Chương 62: 10 Clearing Nests

Cloth rustled over bone, the impact of hundreds of feet trundled against the ground. These were familiar sounds—an army on the move. It was the sound that was missing that made my hair stand on end. No breathing. No soldier cleared his throat or sniffed. No bored infantry whispering to his comrades while avoiding their Sergeant's ire. I glanced over my shoulder. Bones marched, eyes vacant. The skeletal warriors moved with mechanical cohesion. Lines remained perfectly straight.

Wight lieutenants stalked in front of the blocks of skeletal infantry, eyes burning and chests still. Every breath I drew felt like a breach of standard operating procedure among the dead. I gripped my Night-Shroud composite bow and shot my squad a quick look. Drogo and Othess clutched their Bane-Seven Repeaters. They shared uneasy glances as they peered back at the bulk of our fighting force. Needles pulled a cloak tight, concealing whatever weapons he held within as he hurried to keep pace.

Serevian's bow rested across his shoulders. Completely unfazed by the dead behind us. He kept his gaze fixed ahead on the rising hills. Lord Bloodshackle held up a hand, and as one, the column locked to a halt. I took an extra step before realizing we were coming to a stop. Lord Bloodshackle's arm waved down twice, and the dead army took a knee. I remained on my feet, casting uneasy glances at the other strike teams. Bianca met my eyes with a tight-lipped smile.

She had Roland, two other Marines, and a pair of Wight archers standing at her side. Lucan shouldered a broadsword, a cohort of Vampires thumbing their blades in anticipation. Corin and Elara ran their own team. Filipe stuck with Naomi's marine squad. Fel Rock provided other strike units. Brutish Ogre zombies swayed silently around a necromancer. A team of Feykin shouldered void carbines. A wraith's skeletal form, wreathed in shadow, stirred in the wind. It was a squad by itself.

Capitano Generale Greymark stalked over to Lord Bloodshackle and murmured something I didn't catch. Shad-Feykin scouts melted from the shadows, rushing toward the Vampire lord. They deliberated while we waited. Othess peered down his scope, checking for the hundredth time that it hadn't accumulated any dust. After a lengthy discussion, Lord Bloodshackle turned and nodded once. Without a word, the strike teams activated. Serevian produced a canister.

Six side panels popped open on the cylinder, chilled vapors lighting with violet luminescence—Black Line Veil potions. We each took one. I tipped the potion back, holding my breath. The Black Line Veil slid down my throat, skipping my tongue. The faint taste of ectoplasm dust and mildew hung heavy in my mouth. I glanced at my hand. It didn't take long. My skin faded from view, but the edges of my silhouette and lines in my clothing glowed faintly. My fist curled, the faint outline revealing the motion.

Around me, the other members of my team looked like sketches of themselves, with the air as their canvas. The other strike teams all cloaked as well, appearing as faded line sketches to my eyes. These Black Line Veils were all from the same batch, meaning we could discern each other. To everyone else, we'd be completely invisible. Complete silence. That was the operational protocol. With no verbal acknowledgment, the teams scattered. I pressed ahead, footsteps muted by the potion's effects.

A rock slid under my foot, and Drogo snapped a twig, but the night swallowed most of the other sounds. We hiked through a gully like specters, then climbed up a saddle between hills. Drogo panted, his breaths faint as a whisper. I pulled up my map on my HUD. I appeared as a white dot in the new window; each of the other teams also drifted across the map as white points as we bobbed toward the red blips that represented tunnel access points. My team headed for Access Point Five. Serevian's hand touched my arm.

I stopped, then followed his pointing finger. A pair of pale figures hunched over something caught between boulders. Their taloned hands tore at meat while their tusked jaws unhinged and ripped into flesh. The others took a knee, weapons coming to low ready. I motioned to Othess, then pointed to the one on the left. Nudging Drogo, I pointed to the one on the right. Othess dropped low, bracing his Bane-Seven on a stone. I nodded in approval. He remembered to brace. He aimed.

Wet smacking and chewing from the Ghouls made my gut pinch. I sank into a crouch beside Othess, studying the crossbow's trajectory. I pointed up and bobbed my finger twice. Othess adjusted. The trajectory path angled up two degrees, lighting the Ghoul's shoulder. My hand shifted. I jerked my finger to the right once. The point of impact diverted to its neck. I gave him a flat-handed 'stop' gesture. Drogo's trajectory path had already spotlighted the second Ghoul's back. I nodded, then drew an arrow.

Serevian matched my motion. I sighted on the left one. He aimed for the one on the right. Needles watched with a repeating hand crossbow clutched tight. It didn't have the range for this shot. The string rolled off my fingers, and the arrow snapped forward. Another arrow and a pair of bolts followed. All four missiles hit within a second, and both Ghouls dropped without a sound. I flicked my hand, and we stalked forward. As we passed the corpse, I grimaced at their lunch.

Either a sickly fawn or a big dog, its scattered entrails didn't help me identify it at all. Rocks tumbled down the slope, and a pale Ghoul we'd missed leaped over on all fours, lower jaw swinging impossibly wide. It pulled to an abrupt halt as it stared right at us. I tensed. No, it looked through us, at the two motionless bodies. It barked once, tossing its head as its massive eyes scanned the hills. Then a croaking trill emitted from deep in its throat.

Two dark shafted arrows streaked forward, both burying into its chest. It slumped, twitching. Serevian's bow lowered. I let out a long, low breath, then motioned us on. We wove through four more hills, silently stopping to drop two more pairs of the beasts. We encountered a much larger pack of fifteen. I signaled our group to go around. Needles held up a grenade, lips twitching down. My head shook. The words stealth op meant very little to the goblin. Needles rolled his eyes and tucked the charge away.

We crested the final hill, and Othess' boot slipped. Gravel cascaded, pebbles clicking against stone. I signaled a halt, and we froze for a full five minutes. Nothing came to investigate. No alarm sounded. Serevian nudged me, pantomiming the motion of opening a pocket watch. Time. The potions. I should have set a timer in my terminal. How long did they even last? Regardless, Serevian was much more familiar with the Black Line Veils. We picked ourselves up, creeping around the side of the slope.

On my HUD display, the tunnel's red dot hung inches from my white dot. Below, boulders blocked most of a yawning pit, twenty meters down at the bottom of the hill. The head and shoulders of a Ghoul peeked over a stone outcropping. Serevian frowned, craning his head. I held up a single finger. I wish Naomi were on my team. With her Mind Link, we wouldn't need to play guess and sign. He shook his head, then flashed two fingers. Two Ghouls. I bobbed my bow, then inclined my head to the tunnel's entrance.

He let his head drift from side to side. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. No clean shot. My bow vanished. The Bane Thesis replaced it in my grip. The black blade didn't vanish with me, so it would appear to hang in the air to our enemies. Moonlight caught the silver edge, glinting in the dark. Serevian inclined his head, brow arching inquisitively. I backed up several steps, then sprinted forward. Leaping, I sailed off the hill.

The slope rushed at me, and I kicked off an Air Step, springing forward again. Two, three, four Air Steps, every stride carried me further from the hill until I came directly over the pit. Serevian was wrong. Three Ghouls crouched in the opening. I dropped. Aerial Combatant set my blood buzzing with power, and I struck. My feet slammed down. Shock that would have broken the legs of an ordinary man pounded my knees. The Bane Thesis cut right, then left. Two Ghouls dropped to pieces.

The third one jerked around in confusion, eyes locking onto the black rapier hanging in the air by itself. It unhinged its jaw, its lungs filled, preparing to howl. I thrust, deviating from Windmill Form to Needle Rain Form. The Bane Thesis punched through its open jaw, out the back of its head. The Ghoul slumped. I doubled over, panting. Three strikes, that was all it took, but even with the element of surprise and adrenaline, violence came with a price.

The color in my skin began to return as I faded back into existence. I peered over the boulders and signaled my men. They came sliding down the hill, rematerializing on the move. I'd need to get more of those cloaking potions for the future. Othess dropped to a knee, scanning our flank as we reconvened. Serevian's head bobbed in approval as he examined my handiwork. We turned to the dark pit. My eyes would be all but useless in there. A gunshot rang out, and we dropped low.

A chorus of howls and warbling shrieks echoed through the hills.

"Who shot?" Needles hissed.

"They told us we couldn't bring guns," Drogo whispered. More gunshots barked through the hills.

"Those aren't marine rifles," I whispered. They were too loud. Othess glanced back at me.

"What are they?"

"Gentlemen," Serevian cut in, turning toward the tunnel.

"In the absence of discretion, might I recommend haste?" I stacked up behind him.

"Go." We plunged underground. My boots crunched on an uneven surface, and I got less than ten steps before I pulled to a stop.

"I can't see a brine thing," I hissed. Needles ratcheted something, then an alchemical torch flared to life. My boot clipped something on the ground. I glanced down and staggered back. Bleached bones coated the ground. Humanoid, animal, and Ghoul bones mixed in an indiscriminate mess. Serevian turned.

"What'd you expect? It's a Ghoul burrow." Something moved in the darkness. My eyes went wide, and I grabbed Serevian, jerking him aside. A pair of muzzle flares flashed, and high-caliber rounds blasted pits in the stone.

"Return fire!" I barked. Othess, Drogo, and Needles all unloaded. Mechanical clicks cycled as bolts hissed free. The two Ghouls who shot jerked and flinched as black darts struck home. The enemy went down, one flailing and shrieking. My Torchmaw Dragon bolter winked into my hand, and I trained it on the flailing Ghoul. The pistol bucked hard as I silenced the death rattle. I hit the release, and the Pyrecoil snapped to the side, the shell jumping free. I loaded a fresh one and popped it shut.

Drogo ratcheted the lever, chambering a bolt on a new magazine. Othess blinked, scanning the room.

"Rookie," the Hobgoblin grunted at the cobra.

"Reload while you can." Othess glared, but fished out a fresh bolt magazine.

"Stone age!" I hissed at Serevian.

"You said they didn't have guns!" The Feykin put some tension into his bow.

"They're not supposed to." I stole forward, ducking under a jagged stone.

"Needles, light!" The Goblin stomped over, and I picked up the rifle.

"What is it?" Serevian asked.

"Pyrecoil MB-Forty-Four," I said.

"Dragon make," Drogo offered at Serevian's confused face.

"What? How?" Serevian asked. I stripped the bandolier of shells off the Ghoul, throwing it over my shoulder.

"If they have Bloodwake guns, it means we didn't beat my Father. He's been here. Might still be."

"At least we were right," Serevian said, studying the shadows ahead.

"This proved Puppetmaster is sponsoring King Marrowrend, as we suspected." I nodded.

"The Bloodwake is making a play on Zalathor's Crypt."

"Where are the rest of the Ghouls?" Serevian asked, glancing about warily.

"They're usually like ants. Kick the nest, and they swarm."

"If Puppetmaster's been here, we should assume he warned them we were coming."

"Means this is all a trap," Needles said, angling the flare deeper down the tunnel. He paused.

"Does anyone else hear that?" I strained my ears. A skittering of shrieks started in the maw of stone. Thousands of tiny feet pattered and scratched against bone and rock.

"Incoming!" Drogo barked, drumming to a knee and planting an elbow in his thigh for stability. Othess pulled his Bane-Seven tight against the wall, angling his trajectory line at the tunnel. Needles hurled his flare, lighting up the deeper tunnel. A black flood rushed at us, coating the ground, the walls, and even parts of the ceiling. Shrieks of fury and a sea of wormy tails told me everything I needed to know—rats.

"Hold fire!" I barked and threw myself into the chokepoint. There had to be thousands of them.

"What do all Drake-made guns have in common?" I growled under my breath. The wave barreled at me, sheer mass shaking the ground.

"This—" I pulled the tiny lever tucked below the trigger. The under-barrel belched flame. Heat and light washed over the tunnel before me. Shrieks of hunger became screams of pain. I watched the flame jet before me. Smoldering rats dropped off the wall, a few slipping past the wall of fire. Black bolts and arrows pinned those. The jet dimmed then petered out, but the swarm was in full retreat, hundreds of smoking rat corpses twitching. I exhaled, nearly dry-gagging when I caught a whiff of burned hair and meat.

"That's quite the weapon," Serevian said, flipping a dead rodent with his toe. I pulled my shirt up over my nose.

"Doesn't look like the Ghouls have fuel refills." The rifle clattered to my feet. I took up the other one instead.

"Press on?" Drogo asked.

"Wait," Serevian said, studying the tunnel ahead.

"You essentially said that if Puppetmaster has been here, it's a trap."

"Yes?"

"So," the Shad glanced around like he was the only one not crazy.

"Why are we intentionally walking into a trap?" Othess snickered.

"You don't know the Captain if you think that's going to stop him. If you said Krathic-Thar swallowed Puppetmaster, Tony would jump down the dragon's throat." I reloaded the new Pyrecoil, snapping the barrel back into alignment.

"Let's go." Needles sparked up a new flare. We pressed on, ducking under a low portion of the passage before the ceiling opened up again. I held my breath, listening for any signs of movement. Nothing. The passage was empty. We arrived at a fork. Needles produced a piece of chalk. He drew an arrow on the wall, pointing back the way we came. Then he signed it with tiny goblin letters. An adversary could easily manipulate an arrow. The signature would take considerably more skill.

"Well, what way?" Serevian asked. I pulled my map up on the terminal. We were almost at the end of the charted portion.

"Doesn't matter. The fork reconnects ahead." I started forward on the right side. My foot punched through the floor as the ground dropped away. I gasped, spilling forward. I Air Stepped, scrambling across open space, as rocks and dirt cascaded down around me. I leaped, slamming into the far wall and catching hold of the pit's edge with one hand. Kicking, I slapped my other hand down on the ledge.

"Captain!" Othess barked. The stones crashed to the bottom of a pit. Fingers straining, I glanced down. Sharpened stakes lined the hole, angled up. Bones lay twisted and shattered among them.

"Hold on!" Needles called, dropping his pack and fumbling for a rope. I swallowed.

"I'm good!" I used an Air Step like a ladder to boost myself to the top. I panted, glancing up at the men. A four-meter span separated us.

"Want us to jump?" Othess asked, glancing down into the pitfall.

"No way I'm making that," Needles grunted.

"I could throw you," Drogo offered.

"Not if you don't want a hole in your kidney," Needles shot back. He shifted his pack on his shoulders.

"I have line and anchors; I can rig something to get across."

"Guys!" I said sharply.

"I already said it's a circle. Just go around." They turned.

"I'll take point," Needles mumbled.

"If there are more traps, I'll find them." Without consulting the others, Serevian took a step back and charged. Kicking off the edge of the pit, his lead foot reached. His boot found solid ground on my side. Still, I grabbed his arm, pulling him to the other side. He glanced up, wide Fae eyes bright.

"There we go," he said. Then he shifted back to the others.

"Buddy system." Something tingled along my spine, a warning. Now we were isolated together. I'd assumed whoever sent Serevian had tasked him to gather intel or manipulate me. What if he were an assassin? How far did Puppetmaster's reach extend into the Fel Court? What did the Queen truly think about me? I shook my head, suppressing but not banishing the paranoia.

"Go around. Be careful." Drogo tossed a lazy salute before circling back. The light went with them, so I summoned a dungeoneer's pack. After digging in the darkness for a moment, my flare flashed, illuminating the walls.

"Shall we?" Serevian asked. I started forward. Progress slowed. I studied the walls for signs of digging. We swept every choke point, looking for tripwires. My boot stomped down as I probed for weak spots on the floor. The tunnel opened up into a wide chamber, and my hand went to my nose. Corpses littered the ground. Full skeletons with bloody bones. No. I leaned forward. They weren't simply bones. Each frame had been wrapped in a thin sheet of tissue, translucent and veined.

The membrane undulated, pulsing as if it breathed. I stepped back, finding a body thicker than the rest. Thin muscle strained against the flesh from the inside, fibers swelling against the cocoon of tissue.

"What are they?" I asked, hand still pressed to my face.

"Ghouls in embryo," Serevian said. The whole picture looked different at a second glance. They made me think of larva pupating.

"Do you know how Ghouls are made?" Serevian said.

"When a mommy Ghoul and a daddy Ghoul love each other very much?" The edge of Serevian's lips twitched up.

"Original Ghouls come from a certain type of person who dies too close to Fel's touch."

"What type of person?" I asked.

"Predators," he said almost wistfully as he stared down at the mutant corpses.

"Those who take pleasure in tormenting those weaker than them." I swallowed. Brannik, the Exploit's shrill voice came to mind, the terror on his face when I'd cornered him on the docks. When my enemies feared me, it did something inside—satiated an appetite that I pretended didn't exist. I wasn't the only one. A pack of Orcs in the Drift. Loud Fred. Some Goblins, I rescued a halfling child from.

"Hunters, Tony," Serevian said.

"Those who hunger for blood. They can come back after they die."

"That's a lot of hunters," I murmured.

"Oh, these aren't original Ghouls. We have yet to see one. These are their offspring." He leaned over the floor of mutating bodies, nostrils flaring.

"When Original Ghouls come back, they continue hunting. They devour. They strip meat from bone." Othess, Drogo, and Needles rounded the corner, pulling up short at the sight of the carnage. Serevian sighed and shifted back to me.

"Before the bones can dry, any leftover tissue grows, and cells divide, feeding off necrotic energies." My men tiptoed across the floor, careful not to step on any of the embryonic Ghouls.

"After a while," Serevian continued, "they'll wake up. New Ghouls, carrying the hunger of the original—The Burrow King." He nudged a wrist with his toe, but the tissue had fused it to the ground.

"That's why they reproduce so fast. They're the rats and roaches that plague Fel Rock." The crew made over to us, but I couldn't bring myself to look at them. My gaze remained transfixed on the pupating abominations. Hunters. Blood lust. Eyes unfocusing, I ignited the torch on my Pyrecoil. Then the flames consumed the room. <<Time to Seal Collapse: 02: 00: 05: 20: 06: 50>>