They don't realize they're already short a number.

Those that survive speak of crops to harvest, fences to mend. They laugh about last night and nights before. Blood still clots beneath fingernails that shift from claw to keratin, but they pay it no mind.

A broad-shouldered man in a ragged tunic heads toward the well. His face is set in that kindly mask, but I've seen the muzzle of a beast behind those eyes.

Another, an older woman with wiry hair pinned beneath a cloth, leads a younger man by the elbow, chiding him to fix the stable door.

A cluster of three stride to the largest cottage, the one with the false orchard out back.

They talk about fresh bread, as though that oven doesn't reek of old gore.

They do not see me yet.

I remain still.

The biggest one, call her the Alpha, lingers near, half-shifted. Power radiates off her thick shoulders. She's a full head taller than her packmates.

Every bit the same leader that drew water from the well.

She scans the hamlet with eyes of gold, expecting to find it unchanged.

She's right, on the surface.

But below?

I watch her lips peel back, revealing ridged canines.

A silent snarl.

Something unsettles her.

Perhaps the faint reek of disturbed soil, or something more.

These bones were careful, but there are still things that bones don't know.

She stands guard as the others fan out.

Fine.

Let her watch.

A smaller pair, man and woman, walk on the main path. They pass the first rigged threshold, tripwire drawn tight near shin level.

One absentmindedly lifts a foot over the cord, pure luck.

The violence comes not yet.

Another step, two steps, then one more.

The woman clips the line with a foot.

Snap.

The tripwire pulls a hidden lever.

A half-dozen barbed nails spring from the shallow pit on her left. She shrieks, cut off mid-gasp. Iron points sink into her calf.

An ankle collapses.

The man beside her jumps back, wide-eyed, then howls as the ground shifts under him.

A crude stake rips through his thigh.

Balverines are not limited to night.

Fur erupts, jaws lengthen. Snarling, half-beast shapes thrash against trap lines. Blood darkens the dirt.

One tries to scramble out, but net wire loops around his flailing arm - a pull, a yank, a twist, tearing the arm from bone and socket.

He bellows, a frantic, animal roar that echoes through the hamlet.

Soon there will be two less.

How many others have fallen beneath the bones that guide these hands?

The number stretches beyond count.

Their transformations ripple through muscle and sinew.

Bones crack and reform beneath stretching skin.

The change comes quick.

Where villagers stood, monsters emerge.

Their screams draw packmates closer.

One clutches his ruined shoulder.

These bones remain patient.

Let them come.

Let them gather.

The true hunt has just begun.

Sounds of wire and wood and iron follow, one trap after another and further screams and snarls.

Bones snap, flesh tears.

I surge forward from my hiding place.

Screams and snarls. Snapping bones and tearing flesh.

The sound of monsters learning fear.

I surge from my hiding place, sword in hand.

My cloak flaps away, revealing a skeletal knight with shield strapped to scorched plates. The woman-thing tries to free her foot from the barbs.

She sees me, mouth stretching wide in bestial rage.

I close the distance in two strides.

Aeternus arcs downward.

Rage ends in a choking gurgle. Fur and sinew part in a spray of gore.

The one-armed balverine lunges, his remaining claws raking air where my skull had been. Blood from his stump spurts across weathered boards.

His bestial face contorts.

I pivot, hooking my demon shield under his jaw, then lift. His neck strains.

His remaining hand scrabbles against my shield's surface.

One twist.

Vertebrae separate with a snap. His body goes slack, dropping in a heap of fur and failed transformation.

The demon shield, crafted from a Demon Duke's skull, shows no mark from his desperate clawing.

Two less now.

Many more to follow.

Twenty two, and then twenty one.

Chaos ignites.

The Alpha howls a warning, but too late.

My trap springs.

Hidden pulleys screech. Overhead, rope tension snaps. A wall of sharpened fence posts drops from the rafters with iron-capped tips.

Three balverines look up at the sound.

Wood meets flesh with meaty thuds. Posts stab through fur and muscle, pinning them where they stand.

They thrash, impaled upright.

One tries to wrench free, only driving the posts deeper. Another claws at the wood piercing its chest, not realizing yet that they've died.

The third goes limp, head forward as blood pools in darkening soil.

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Twenty remain.

The Alpha's howl shifts to something closer to human speech. A command, perhaps.

But these bones care nothing for the authority of monsters.

My sword is already moving.

More traps wait.

More deaths to deal.

The mission continues.

Past them, in front of the well, a male leans. Instantly, wire triggers, yanking a heavy bucket-rigged wedge into his chest.

He drops, twitching, not understanding that death has claimed him.

Nineteen.

Screams rise from behind a cottage whose doorframe collapses inward, dropping a sharpened saw blade onto an occupant's neck.

The slash is fast, neat, clean, leaving behind a half-beheaded figure gurgling out final breaths.

Eighteen.

Across the lane, two more thrash in a hidden pit, raging as barbed posts stake their limbs to earth.

One tries to scramble free, only for an oil-soaked rope and lantern to tip and plunge.

Flames surge, burning fur.

No more.

Seventeen.

Then sixteen.

They shriek until the welling smoke chokes them silent.

Sixteen.

Those that survive are forced to break from their routines. One leaps and bounds from roof to roof.

The creature bounds between thatch and timber, seeking escape from the killing fields below.

I pursue.

The balverine pauses at a chimney, scanning for routes.

It hasn't noticed me yet.

Three quick steps. I launch from the edge, shield first. The impact sends us both crashing through rotted boards.

We land in what was once a bedroom.

The balverine twists, trying to get its jaws around my skull.

Its teeth scrape uselessly against bone.

One clean strike with Aeternus ends its struggles. The body reverts to human form as death claims it.

Fifteen remain.

Below, the Alpha rallies the remainder. They move in coordinated groups now, testing doorways before entering, watching shadows.

They've learned caution too late.

Then they see me. "Kill him, kill that man!" they shout, thinking me vulnerable flesh.

I run.

They chase me.

Five enter into a cottage whose door is sealed behind them. I trigger a trap that burns them.

These bones are not worried about burning.

They spot me finally as I let myself be seen. The Alpha's eyes lock onto me and my disguise, her lips peeling back in a snarl.

"There! Kill that man!"

The word 'man' catches in her throat as she realizes her mistake. But her pack surges forward, five breaking from the group to chase what they think is vulnerable prey.

My bones click against wooden planks as I sprint across the hamlet's center. Heavy movements, claws tearing chunks from the dirt.

They think they hunt me.

I reach the cottage door, wrench it open, and dash inside. Five sets of claws scrape across the threshold behind me.

The door slams shut with a heavy thud.

Metal bars drop into place from hidden mechanisms above.

The balverines pause, finally sensing the trap. Their nostrils flare at the scent of lamp oil soaking the floorboards.

One lunges for the door, but iron bars hold fast.

I strike the flint.

Flames erupt across the floor, racing up oil-soaked walls. The balverines howl, throwing themselves against sealed windows and the reinforced door.

Fire consumes their fur, blackens their flesh.

These bones feel nothing as flames burn away the cloth that hides my form.

They try to shift back to human shape, as if that might save them.

When the flames die down, five charred corpses lie still on scorched floorboards.

Ten remain.

My bones step through the smoldering doorway, untouched by the inferno. Smoke rises from my armor, but these borrowed bones know no fear of fire, nothing less than the Duke's flame.

The remaining balverines stare, finally understanding what manner of hunter they face.

The Alpha's golden eyes narrow.

Her pack draws closer, moving with new caution.

They have learned fear.

But not enough.

The Alpha charges my position, leading four others. They scale the walls with speed that glides over the surface, claws digging into wood.

The first reaches the window and comes forward.

I meet it with my shield, bash it.

The second manages to get half inside before Aeternus sends it backwards, clutching its severed throat.

Nine remain, including the Alpha.

She hangs back now, watching with golden eyes that hold too much intelligence.

Her pack is learning, adapting.

But these bones have fought countless battles.

Every death adds to the knowledge guiding my blade.

The hunt continues.

I open the door and let some in, but instead they do not linger in the cottage.

Aeternus is blade on claw.

Six remain.

I pull the cottage door wide, inviting them in. Three balverines charge through the threshold, muscles bunching as they prepare to tear these bones apart.

But they don't linger in the trapped space as planned.

Something in their beast-minds has finally learned caution.

The first one launches past me, twisting in mid-air to avoid the oil-soaked floor. The second follows, using its packmate's movement as cover.

The third rakes claws across my shield as it bounds through.

They think they're clever, avoiding the obvious trap.

No matter.

These bones know war.

The first balverine's claws tear through my shoulder joint, scattering finger bones across the floor.

No matter.

My sword arm remains whole, and Aeternus finds its mark. The blade cleaves through matted fur and spine.

Among the dead joins one more.

The second circles, watching bones skitter across wooden planks, reforming into fingers that clutch fallen fragments.

My skull turns to track its movement.

The creature lunges, thinking to catch these bones mid-reconstruction. Its teeth close on empty air as I pivot, letting momentum carry its bulk past.

Aeternus cuts into its flank.

Black blood sprays and a quick follow-up attack takes the life from it.

The third crashes into my reformed shoulder, sending ribs clattering against the wall. My spine separates, upper half twisting to face the threat while legs continue their original motion.

Claws rake across armor, but find no flesh to tear.

My separated halves reform.

Aeternus does its part once more.

Seven, and then six remain.

Scattered ribs pull themselves back into proper alignment.

Vertebrae click together, one after another.

The Alpha watches this display, golden eyes narrowing as she realizes no wound stays.

Her remaining pack draws closer, but uncertainty shows in their movements.

My bones remember countless battles. Each piece knows its place, its purpose. The magic pulses stronger now, drawing fragments together faster than before.

I exit the cottage.

The shield deflects another strike. Claws scrape uselessly against its surface.

These borrowed bones continue their work.

Aeternus swings and swings some more.

More balverines fall. More bones scatter and reform. Their blood soaks into ancient armor, but these bones care nothing for gore.

Only the purpose matters.

The Alpha snarls something that might be words.

Six balverines remain, including the Alpha. She gives a command sending her pack scattering into defensive positions.

Smart.

But these bones have faced worse tactics.

My shield deflects another probing attack as two circle left, trying to flank. The Alpha herself hangs back, those intelligent eyes studying how my scattered pieces reform after each strike.

She's learning, adapting.

No matter.

Even knowledge cannot save them.

A smaller one darts in, testing, probing.

Aeternus answers, cutting through extended arms. Before it can retreat, my blade finds its throat.

The body crashes to dirt, fur already receding as death claims it.

Five, soon to be four.

My bones carry me through narrow streets, each step purposeful. The Alpha's remaining pack scatters, thinking distance brings safety.

Purpose compels.

I think differently.

I run.

Two balverines dart between buildings. One leaps high, thinking to clear my reach.

The beast falls in halves.

Four remain.

Its packmate crashes through a wall, sending splintered wood in all directions. My bones flow around the debris, each piece knowing its place.

The creature's eyes widen as my blade finds its heart.

It slumps, fur receding as death claims another.

Three.

The Alpha's howl echoes.

My shield deflects desperate claws while Aeternus cuts through muscle and bone.

One balverine's head parts from shoulders. Its body takes two more steps before collapsing.

Two.

The next dies trying to flee, my blade piercing its spine as it turns.

The body crashes through a cottage window, leaving blood-streaked glass in its wake.

One remains.

The Alpha stands alone now, golden eyes reflecting torchlight. Her fur bristles as I approach, each step marking time toward her end.

These bones have hunted monsters before.

They will hunt monsters again.

My shield rises.

Aeternus hungers.

The hunt nears its close.

The Alpha's muscles tense, her bestial form towering over what remains of her pack.

Her muzzle wrinkles, revealing teeth that could tear living flesh from bone.

These borrowed bones care nothing for teeth.

"Why?"

The word emerges guttural, forced through a throat not meant for human speech. Her golden eyes fix on my empty sockets, seeking understanding.

My shield rises.

Haven's mark stands clear, carved deep into demon bone.

The Alpha's question needs no answer. These bones exist for one purpose: to protect. Her kind preyed on travelers, maintained this false haven to lure in fresh meat.

The bones in their larder told that tale clear enough.

My sword moves.

Purpose guides the blade.

She leaps back, still seeking words that might delay her end. But these bones remember too many fallen. Too many final breaths spent wishing for a protector.

Too many like Merik, whose bones wait in my sack to return home.

The hunt must end.

Purpose allows nothing more.

The Alpha moves and attacks faster than her fallen pack. My sword cuts empty air. Her claws rake across my ribs, scattering bones across blood-soaked dirt.

I pivot, shield raised, but she's already behind me. Teeth close on my spine. The impact sends my upper half flying while legs stumble forward.

No matter.

These bones know combat without connection.

My sword arm swings independent of shoulders, forcing her to release my vertebrae. She spits out bone fragments, golden eyes tracking each piece as they pull together.

Her next strike takes my shield arm at the elbow.

The demon shield clatters.

Before I can reach for it, she's on me again. Claws tear through rusted armaments.

More ribs scatter.

But my sword arm remains.

Aeternus finds purchase, a line of black blood across her flank.

She howls, more rage than pain. Long tail whips around, catching my legs.

I fall.

She pounces, jaws closing on my sword arm.

Bone splinters.

Aeternus drops.

The Alpha pins what remains of my form. Her muzzle opens wide, ready to crush my skull.

Purpose flows through scattered fragments. My remaining arm, stripped of armor and flesh, drives up through her open mouth.

Sharpened bone pierces the back of her eye socket.

Her body goes rigid.

The light fades from her remaining eye. Her fur recedes as death claims the final monster.

Movement catches these bones' attention. One of the fallen twitches, then lurches upright. Not dead. It limps toward darkness, trailing blood.

Purpose pulses through scattered fragments. The bones of its fallen pack call from blood-soaked earth. Ancient magic draws pieces together, but differently now. Wrong. New.

Balverine bones click against my frame. Bestial vertebrae extend into tail. Wolf-skull fragments mesh with jaw, forcing it longer, filling it with teeth made from sharpened bone. Claws sprout from elongated fingers.

The fleeing creature's scent fills senses these chosen bones shouldn't possess.

I drop to all fours. Borrowed memories of pack hunts surge through altered frame. Claws tear soil. Distance means nothing now.

The prey looks back. Its eyes widen seeing death shaped from its own kind's remains. Not clean death of steel, but something worse. Something that should not be.

Three bounds close the gap. Bone-fanged jaws clamp neck. One twist, as wolves do. Vertebrae separate.

The body falls.

None remain.