It felt as if Horvath had put his boot on Vergil’s backside and shoved.

He stumbled forward and the soldiers came after him. This was a new, odd and terrifying feeling, to have people following, even if he was simply showing them the way to the enemy. With heart hammering his ribs, he took off among the narrow alleys, Arin running in step with him. The soldier called out shortcuts and detours as easily as if the entire labyrinthine city were an open plain to him.

Compared to Valen or Grefe, the Rock’s settlement was tiny and tightly clustered. The streets were more corridor than thoroughfare, with barely enough space between most homes to empty out a chamber pot.

Arin purposely helped him lead down roads that avoided the main calls to action. He could see above where the archers were and where their bows were trained. They became a kind of beacon to allow the squad to avoid the worst of the fighting. There was no point in getting mired down, no matter how terrifying some of the cries were.

Vergil had to remind himself there were trained men and women fighting, and he wouldn’t tip their balance in any particular way. He had fought. He had won fights. So had they.

His group wasn’t quick enough to avoid the beast that barrelled into them once out of the main cluster of the city.

It came out of the darkness between the last buildings, a whirlwind of violence that clashed against the entire group with bone-crunching fury. A soldier cried out in pain, his leg shattered by the first impact.

The skin wearer landed heavily in their midst, panting with effort like a wounded animal. This was the one that Vergil had fought off but never got to kill. It was missing an arm, black smoke curling up from the stump, and its body was crisscrossed by all the cuts he’d administered. It was no less dangerous.

It turned lighting-quick and threw a fist at Vergil.

Arin intercepted it on his shield. The metal bucked and the soldier was flung back, knocked to the ground. It leapt at him, muscular foot poised to crush the young soldier.

Vergil rammed his shoulder into the descending figure. It was like shoving a boulder out of the air. Horvath roared in delight in his vein, the strength coming off the helmet reaching a fever pitch. The text in his vision was garbled nonsense. He blinked it all away, hidden in a corner as he rushed the monster.

“This one!” he screamed at the other men as they dove out of the way. “It doesn’t die. Hack it to bits!”

Though his warning was likely unneeded. Already the soldiers were finding their ground against the monster. The squad split up and began harassing the monster with their swords. Only two others besides Vergil and Arin had silver. They were making the skin wearer bleed tar.

Vergil charged in, trusting to Horvath’s speed and strength to deliver another disarming blow.

The enemy roared and met Vergil’s charge with a fist so quick that he had no time to dodge. He stumbled in his rush, turned to the side, and caught the blow on his shoulder. Bone groaned and was ready to shatter. Air exploded out of him.

Horvath kept him together. The sideways stumble became a twist and his sword’s tip whistled a finger’s width away from the monster’s throat. It deftly dodged right into Arin’s sword.

The soldier stabbed it in the back as it retreated, sword passing straight through the smoke-filled shell to explode out of its sternum. They were rewarded with a low moan of anguish.

The wound sizzled and bled more tar.

It wasn’t dead. Not by far. It swung that massive fist at Arin but the soldier threw himself down and rolled to the side. Another took his place and hacked at the beast, each blow drawing a long, bleeding line on its impossible physique.

Vergil followed suit. He stabbed and slashed, pulled back and went in when the others did. It was a dance. When the monster was close to hitting any of the others, he took the blow himself, aware he’d be the only one able to survive it.

It felt every time like being hit by a catapult’s boulder. A single blow to the head would kill him. Every one that he took to the body would be a black bruise in no time at all if he survived here.

* No point winnin’ if ye can’t fight th’ next.

* Dodge, sprig!

With each cut and attack, they gained ground.

No matter how loud the creature roared, or how fast it struck out, it was simply outmatched with five soldiers against it. Soon it resembled nothing more than a cut up piece of meat, bleeding black from dozens of wounds. It staggered. Then crouched, arm up to protect its head from the blows raining down.

It was going to run.

Vergil was faster. He leapt and grabbed the monster by the throat, one arm wrapped around its muscular neck.

“You’re not getting away,” he growled. “Stab it!”

It bucked under his hold like a wild animal. It threw its head back and smashed in Vergil’s already abused helmet. He felt the shock to his nose, blood bursting down into his mouth. A tooth came loose.

He tightened his grip. Horvath strained in the helmet and Vergil’s muscles bulged with alien strength. For the first time, he and the dwarf were fully in sync, their goals perfectly aligned. The strength he drew from it was intoxicating.

Vergil held on, planted his feet, and lifted the monster off the ground. He risked it escaping for a heartbeat, one hand flying to the hilt of Arin’s sword that still protruded from the monster’s back. He used it as a lever to hold the beast aloft.

With the skin wearer flailing and kicking, it took some effort for the others to finish the job of killing it. It thrashed and bucked and kicked its feet in savage fury and desperation. They hacked it to pieces.

Only when the skin balloon deflated in his grip did Vergil release it to flop down into the bloody mud. They all breathed a long sigh of relief when it did not come back alive.

“That’s Liandra’s son,” one of the soldiers said. He leaned against a wall and retched. “That’s Jollin. I know… I know his tattoo.”

“He’s been dead for a long time,” Vergil said, not knowing what else to contribute. He was breathing fast through his mouth, his nose a bloody smear on his face. “Him and three others that we found.”

“I saw him not three days ago,” Arin said. “He was lighting the braziers for the berries.”

Vergil kicked at the discarded skin at his feet. “You saw this thing. It was maintaining the cover. They were always here, under your noses.”

A groan of dismay escaped the others. They checked the man with the broken leg. The bone had broken out through the skin and blood pooled. Even so, he urged the others to go on.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“You two, carry him up. Send fresh men to Liandra’s,” Arin ordered. Two men peeled away from their group, picked up the victim, and rushed away into the dark.

“This is bloody news,” the remaining soldier said. “They’re not supposed to be doing this crap. They never did before. My pa’s been fighting them for forty years.”

“They do now,” Arin cut him off and signalled to move on. “New world. We make do.”

It was hard to believe the soldier wasn’t much older than Vergil, seeing how easily he took charge of the situation and demanded focus. It was inspiring. Now that they were close, Arin took the lead once again. He knew the area best.

“I have a home nearby,” he said. “Bred and raised here.” There was just the hint of anger in his voice. “These things won’t take my home from me.”

“One of the pure-blooded rock hearts,” the other soldier said, his tone light. “Knows the place like the back of his hand.”

“I know it better than that.”

Vergil believed it. To be born in a place where monsters scratched at the gate every night… what a life that would be. What terror. And what resilience that must breed in the people of the Rock.

Rock hearts indeed.

Movement caught his attention up one of the streets heading away from the distillery’s nook. A knife flew out. He caught it out of the air just a hair away from his exposed throat. Three figures emerged out of the shadows and he recognized them instantly.

“Mistook you for one of those bulls, soldier,” Licia’s honeyed tone greeted him. She extended a hand out. “Can I have my knife back? I’ve only got six of them.”

She and her companions were blood spattered and ragged, their weapons held out. Tar-like blood dripped off the edges.

Seeing Licia’s black eyes staring at him made Vergil uncomfortable. Something in her gaze was laughing at him, but he didn’t quite get what was amusing.

“You lot need any help?” the bald-headed Cram asked. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. “Saw two men dragging a wounded away.”

“Could use some fresh blades. Do you have silver?” Arin asked.

The adventurers shook their heads. “Been a lean winter,” Bront said. “What with being stuck in here drinking away our savings.”

“Then you scout and don’t get in the way when we fight. We’ve three silver blades between us.”

“Aye, aye.”

Licia hadn’t moved from besides Vergil, her hand still extended. “Please?” she said, hopefully. Her smile was entirely too predatory for the moment.

Vergil handed the knife back, hilt towards the elendine. “Got bored of waiting inside?”

“One of those animal uglies crashed through the tavern’s door. We weren’t going to stand in there and be torched alive in case one of them got a bright idea.” She replaced the knife somewhere on her arm. It was invisible against the black leather of her outfit.

Arin led the way and signalled for everyone to follow. They were near the thick smoke of the orchard, the way there following a small group of homes. This was the part of the city that handled some of the sturdy livestock. None made a noise now.

Darkness spread ahead.

Licia gave Vergil a side look then hurried to the front of the group. “Let me,” she said before disappearing into the dark. Her companions brought up the rear.

She returned soon after, silent as a cat, and showed different routes. Fighting down one corridor. Some shadow beast down another. More and more converged ahead, as if there was some place there that disgorged the things.

Vergil imagined the seething darkness coming out of the hole and the nightmares that it had produced. He hoped and prayed there wasn’t anything worse trying to pass through. The hole he’d seen was several paces across, so maybe that was the max size of a creature that could arrive.

But a creature to clear a six to seven pace gap was a terrifying notion.

It took them less than a bell to finish the trek. At the end, they stared at a horde of monsters surrounding the distillery. The berries were long trampled underfoot, their braziers knocked to the ground. Part of the orchard burned with bright-blue flames, thick smoke rising into the air.

“Inside there.” Vergil pointed to the shattered door at the back of the distillery. A monstrous ooze-like thing slithered out through the door and headed away into the city. It had dog heads atop three stalk-like necks, and it brayed as it moved.

Worse were emerging.

Many shimmered in the air, as if not wholly there. Vergil remembered the worms in the walls and how they had only died to the silver. These would not be different.

Arin stared at the procession of nightmares.

“I am about to propose something fantastically stupid and equally dangerous,” he said, thoughtful. “I need someone to volunteer.”

Vergil raised his hand immediately. To his surprise and her companions’ horror, so did Licia.

“There’s a basement under the distillery,” Arin said. “The entrance is some way away. That’s where Liandra kept the stock of her brew. I know she’s made enough last thaw to fuel a city the size of Valen. I would know. I helped pick the berries.”

“You want us to put a flame to it?” Licia asked just as the idea occurred to Vergil. “Night’s blood? Won’t it bring down the whole cavern?”

Horvath scoffed inside Vergil’s head.

* Bones as old as these cannae break.

* Dwarves can dig ‘ere.

* Ye pups?

* Ye’ll shake th’ place. The Rock’ll stand as before.

“It’ll shake some teeth and rattle some bones, but the place can take more,” Arin confirmed Horvath’s tirade. “Rock’s weird here. You wouldn’t understand.” He pointed away from the house of horrors and clicked his tongue. “Fifty or seventy paces that way. It’s normally locked tight.”

“Not an issue,” the elendine said.

“And you won’t have much time to run once you light a fire.”

“Not an issue,” Vergil said.

“Good. The rest of us, we’ll draw attention. Move fast. Whistle the moment you cast the fire.” He caught himself and turned to them. “Do you know how to whistle?”

Vergil nodded. Licia laughed.

“Good. Once we engage them, you move.”

The other soldier—Vergil hadn’t caught his name—quietly taught the specific pattern they’d need to produce to warn them.

It was a credit to the soldiers’ courage and the adventurers’ that none of them gave even the barest hint of hesitation. They drew their weapons, cussed in obscene fashion, and rushed out.

Heartbeats later, Vergil and Licia were running the opposite way. They only stopped to pilfer a torch off a its support on a pole, and kept going in the direction Arin had indicated, skirting around the outer perimeter of the distillery’s yard. Barrels lay stacked in piles. A cart, to be drawn by two people, ready to be loaded and taken up towards the fortress. Even some animal coops. The sight of a rooster cringing at the door of a coop sent a short stab of panic up Vergil’s spine.

The bird watched them pass and did not move from its perch.

The cellar door was simple to find. The smell would’ve led them there even had they not known the direction.

The lock barring the way down into the basement was solid and slightly rusted. It took Licia and her knife less than five heartbeats to pry it open.

“Stand back some distance,” she said. “By the smell, we may blow up before we see the inside.”

Vergil obeyed and walked back some distance.

When the door swung open, the stench that wafted out made his eyes water. He drew back several more steps.

Licia let out a sigh of surprise and leapt back. Knives appeared in her hands.

Something emerged from the hole. Two slab-like hands gripped the edges of the double doors and dragged out a massive simian body that barely fit through the opening. It took forever to fully come erect, and then towered over them, a mountain of muscle that strained against the constraints of skin.

Red eyes swung onto them and a maw o fangs opened wide to roar. It felt as if the entire cavern answered that end of the world cry.

“Soldier, I hope you’re a much better fighter than talker,” Licia said, staring up at the monster as it approached. “Otherwise I’ll be very disappointed to die alongside you.”