I’d barely closed my eyes when a searing pain erupted across my forehead. The fire burned through my skin, cauterizing the wound, then bored through my skull like a drill press gouging deep into my grey matter. Something was wrong. I sat up, body trembling, perspiration matting my hair and slicking my bare chest. The pain in my head grew more intense, not less. An urgent warning. Something was terribly wrong.

Bad dreams and night terrors were nothing new to me. Even before taking a grenade to the gut, I would wake up once or twice a week in a cold sweat, the faces of the dead haunting me from beyond the grave. Sometimes it was friends like Cal, blown to pieces, other times it was the faces of men I’d killed, streams of crimson running from empty eye sockets. PTSD was a son of a bitch, but this…

I kicked my legs out over the edge of the lumpy sack of potatoes that passed for a mattress and staggered over to the silvered mirror like a drunk elbow deep into a twenty-four pack of Natty Ice.

Through the midnight gloom I could see the mark on my forehead blazing with a soft golden light, and holy shit did it hurt. Once on the firing range, a piece of hot brass had popped into the collar of my flak jacket, searing my skin like a stove top burner. This sensation was similar. I pressed my hand against the tattoo and ground my palm into the skin. Didn’t help much at first, but eventually the pain faded into the familiar throb of a migraine: moderately debilitating but better than being stabbed in the face with a red-hot soldering iron.

I surveyed the room for any sign of Cal or Renholm, but I was alone and there was no obvious sign of danger. Maybe this had something to do with bumping up my Arcana and Insight stats. Or maybe I was delusional and all the killing from today was just getting under my skin. I splashed a little damp water across my face, courtesy of the pitcher, then headed back toward my bed. As I dropped down onto the edge of the mattress, a scream cut through the night.

At first I thought it was just the creaky wooden frame of the bed protesting under my weight—I wasn’t exactly a small-figured guy—but then another scream followed. This one louder and filled with bloodcurdling horror. The shriek sliced through the air, confirming that whatever had woken me from a dead sleep wasn’t some figment of my imagination.

No, some sort of tom fuckery was indeed afoot.

I leapt to my feet, called forth my armor from the Soul Vault in a swirl of black mist—running headlong into a firefight without PPE was a good way to get dead—summoned my weapons from the Soul Vault, and proceeded to haul ass out the door. I tore into the common room, which was silent other than the soft snores of drunks who’d bedded down on the floor for the night. I quickly scanned the room until I found one drunk in particular, passed out beneath the same secluded table he’d been at earlier. Arturo. I weaved my way through the bodies then nudged the slumbering priest in the ribs with the toe of my boot.

He let out a yelp and shot straight up, head slamming into the bottom of the table.

“What… Who… What is happening?” he stammered blearily, rubbing at his noggin.

“We got trouble, padre,” I said. “Get your shit together and catch up with me.”

“What?” he said, eyes wide. “You can’t just go blundering off. You’re not trained for this!”

“Neither is the person who’s getting attacked out there. Besides, lack of training never stopped me before,” I yelled over one shoulder, already headed for the exit. I burst through the front door of the Three Chimneys and paused, just long enough to scan the square. The scream had come from the east but if I took the wrong alley, I could be streets away from the action and no use to anyone. I waited, tasting the wind, scouring the stars, dividing and subdividing the sounds that came at me.

The cats and rats and humans were scrabbling in the dark—aware but hardly ready for the thing that was inside the walls of the town. A candle appeared in the window to my left. Then another. And another. The town was rousing itself and readying for the fight. Arturo had said the Elder Changeling could shapeshift into any human form it chose, so I needed to keep my head on a swivel. I could safely check the priest off my list of potential suspects, but any other person I passed could be the culprit.

Another scream, this one gurgling and popping, with gallons of blood at its back, lit up my senses. Yep, definitely to the east. I spun on a heel and took off without a second of hesitation. I’ve always been a helluva runner—even hit the perfect PFT with my 17:56 three-mile time—and now I had adrenaline pumping through my veins along with all the passive strength I’d gained from adding another point to Brawn.

My arms and legs pumped like mad as I bolted into the alleyway closest to the Three Chimneys, then hooked a hard right and another quick left, dashing out onto a street largely devoid of light. My fancy new eyeballs pierced the dark, making it easy to avoid any and all obstacles.

I’d covered half the town in a matter of minutes.

The screaming had faded, but a smell lingering on the wind spurred me on. It was unmistakable. The rusty aroma of fresh-spilled blood, sharp and metallic, mixed with the contents of a stomach and the bile that had been shed during the kill. I was close now. A final turn landed me smack-dab in the middle of scene ripped straight out of a B Monster movie. If that B movie had an A-list budget and monsters that only the most talented CGI guys could conjure.

On the ground was a woman, or what was left of her. I took her in with a single glance, my mind analyzing the flood of raw information in the span of a heartbeat. It was worse than I’d feared. I knew that face.

That hair.

Those still and staring eyes.

Not some stranger…

It was the bathhouse attendant who’d been so kind to me just hours earlier. Her pristine, white uniform had been stained a deep ruby red and lay in tatters about the alley.

She’d been hacked in two, though the gashes were crude and jagged, the work of ripping and tearing rather than slicing and dicing. The top half of her body had been flayed, the skin peeled away to reveal ropy red muscle beneath. Thank god above she was dead. I’ve seen some grisly shit, but this was nightmare fuel of the highest order.

The creature hovering over her was the most horrifying thing I’d ever seen, and I’d once had the utterly unfortunate luck to catch Gunny Cortez in a Speedo. The monster barely looked up. It was feasting, its hands buried deep in her guts, gleaming talons jabbing at her silent heart. Its spike-covered back was partially turned toward me, but from where I was standing it looked like the creature was shoveling her innards directly into its mouth.

In the alley behind the monster, a beefy-orange tabby cat wove its way toward the kill, loping in and out of the gutter like a pro. They’d be here, the hunters, just as soon as the thing moved away. Hopefully this furball had enough common sense to keep its distance, because I had no doubt the monster would rip it the shreds given half a chance.

I pulled my gaze away from the furball and turned it back to the Elder Changeling. I pressed myself against the stone wall and watched the creature as it feasted. It groaned. The sound stretched out, melodic and sickening. Like your gut-busting uncle with his face buried in his third slice of pecan pie at Thanksgiving. There was no mistaking that sound. It was satisfied with its meal. Enjoying her liver, reveling in her spleen, saving the heart for last.

Eventually, the beast rose and turned to get a better angle on its meal, giving me my first good look at the thing.

It stood at least nine feet tall, crowding the alley and towering over its prey. It had enormous, gorilla-like arms, which were matted with blood and chunks of the attendant’s body. Its hands were the size of trashcan lids and had curved talons that looked like an army of hunting knives. Curiously, it had rather skinny, goat-like legs that ended in obsidian hooves. Most disturbing of all was the frail human body dangling down the front of the Changeling’s chest, the limbs limp and listless like a fleshy, oversized ventriloquist’s dummy.

Reality seemed to slip slightly out of focus as my mind desperately tried to piece together what I was seeing. It almost looked like there were two creatures—an enormous goat-hoofed ape and a desiccated corpse bound together at the head. And where the head should’ve been was a heavy wooden mask with dead lifeless eyes, curling ram’s horns, and an odd symbol emblazoned on the forehead.

Arturo said that Elder Changelings were humanoid in their true form, but this thing wasn’t even in the humanoid ballpark. Was it possible that we were dealing with something else entirely? Yeah, yeah it was. But that didn’t change my job—this thing was murdering people, and I needed to find a way to stop it, no matter what it was. Whether it was a Changeling or not, it had to have a weak spot I could exploit. Everything had a weak spot if you looked hard enough.

Eyes? Nope, covered by the wooden mask.

No real neck to speak of.

Where exactly did this thing keep its kidneys, I wondered. I needed to pepper Arturo with questions the next time I saw him. I wasn’t even remotely prepared for this at the most basic level. Did a shapeshifter remain human on the inside? Should I aim for the heart? Did it have a heart? Or more than one heart?

“Holy shit,” Cal said, materializing beside me. “We are so screwed. And by we, I mean you, since I’m already dead.”

“Any ideas how I should hurt this thing?” I hissed.

Cal shrugged. “The heart?” he suggested. “Most things need a heart to survive. Though this thing might have two hearts since it has two bodies.”

“Yeah, already thought of that option,” I muttered.

“You could always try setting it on fire,” he suggested. “As someone who has personally been set on fire, I can tell you it both sucks balls and also kills you.”

He had a good point and I was deeply regretting that I’d opted for Fae Tether instead of Unbound Blaze. That’s what laziness will get you.

The monster straightened then turned, its hooves clacking on the cobblestones, the frail corpse covering its chest swaying as it moved.

Oh shit. Did it see me?

It cocked its masked head.

Crap, it had definitely seen me.

No point trying for subtly anymore. I’d been made, and if I was going to launch a preemptive attack, I wouldn’t get a better chance than this. I raised my Colt and fired off a tight five, aiming for center mass. The Hunger Affinity rounds pounded into the desiccated human meat bib with wet splats and bright bursts of blood. Every shot was on target, but the creature didn’t seem to mind in the least.

It raised its masked head to the skies, let out a primal bellow that rattled windows, then charged, rushing forward in a gorilla-like gait, using its massive arms to propel itself toward me. Pistol level and on target, I pulled the trigger again, activating Maximum Penetration. My body contracted and my Stamina bar dropped as a round rocketed out of the barrel and slammed into the creature’s masked face. Instead of cracking the wood like a coconut and painting the alley walls with gray matter, the round ricocheted harmlessly away, careening into a dusty stone wall.

Maximum Penetration had completely failed to… well, penetrate. That had never happened before, I swear.

I dismissed the Colt back to the Soul Vault and opted instead for a magical solution. Hand raised, palm outthrust, I triggered Kinetic Blast. Raw energy ripped its way through my body, draining my Arcana bar by half. The spell slammed into the monster’s right shoulder, slowing it more than the pistol had, but not stopping it. The creature kept barreling toward me, even angrier than before. Shit, shit, shit. I backpedaled, attempting to get clear of the alleyway—I didn’t want to be pinned down with that thing—but I wasn’t fast enough.

It closed the distance and lashed out with a lumbering backhanded swing. I narrowly dodged the blow, but a haymaker from the other hand caught me square in the chest and blasted me a good ten feet through the air. Something cracked inside my torso and a lancing pain needled one of my lungs. I landed in a heap, wheezing for air, white starbursts exploding in front of my eyes. Cal was right, I was so boned. I’d thought the Crave Ghouls and the Grass Hounds were tough shit, but this thing was in a league of its own. This was prime time, and I wasn’t ready.

Cal was suddenly beside me, hunched over, hands on his knees, a worried expression tattooed across his face.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Nope,” I rasped. “Hits… like… a 105 round.”

If I was going to survive, I needed help. Arturo was nowhere to be seen and there was no sign of the town guard—though it wasn’t like they could do anything against a threat like this. But Cal was right there. In desperation, I shoved a hand into the leather pouch where I kept the Affinity Scales and fished a bunch out at random. It was possible that I could give them to Cal and they would do nothing useful. It was equally possible that he could manifest in the Material Realm, half-crazed, and turn on me like the goddamned Hulk.

The creature was coming fast, and I didn’t have much to lose.

“Help me,” I groaned, shoving the Scales into his palm.

Cal slammed all the coins into his mouth at once without a flash of hesitation. There was a flare of angry red light as he shifted and changed. Cal as I knew him disappeared and a moment later a Crave Ghoul stood hunched over beside me—rubbery, sunburnt red flesh, bulbous belly, gangly limbs, bat-like ears. Except Crave Ghoul Cal was jacked. Easily half again as large as the Crave Ghouls I’d fought and far more muscular. How was the only word that ran through my mind.

Unfortunately, I had no idea what the answer was, and frankly I didn’t have two shits to give so long as he didn’t maul me.

The roided-out specter turned Crave Ghoul stared at me with hungry, bloodshot eyes, then spun and leapt at the encroaching monster instead of making a meal out of me. Though the monster we were fighting was bigger and, no doubt, stronger, Cal was faster. He ducked beneath a swipe and circled right in a crouch. The monster raked at Cal with its claws, but the Ghoul scrambled forward on all fours, moving like a spider. Cal wrapped lanky arms around an oddly bent goat leg and sank into the creature’s thigh with ravenous teeth.

With a violent jerk of his head, Cal ripped free a bloody hunk of meat, but that was all he managed to do before the monster retaliated. The monster brought an elbow careening down into the back of Cal’s neck, jarring him loose. Then with a flick of one oversized wrist the ground split beneath Cal’s inhuman feet and a writhing tangle of enchanted vines, covered in inch-long thorns, twisted around Cal, hoisting him into the air. The vines constricted, carving bloody channels in the Ghoul’s skin, threatening to choke the life from his body.

With a groan I lumbered to my feet and stuck my hand out again, unleashing another Kinetic Blast that careened into the monster’s mask-covered face. The desiccated body wobbled from the attack—not hurt but distracted—then turned its attention back on me, Cal momentarily forgotten. That last Kinetic Blast had drained the remainder of my Arcana Pool, but what had worked for Cal might also work for me. I grabbed a Grass Hound Affinity Scale from the pouch at my side and clutched it tightly in my palm, absorbing the power.

Flesh reknit itself, bones popped back into place, and my blue Arcana gauge zipped back to full. In a blink, an odd glimmering glow surrounded the creature like a halo. Intuitively I knew that it was wearing some sort of glamor, designed to conceal its host identity. The Glamor Scale allowed me to pierce through low-level Fae veils, but this thing’s magic was too powerful for me to dispel. That was unfortunate, but there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

The important thing was that I was still in this fight.

“Come get some, dick noodle,” I baited.

I dismissed the Colt and summoned the K-Bar in its place, flipping the blade around so it ran along the outside of my forearm. My gun hadn’t done much damage and Kinetic Blast was about as effective as a Super Soaker—let’s see how it fared against supernaturally sharp steel.

I dashed inside the creature’s guard, ducked beneath a powerful but slow overhand strike, then threw myself into a roll, avoiding a cloven-footed front kick. I came up in a crouch and slashed the blade across the back of its leg, drawing a bright line of crimson. I danced back from swiping claws only to find a creeping vine twining around my ankle, miring me in place. The thorns bit through my leather boots and dug into my skin. I slashed at the summoned foliage, but I wasn’t fast enough to get loose.

The monster came in hot and fast, hitting me with a backhand that broke something new inside of me. Bright jags of angry pain spasmed through my body as I tumbled through the air. The corner of a building met my back and something else snapped—

Everything below my waist immediately went numb. I landed on the cobblestone street, my legs completely unresponsive, which was as good as a death sentence with a few extra steps. Frantically, I drew another Scale from my pouch and siphoned off the Affinity in a quick burst. My body tried to respond to the influx of energy—I could feel things attempting to shift back into proper place—but whatever damage had been done was too extensive even for the Scale’s power.

The creature stomped toward me, seeming to savor its victory. My gaze shot toward Cal, who was still suspended in the air, bound by the vines. The monster paused and followed my gaze, turning back toward the Crave Ghoul. It extended a comically oversized hand and curled its fingers into a tight fist. The vines wrapped around Cal’s arms and legs ripped outward in one violent spasm of bloody chaos. Cal’s limbs popped off like an action figure. The Ghoul’s corpse never hit the ground.

The Crave Ghoul’s body dissolved into a silver mist, quickly whisked away by a brisk evening breeze; he was either dead for real or banished back to the Etheric Realm. Which, I couldn’t say.

The creature resumed its slow clop toward me, the withered human body swaying as it moved, and I knew I was done. My legs were useless. There was something—probably several somethings—broken inside my chest, and every breath was more labored and painful than the one before it. Black was stealing in on the edges of my vision and the chilly numbness from my legs was spreading upward into my hands. The creature stopped several feet away, looming above me, triumphant. It raised a fist, preparing to crush my head like an overripe Halloween pumpkin.

An angry hiss echoed from the roof above me, catching the creature’s attention.

It was the sound of a cat.

The monster looked up just as the orange tabby from earlier leapt at its wooden face. Sitting on the back of the tomcat was Renholm the pixie.

“For the honor of the Greenbriar Court!” he shrieked, wielding the sharpened quill from my room. The cat scampered over the monster’s shoulder, latching onto its muscled back with razor-sharp claws. Renholm went to work, slashing and stabbing with the quill, drawing miniscule splashes of blood. The pixie wasn’t really doing much damage—or any damage for that matter—but by God was he hard to ignore. Best of all, because the cat was positioned directly between the behemoth’s shoulder blades, it couldn’t even reach Renholm, not even with its oversized gorilla arms.

This thing was a certified gym bro, and its weakness turned out to be all of its bulky muscles.

“This way!” I heard from a street over. Arturo’s voice.

With my enhanced hearing, it was easy to pick out the clack of boots over cobblestones and the clatter of pitchforks and halberds. Sweet baby Jesus, the drunk priest had come to my rescue, and it sounded like he’d roused the entire city guard to lend him a hand. There was no way they could kill the monster, but interestingly enough, it appeared that the creature wasn’t spoiling for a fight against everyone in Ironmoor. It offered me one last, emotionless glance through the tiny slit eyes of its wooden mask, then turned and fled.

The firelight of a dozen torches lit up the street, dispelling the gloom.

The last thing I saw was Arturo, clad in full plate mail, sprinting toward me with his heavy war staff clutched in one hand.

Then everything went dark as pain rampaged through me like an angry hippo. Looked like my shot at a second life just wasn’t meant to be after all…