I slammed into the back wall as the monster that had emerged from inside the shop lumbered forward. It wobbled like a drunk. Yet this walking nightmare wasn’t drunk, and the reason for its wobble became obvious. The damned thing had a third arm growing off its back.

The monster wore a tattered shirt and pants. It also had a head of thick white hair and even wore glasses, though the lenses looked cracked. So it was Old Man Lawrence, or some monster that ate him and then ... put on his clothes?

The security door wouldn’t open any longer. The front storeroom door remained wedged in my way. And as I stood, statue-stiff, the Not-Lawrence thundered across the room.

Yet instead of immediately ending me, it scooped up Chen’s bloody torso like an juicy eggroll from a Rocham shelter. It chewed and slurped. I slid along the wall like a shadow ready to piss itself.

If I vomited, like I wanted, that thing would hear me. It’d eat me. I didn’t want to be food.

The munching and slurping continued as I reached a corner and turned. I kept moving along the side wall, ignoring the rough stone scraping my bare back. I couldn’t slip out the security door, not any longer, but if I could reach the front of the shop, I could go out the front door.

As I reached the wall between me and the shop, metal shelves and cel crates blocked my vision of the monster. That made it easier to think. I crept toward the pitch black doorway.

Yet soon enough I was once again in sight of the monster, of what it was doing. Half of Chen was gone already. Despite my determination, my gorge lurched audibly into my throat.

Old Man Lawrence’s head snapped around like a goddamned owl, and the third arm growing out of his lesion-covered back stood at attention. That arm had a hand on the end of it, diamond-shaped, with one pale gray finger at each point. The hand had four fingers, because of course it did.

I bolted through the open doorway and ran for my goddamned life.

I had a brief impression of the dusky shop—the wide counter to my left, more shelves with cels on display to my right—before the monster shrieked. The sound of heavy feet thumping plaster was my only warning. I dived across the counter as the monster thundered past.

I slammed against the counter front, beneath the counter itself. The monster’s long gray arm whipped into view above me. I became one with the floor as its wet gray fingers groped along the bottom of the counter, searching for Grant Riven. Searching for food.

Yet by some miracle of me being too skinny to eat, the searching, groping arm withdrew. Heavy footfalls sounded as the monster thumped away, back into the storeroom, to its earlier meal. I’d never been so thrilled to be a scrawny teenager. Given my salvation, I almost decided to believe in God.

Still, this was one miracle. After all I’d suffered, the old bastard owed me at least twenty more.

Hiding here was stupid. Eating Chen might keep the monster busy, for a little while, but not long. I had to get out of this cannibal's shop before the monster came back for dessert.

I crawled beneath the counter as far as I could, to the other end of the shop, then poked my head up. Nothing tore it off. Snapping and crunching emerged from the back room—damn, the thing was cracking open Chen’s bones now—and I hopped up on the counter. I slid across soundlessly.

There. The front door! It was less than ten paces in front of me, but I’d have to cross the monster’s line-of-sight, in the storeroom, to reach it. I tiptoed toward the door and kept my eyes locked straight ahead, listening to the crunching and snapping in the storeroom beyond.

Both sounds stopped.

I sprinted for the front door and slammed into it, shoulder first. I bounced off, shoulder aching, as heavy footfalls thumped concrete. Of course the door was locked, and of course I had no key.

I stood as Not-Lawrence lumbered around the corner, then turned its bulk to face me. Its third arm slipped back and forth behind it, like a scorpion’s tail. I slammed back against the door.

Maybe it was my hunger, or my nausea, or the stupid amount of bad luck I’d just been dealt, but I wasn’t dying a sobbing child. This was so unfair. I was pissed, and I had a stupid, stupid idea.

I spread both arms like an overconfident idiot. “Hey!” I shouted. “Eat me, you squiddie bitch!”

Not-Lawrence tilted its head, clicking almost ... inquisitively. Then it lumbered into a charge. I dived aside just before getting crunched.

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Not-Lawrence hit the front door hard enough to knock the thing right off its hinges. Both door and monster tumbled into the street. From outside the shop, I heard a man shout, then more shouting, and curses, and gunshots. Several in a row.

So at least all those Cloud Nine soldiers were good for something.

Big feet thumped outside as the monster shrieked. Was it bulletproof? Yet as much as I wanted to dart out of the shop, glittering treasure caught my eyes. Cels of all shapes and sizes sat on the shelves, on display, and while I couldn’t carry a crate, I could carry these.

Cels were small orbs of red and green and blue, about the size of a baseball. Out of the box, I had no idea which one did what, so I grabbed those nearest and jammed them into the pockets of my dirty pants. More gunshots echoed, and a man screamed bloody murder outside.

I didn’t want to deal with the Cloud Nine soldiers or the Not-Lawrence. Both would kill me as soon as spit on me, and I owed no one here anything, not even Chen. I’d done Chen a favor by coming along, after all, and my favor, to me, was to not get eaten by a cannibal lunatic.

I slipped out the door and checked for soldiers, or worse. I caught a glimpse of a big shadowed form chewing on a smaller shadow, in the street and dusky darkness. I dared not look close. It wasn’t looking at me, which was all I cared about now.

I sprinted down the sidewalk toward the Stumps, away from the quarantine zone, with five cels bouncing in my pockets. I was alive! Even if I sold these cels cheap, I’d still have enough money to eat for months. I even would have escaped if the wall of fire didn’t land ahead.

I stumbled to a stop and stared, stupidly, at the fence-high flames burning across the street. Air battered me as a sleek black shape roared by above. That shape resolved itself into what looked like a quadcopter, a big bathtub body with four cylindrical engines.

A spotlight ignited on the copter, spitting the horror in the street in its glare. The Not-Lawrence rose and threw back its human arms. The third arm on its back swiveled and snapped at the copter above. A dark shape dropped from the copter.

No, not just a shape. A woman with long white hair, holding a thin, gleaming blade that looked as long as I was. When she landed, the thing that had once been Old Man Lawrence went stiff.

And then, slowly, it peeled in half.

One half tumbled left, and one half tumbled right. The third arm wobbled, slumped, and landed with a thump. Blood spurted from both halves like the spray from an emergency sprinkler.

The woman stepped back and flicked blood off her long, slim blade. She wore form-fitting body armor and thick boots, made all the darker by her pale face and white hair. And when her distant eyes rose and fixed on me, from all the way down the block, they glowed green.

The street remained blocked by fire, so I dashed into the alley before that woman could sprout wings or spit lightning. I barreled on until I found the dead end and kept going, climbing. My hands caught the bricks halfway up the wall and catapulted me. I went over the top without thinking, landing hard on the other side.

It was only when I stood, safe on the far side of the wall, that I realized what I’d done. As I stared back at a solid brick wall at least twice as tall as I was, I gawked.

How had I vaulted that wall? I’d barely made it up the rope. Maybe almost getting eaten had adrenalized me. I’d heard people got crazy strong when forced into impossibly stressful situations, so maybe I had that going for me. Both my arms and legs trembled.

Still, I ran, and I didn’t stop until I’d cleared four blocks. Only then did I slow, wary of any Cloud Nine soldiers who might be patrolling this far inside the quarantine zone. I slipped into an alley and dropped on my butt, breathing liked I’d finished a marathon. Which I had, really.

Chen was dead. I’d barely known him, but still. He was dead. I was no stranger to death—people I knew got sick and died, or got stabbed and died, or fell in the river and died—but I’d never seen someone cut in half by a door and then devoured.

Even given my messed up life, that was new to me.

Still, I was alive, and that felt amazing right now. I’d survived a narrow vent and Cloud Nine soldiers and a cannibalistic lunatic monster with a third arm, and gotten the job done. Or had I?

My hands thumped my pockets. My traumatized mind was now certain my memories of grabbing those cels had been a fever dream. Yet I felt the small, firm globes inside my pockets. I’d have to keep these cels well hidden tonight, but tomorrow, I could sell them at Rocham flea market.

One small laugh escaped my lips, followed by a little sob. I didn’t want to cry, but fuck, it’s not like anyone was in this alley to hear me. I’d just seen a guy get eaten, after all.

I wiped away any wet, took deep breaths, and pulled out and counted cels. I had two red, one green, and two blue.

Of course Old Man Lawrence put out an assortment. I didn’t know what any of them did, so I’d just pull one out and wait for the buyer to make me an offer. Selling all five would mark me as a thief, but selling one every week or two? That was legit.

Yet as I skulked down the sidewalks of Rocham, passing old brick buildings, filled with people who still had homes in the apartments stacked five high, I couldn’t stop seeing images of my horrific night. Of Chen, sliding off that door. Of the monster eating his face.

Of the monster that sliced that monster in half, and her glowing green eyes.

Why had that armored woman’s eyes glowed? Why had she dropped out of a black quadcopter to kill Not-Lawrence? Why had she done it with giant sword?

Yet by the time I reached the Stumps, slipped past the big kids prowling for marks, and wriggled into my tiny home inside a storm gutter, I’d all but convinced myself this whole night had been a horrific dream. Even though I had scratches all over my front and back, and I smelled like motor oil, and I could still hear those slurps. Even though Chen was dead.

If Dios PD came calling, I’d deny I’d been there at all.

Publishing Update:

Would you like to read more? The entire Hallowed War series has been picked up by Aethon Books, which will publish it as three books in both e-book and audio starting on March 29, 2022. Books 2 and 3 (which bring the entire series to a close) are still available right here on Royal Road, and will remain free for several more months.

If you'd like to pick up an edited and improved Book 1, or listen to the story in audio, you can do so at the links in the Post-Chapter Author Note. Huge thanks to all the readers on Royal Road for your support!