him.
A loud thump shook the ground, and Russell blinked his eyes open. His cheek brushed against something rough. Soft. A bed?
“Russ!” someone called out, cutting through the fog in his mind. Footsteps. Closing in.
“Flynn!” a deep voice shouted. Different. Familiar. Someone he knew. Or didn’t…at least not well. Rook?
“Worry about the monster!” another person said. Recognizable. But obnoxious, somehow.
Russell struggled to push himself upright, his arms weak, his eyesight fuzzy. He batted his eyes, clearing his vision.
A carpet lay beneath him, not a bed. He was on the floor. Why was he—
“Russ!” the first voice said another time, and someone dropped to their knees beside him, grabbing him by the shoulders, a pair of high heels standing not far behind. “Dude, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
Russell stared at Clayton’s face, at Autumn’s pale expression as she stood over his friend, an upturned bottle in her hand, and then Russell shook his head. “I’m fine.”
Cheers erupted behind him.
He rolled over and sat on his ass to look. He grabbed for his chest, making sure he hadn’t broken any ribs. “What…”
“You did it, man!” Clayton said. “You wounded the damn thing!”
Russell blew out a frustrated sigh. “You mean it's still not dead?”
“The way they’re going at it? It will be.” Clayton chuckled. He grabbed the sledgehammer Russell had dropped and climbed back to his feet. “Stay right here and get some rest. Can’t let them jocks have all the fun,” he said over his shoulder before joining the fray, Autumn following right behind him.
The monster lay on the ground, the scales on its abdomen cracked open. It let out a weak snarl as black blood spilled all over the carpet. A part of Russell felt pity for the creature, then he recalled how the beast had nearly killed Donald, how close it had brought Russell to death’s door, and all his sympathy for it was flushed down the metaphorical toilet.
Too weak to rise, the monster tried to crawl away. But the mob had it surrounded. With it half-dead, humans started taking care of business, going at it like kids trying to break open a piñata.
Even Clayton hammered at the dying beast with abandon, living the moment like a video game.
“We’re almost there, boys!” Bradford said. “Let her have it!”
People slapped their trays against the monster. Others swung what was left of their chairs. A few whacked the beast with bar stools, and one even shattered an intact cocktail table against its large form, snapping the spines jutting out from of its back.
And the monster could only lift its head, barking out a strangled cry.
The song returned.
The breath in Russell’s lungs froze. His hands reached around him for a weapon as he spun to meet the threat. But no monster lurked behind him.
He dropped to his backside and blew out a breath. His flashlight lay on the carpet, and he thanked Clayton for leaving it behind. How could the monster suddenly appear behind him, anyway?
The song rose in volume.
He whipped his flashlight the other direction. Again, there was no monster there. No threat. Only his hallucinations. The only monster in the lobby was the one surrounded by men, moments away from dying.
They broke through its scales, hitting flesh, drawing blood. And a screeching wail burst from the monster’s throat.
And the other song intensified.
Russell blinked at the dying monster before gawking at the floor-to-ceiling windows lined up behind the pack of fighting men. His breath caught as his mind put the pieces together. How could he have forgotten? The monster wasn’t alone.
And it was calling for help.
“Clay!” He got to his knees and pushed himself to stand on shaky legs.
The other song continued to play in the background, rising and falling, coming from nowhere and everywhere. It was too far for him to pinpoint with his senses, but it was there, and it was coming.
“Rook! Bradford! Get away from there!” he called out.
“You’ve done your job, Flynn,” Rook said. “Leave the rest to us.”
“You don’t understand! There’s another one of them right outside!”
Bradford backed away from the frenzied mob and shot him a withering glare. “Are you kidding me?!”
“Listen to me, dammit!” Russell shouted, pointing his flashlight at the monster they had surrounded, its death throes only getting stronger. “That one’s calling for it! It’s been crying for help since earlier! Get your asses out of there!”
“Fuck it! Flynn’s been right so far,” Rook said. “Get back! Everyone, back!”
The men’s disappointed looks spoke volumes, Bradford’s pinched expression most of all. But at least they listened to Rook’s orders. They might even start to believe in Russell’s words.
One by one, the fighters stepped away from the monster and trailed after Rook. The sound of blows trickled to a stop until only a single rhythmic hammering remained.
Russell’s eyes widened.
Clayton raised the sledgehammer over his head, his eyes gleaming, his grin growing. He swung at the monster’s fractured skull, letting out a tired cackle with every strike.
“Clay! What the hell are you doing?!” Russell barked, but his legs were already moving.
“Don’t worry, man,” Clayton shouted back as he brought his hammer down another time, panting. ”I got it. I’m almost there.”
The song reached a crescendo, sending Russell’s senses haywire as he stumbled toward his friend. “Get out of there, Knox! Stop fucking around!”
”One more,” Clayton said. “One more and—“
The monster on the ground let out a keening cry.
“CLAY!”
Glass shattered.
Russell tackled Clayton.
The ground rose up to meet them. He braced for the fall as they crashed back on the carpet, rolling a few times from his momentum.
Screams erupted, and Russell got back up, crouching beside his friend, his flashlight ready in his hand. Then his hand, his arm, his entire body grew numb.
No…
“Russ? What did you—“ Clayton blinked a couple of times after he found himself on his back. “What happened?”
No, this can’t be happening.
Clayton turned himself over. “Where is—”
[Scaletooth Savage - 6th Shard / Level 2]
Another monster stood where his friend had been earlier while the injured one lay on its side a few steps away, its chest heaving, still very much alive—and a small figure knelt between the two hulking beasts, prostrating on the floor, trapped.
“—Autumn?”
The woman raised the beer bottle in her hands, arms quivering, body shaking, as tears welled up in her frightened eyes.
“Russ…” Clayton whispered. “What…What do we do?”
Why did Russell assume only humans could work as a team?
Another monster came to the dying one’s rescue, and this second beast was not only unscathed but also unfatigued. It even had a higher level, a whole lot more shards, appearing larger, stronger. Deadlier.
Russell lowered his flashlight.
Autumn was already dead.
And no one was brave enough to save her.
All because Russell failed to—
No! he berated himself. The woman only had herself to blame. She shouldn’t have been there. No one should have been there. He warned all of them. He told them to get away.
This wasn’t his fault. None of it was his fault.
It was Clayton, a voice whispered to him. The foolish bastard did this. He’s the one you should—
SHUT UP.
“R-Russ,” Clayton said. “You…You have to help her.”
“I can’t—” Russell clenched the flashlight in his hand. “I can’t do it alone. The rest look like they have no energy left. I’m going to need your help.”
“But I…”
He eyed his friend, worried. “Are you hurt?”
“M-My legs won’t move, Russ,” Clayton choked out, his eyes tearing up. He pointed a trembling finger ahead of them. “A-And I left my weapon over there…”
The sledgehammer had fallen right beside Autumn, yet the woman hadn’t noticed it, her eyes focused on her impending death.
The hammer wouldn’t have been any use to her anyway.
“How sure are you that this is a game,” Russell asked.
“What?”
The injured monster struggled to get to its feet, only to collapse back down on its flank. But it was healing; the wound on its stomach had long stopped bleeding.
“You think your games’ rules apply here?” Russell gritted his teeth as he faltered to his feet, his knees weak, the flashlight in his hand weighing more than his entire truck.
“What are you…?”
“Williams! Collins!” Russell called out, his voice echoing in the tense silence inside the lobby. “Grab the woman once the coast is clear. Do it fast.”
The second monster finished taking stock of its new surroundings. Seeing no immediate threat, it fixed its “gaze” on the closest prey—Autumn.
The guys who had fought earlier now waited in front of the crowd. They exchanged uneasy looks, their faces tired, their makeshift weapons hanging low on their sides.
No one was willing to fight.
No one except Russell.
As his blood boiled inside him, he took a step forward.