The door cracked under the first kick.

Breaker, 1-3, reset his stance, his heavy boot hovering just above the rain-slick threshold. The battered frame sagged, and the old wood groaned, but the hinges refused to give. For now.

“Stack up,” Reaper’s voice barked over the comms. 1-1 had that sharp, no-nonsense tone I’d come to trust with my life. It was the kind of voice that never second-guessed itself.

“1-2, in position,” I whispered, bracing against the cold brick wall. My gloves gripped the shotgun tight, the suppressor snug against the barrel. Rain trickled off the edge of my helmet, pattering against my armor, soaking into the cracks between plates.

Breaker didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. The man was a freight train in combat gear. His second kick came harder, shattering the lock in a burst of splinters that scattered into the dark hallway beyond.

“Breaching!” he growled, surging forward.

The world narrowed to the space between his shoulders and the dim glow of flickering candlelight spilling from inside the house. My pulse thrummed in my ears, loud and insistent, but I slipped in tight behind him.

“1-2, moving,” I said softly into the comm.

The hallway swallowed us whole, narrow and stifling, with shadows clinging to every corner. The faint light of the candles made everything worse, their erratic flicker casting warped silhouettes across the walls. The air reeked—mildew, sweat, and something sharper, like copper. Blood.

“1-3, clear right,” Reaper instructed over the comms. His voice was steady, a lifeline in the gloom.

Breaker veered toward the first open doorway, his steps heavy but deliberate. “Clearing,” he rumbled.

I swung left, my shotgun leading the way. The butt of the stock was snug against my shoulder, every muscle in my body tight as a coiled spring. The shadows seemed to move with every sweep of my barrel, the shapes almost too human, too close.

“1-2, clear left,” I reported, stepping further into the house, the soft creak of the floorboards underfoot barely audible over the rain outside. The hallway narrowed ahead, leading into a larger room where the faint flicker of candlelight danced against the far walls.

Breaker moved up beside me, his heavy frame brushing past a crooked doorframe as he raised his weapon—a modified shotgun with slugs that could punch through thin walls.

“Shadows ahead,” he grunted, his voice low.

I followed his gaze. Movement. Subtle, but unmistakable. A shape darted across the far end of the room, disappearing into a side doorway.

My breath hitched as I keyed the comm. “1-2, movement ahead. Possible contacts.”

“Copy,” Reaper’s voice crackled through the earpiece. “Keep pushing.”

Breaker took the lead, his steps deliberate. We moved in sync, clearing the cramped space with well-practiced precision.

The first strike came from above.

A plank from the sagging ceiling snapped free, crashing down just behind me. Instinct saved me—I ducked, spinning toward the source of the attack. A shadow loomed in the gap where the plank had been, a figure perched in the rafters. The flash of a blade caught my eye just as it came whistling down.

“Up top!” I shouted, raising my shotgun.

The first shot missed, the cultist slipping back into the dark. Breaker didn’t hesitate; his slug punched through the ceiling, sending splinters and blood raining down as the figure crashed to the floor in a heap.

“Contact, left!” Breaker barked, pivoting just in time to block a cleaver with his armored forearm. The cultist—a wiry man with wild eyes and a tattered robe—let out a guttural scream as he pressed his weight into the blade.

Breaker shoved him back with a snarl, following up with a brutal butt strike that shattered the man’s nose.

Before the body hit the floor, two more figures rushed into the room, their footsteps heavy against the warped planks.

One carried a crude spear, its tip wrapped in barbed wire. The other held a jagged, ceremonial dagger, its blade glinting faintly in the candlelight.

The spear-wielder charged first, aiming for Breaker’s exposed flank. I stepped into his path, the shotgun barking twice in quick succession. The first shot caught him in the chest, spinning him sideways. The second found his head, dropping him mid-stride.

The dagger-wielder hesitated, their eyes darting between Breaker and me.

“Don’t even think about it,” I growled, raising the shotgun.

They lunged anyway, their speed catching me off guard. The blade slashed toward my midsection, narrowly missing as I twisted to the side.

I retaliated with a hard kick to their knee, the joint buckling with a sickening pop. They screamed as they fell, their weapon clattering to the floor. A single shot silenced them before they could reach for it again.

“Clear,” I panted, sweeping my gaze across the room.

Breaker grunted, wiping blood from his gauntlet. “This is getting messy.”

The room fell silent, save for the faint crackle of the candles. I adjusted my grip on the shotgun, my knuckles white against the stock.

And then the chanting started.

It came from deeper in the house—a rhythmic, guttural cadence that crawled along my skin like insects. My stomach tightened as the sound grew louder, echoing through the narrow halls.

Breaker tilted his head, listening. “That’s... not good.”

“No kidding,” I muttered, moving toward the sound.

We passed through another doorway, entering what might’ve been a dining room at some point. A long, decayed table stretched across the center of the room, its surface littered with bones and bloodstained rags. The walls were covered in crude symbols, their edges burned into the wood.

The chanting was louder here, reverberating through the walls like a heartbeat.

“Contacts,” Breaker warned, his weapon rising.

A door at the far end of the room burst open, and three cultists stormed in, their robes tattered but their movements coordinated. Two carried weapons—an axe and a rusty scythe—while the third held nothing but their bare hands, crackling faintly with magical energy.

“Mage!” I shouted, firing at the axe-wielder.

The slug hit them square in the chest, and they dropped with a strangled cry. The scythe-wielder snarled and swung at me, the blade slicing through the air inches from my face. I ducked, driving the butt of my shotgun into their stomach.

They staggered back, winded, but didn’t fall.

The magic-user raised their glowing hands, muttering a phrase in a language I didn’t recognize. The air around them shimmered, the temperature plummeting as frost crept along the floor.

Breaker fired, the slug hitting the mage square in the shoulder. The impact sent them spinning, their spell collapsing in a burst of sparks. They screamed as they hit the floor, clutching their mangled arm.

The scythe-wielder took advantage of my distraction, swinging wide. The blade caught the edge of my chest plate, tearing away some of my armor — jarring but harmless. I retaliated with a quick shot, the blast tearing through their side and sending them crumpling to the ground.

The room was silent again, save for the faint whimpering of the injured magic-user.

Breaker approached them, his heavy boots crunching over shards of broken glass. He raised his weapon, the barrel aimed at their head.

“Wait,” I said, holding up a hand.

The cultist’s eyes snapped to me, wide and wild. Blood dripped from their lips as they whispered something — a word or a plea, I couldn’t tell.

“What are you summoning?” I demanded, leveling my shotgun at their chest.

They only laughed, a ragged, wheezing sound that sent a chill down my spine.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Breaker didn’t hesitate. The shot echoed in the confined space, the mage’s body slumping lifelessly to the ground.

“No time for answers,” he said gruffly, reloading his weapon.

The chanting had stopped.

I frowned, my gaze darting to the far door. The silence was worse somehow, heavy and oppressive, pressing down on my chest like a weight.

“We need to move,” I said, my voice low.

Breaker nodded, gesturing for me to take the lead.

As we pushed deeper into the house, the air grew colder, the shadows thicker. My senses were on high alert, every creak of the floorboards or flicker of the candlelight setting my nerves on edge.

The house felt alive, its walls pulsing faintly with residual energy. Whatever these cultists were working toward, it wasn’t finished.

Not yet.

The comm crackled. “1-4, upstairs is quiet,” Viper’s sharp tone came through. “Two tangos down. Looks like they didn’t have time to mount resistance.”

“Watcher here,” said 1-5, its voice calm and clinical as always. “Perimeter remains clear. No movement on the street, no heat signatures outside.”

“Understood,” Reaper replied. “1-3, 1-2, ground floor is yours. Clear and locate the basement entry. HVT may be below.”

Breaker grunted, acknowledging the order, and pushed deeper into the house.

The first attacker came fast. A man barreled out of a side room, his face obscured by a filthy hood. His rusted machete glinted in the candlelight as he swung it in a wide, clumsy arc.

Breaker intercepted him with ease. His gauntleted arm snapped up, deflecting the blade with a metallic screech. He followed up with a brutal backhand, slamming the cultist into the wall with a bone-crunching thud.

Another figure lunged from a doorway to my left. My shotgun came up instinctively, the suppressor giving the shot a soft bark. Blood sprayed across the wallpaper as the cultist crumpled to the floor.

“Clear left!” I hissed, stepping over the body.

“Good kill,” Breaker muttered. He didn’t stop moving, didn’t hesitate.

We pushed further into the house, our footsteps muffled by the damp carpet beneath us. The hallway opened into what might’ve been a living room, though it was unrecognizable now.

A crude altar dominated the center of the space, its surface slick with congealed ichor. Chains hung from the ceiling, clinking faintly with the movement of the air. The walls were blackened, covered in runes scrawled in what looked like blood.

The whole room was wrong, like walking into the aftermath of a nightmare.

“Contact!” Breaker barked.

Two more cultists darted out from behind the altar, their robes trailing like shadows. The first one raised a dagger high, screaming something guttural and unholy.

I fired once, and the scream turned into a wet gargle as the figure collapsed onto the altar. The second cultist turned to flee, but Breaker moved faster. He caught the man by the arm, twisting with brutal precision before slamming him face-first into the wall with a loud crunch, before dropping the corpse.

“Living room secure,” I called out over comms.

“Copy, 1-2,” Reaper replied. “Basement entry should be close. Check the far wall.”

Breaker grunted and moved toward a battered cabinet, its base warped with water damage. He shoved it aside with one hand, revealing a narrow door.

The house groaned around us, its walls seeming to buckle under the weight of something unseen. The air felt wrong here, thicker than before, and the faint taste of copper lingered at the back of my throat.

“Feels like we’re walking into a trap,” Breaker muttered, his shotgun up and ready.

“Feels worse than that,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

The silence stretched as we stood before the cabinet, listening.

And then the wall to our right exploded.

A deafening crash filled the room as splinters and stone shards flew in every direction. I threw up an arm to shield my face, instinctively backing away as the floor quaked beneath me.

Breaker wasn’t as lucky.

A towering mass of flesh barreled into him, a grotesque mess of limbs, muscle, and sinew. Its uneven arms—some human, others beastlike—swung in wild arcs. One meaty appendage struck Breaker square in the chest, lifting his enormous frame like a toy and slamming him into a wall.

“Breaker!” I shouted, panic lacing my voice.

He didn’t answer. His body slumped to the floor, motionless.

The creature turned toward me, its many mismatched eyes rolling in their sockets. Its head—if it could even be called that—was an unholy fusion of mouths and faces, each feature stretched and distorted as though screaming in eternal agony.

I fired without hesitation.

The first shot hit dead center, blowing a chunk of its torso away. Black ichor sprayed across the room, sizzling as it hit the floor.

The thing screamed—a horrible, multi-tonal sound that made my ears ring. It surged forward, its steps uneven but horrifyingly fast.

I fired again, aiming for what I hoped was a vital point. Another chunk of flesh blew free, but the creature barely slowed.

“1-2, what’s happening?” Reaper’s voice snapped through the comm.

“Big problem!” I shouted back, scrambling to keep my distance.

I fired a third time, but the creature swatted the shotgun aside with a grotesque limb. The weapon clattered across the room, spinning out of reach.

“Shit,” I hissed, drawing my sidearm.

Before I could fire, the amalgamation lunged. I dove to the side, narrowly avoiding its massive bulk as it crashed into the altar, reducing it to splinters.

The comm crackled. “Viper here. I’m on my way.”

“Hurry!” I gasped, my sidearm barking as I unloaded into the creature’s flailing limbs.

It roared again, turning toward me with disturbing speed. One of its arms lashed out, catching my leg and sending me sprawling. Pain shot through my shin as I hit the floor hard, my pistol skittering out of my grip.

The creature loomed over me, its patchwork mouths gaping wide, rows of jagged, mismatched teeth glinting in the dim light.

I scrambled backward, my hands slipping on the blood-slick floor. My gaze darted around frantically, searching for anything I could use.

The air crackled with energy as Viper appeared in the doorway, their form illuminated by faint arcs of violet lightning that danced along her arms. They moved like a storm given flesh, their twin daggers already in hand.

“Hold still, big guy,” they growled, hurling a bolt of energy at the creature.

The lightning struck its side, sending a jolt through its grotesque body. It spasmed, letting out a guttural shriek, and turned to face her.

“Tats, move!” Viper snapped, already closing the distance between themself and the monstrosity.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I scrambled to my feet, my leg screaming in protest, and dove for my shotgun. My fingers brushed the stock just as the creature swiped at me again, the massive limb barely missing as I rolled out of the way.

Viper darted around the amalgamation, their daggers flashing as they sliced through the fleshy tendrils sprouting from its back. Ichor sprayed, the acidic liquid hissing as it hit the floor, but they didn’t slow.

“Hit it from the side!” Viper shouted, dodging a massive swing from one of its oversized arms.

I brought the shotgun up and fired, aiming for the mass of eyes on its left flank. The blast tore through them, black fluid spraying like oil.

The creature screamed, its body lurching sideways as it swung at me blindly. I ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow, and fired again.

Viper pressed the attack, their movements precise and relentless. They drove one dagger deep into the amalgamation’s torso, the blade glowing faintly with violet energy. The creature spasmed violently, its roars echoing through the room.

“Now!” Viper shouted, wrenching the dagger free.

I aimed for the center of its mass and squeezed the trigger. The blast hit home, tearing through flesh and bone. The creature staggered, its massive body swaying as it let out one final, gurgling roar.

With a wet, thunderous crash, it collapsed to the floor, its limbs twitching spasmodically before finally going still.

The room fell silent, save for the ragged sound of my breathing.

Viper stepped back, wiping ichor from their daggers. They turned to me, their expression grim but calm. “You okay?”

I nodded, still catching my breath. “I’ll live. What about Breaker?”

They moved to where he’d fallen, crouching beside him. “He’s alive, but he’s going to need help. Whatever that thing hit him with… it wasn’t gentle.”

I leaned against the wall, my hands trembling slightly as I reloaded my shotgun. The room still reeked of blood and burnt flesh, the scent clinging to the back of my throat.

“Reaper,” I said into the comm. “The thing’s down, but we’ve got injuries. Basement’s still our target.”

There was a pause, and then 1-1’s voice crackled through. “Understood. I'll go grab him. Regroup if possible. Stay on mission.”

I glanced at Viper. They met my gaze, their eyes hard.

“Let’s move,” they said.

Viper pulled the basement door open, revealing a steep staircase descending into darkness. The stench from earlier hit me immediately, stronger now—a nauseating blend of rot and rusted metal.

“Ladies first,” Viper said with a faint smirk, stepping aside.

I rolled my eyes behind my visor. “How generous.”

The stairs creaked underfoot as I began my descent, shotgun raised and light flickering on to cut through the gloom. The walls were lined with runes that glowed faintly, their red hue pulsing like a weak heartbeat.

The deeper we went, the worse the air became. It wasn’t just the smell—it was the weight of the place, oppressive and unnatural, like the basement itself was watching me.

Halfway down, the runes flared brighter.

The hum started low, buzzing faintly at the edge of my hearing, but it rose quickly, becoming a sharp, painful whine.

“Ward—” I started to call, but the air snapped like a whip, and the ground gave way beneath me.

I hit the floor hard. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and my shotgun clattered away into the darkness. Dust and debris rained down around me as the echoes of the collapse faded into a heavy, oppressive silence.

“1-2! Report!” Reaper’s voice snapped through the comm, cutting through my dazed state.

I coughed, forcing myself onto my knees. My ribs screamed in protest, but I ignored the pain. “Alive,” I gasped, blindly searching the ground until my hand found the cold steel of my shotgun. “Basement collapsed. No visual on Breaker.”

“Regroup immediately,” Reaper ordered. "Viper, hold the stairs."

“1-5,” I called. “Watcher, can you get visuals down here?”

“No drone signal,” Watcher replied, frustration creeping into his calm tone. “The wards are killing everything. I can’t see you.”

The realization settled like ice in my chest. I was on my own.

The shotgun’s light flicked on, its narrow beam cutting through the darkness. The basement stretched out before me like a gaping maw, its walls jagged and slick with moisture. Bones littered the floor, some crushed under the weight of fallen stones.

The runes on the walls pulsed faintly, their sickly light casting everything in a red haze. Chains hung from the ceiling, some swaying faintly as if moved by an invisible breeze.

The oppressive air pressed in on me, thick with the weight of old magic and something darker—something alive.

“1-2,” I whispered into the comm, though I doubted anyone could hear me. “Moving forward.”

I advanced slowly, every step careful and deliberate. The beam of my light swept left and right, revealing horrors that made my stomach churn. Bones were piled in corners, some still wrapped in the tattered remains of robes. Blood pooled in the cracks of the stone floor, dark and sticky.

The faint sound of movement caught my attention. A low scrape, followed by a faint rattling of chains.

I tightened my grip on the shotgun, my pulse hammering in my ears. The sound came again, louder this time. It was coming from beyond a set of iron doors at the far end of the chamber.

The doors were massive, etched with more of the glowing runes. They creaked as I pushed them open, the sound echoing through the cavernous space beyond.

My light fell on her.

She was chained to the wall, her skeletal form slumped as though she were barely alive. Blood-red hair hung in tangled, matted strands over her face, and her pale skin stretched tight over her bones.

For a moment, I thought she was dead.

Then her head lifted, and pink eyes like molten glass locked onto mine, squinting against the bright light entering her cell.

I froze.

The horns curling from her skull gleamed faintly in the light, black and glistening like polished onyx.

“Demon,” I whispered, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.

She let out a low, guttural growl, her lips twitching into something like a smile.

The chains rattled as she shifted slightly, her movements slow and deliberate, her pink eyes never leaving mine, tracking her prey.