For a brief few minutes she sat there, eating food offered up by damned soldiers and taking in the beauty of a place at the very edge of desolation, acutely aware of how transitory this situation was.

It was a peace like no other.

“Sorry ‘bout the aggression back there. Red sickness ain’t nice,” Sigmund said, turning his wizened eyes toward her again. The dancing flames painted his face in shadows deeper than any night, drawing out a harrowed visage that remained hidden in the daylight.

Just that single look was enough to give her an impression of how much he had gone through.

Despite the towering woman’s remark about the pointlessness of remaining by his side while the Tablet did its work, Spliteye couldn’t help but do so anyway. She sat by his side, watching the projection flickering in staccato and simply waiting, listening to the rustling of the leaves and the distant crackling of the fire.

The sound of stomping feet from behind the transport echoed through the wall. She thought it was just Sigmund pulling some carrots, but… His voice could clearly be heard from the direction of the firepit. The stench of rot and death hit her nostrils like a hammer, and the impact of something very heavy on the transport’s exterior cemented a suspicion in her mind.

The locker. She yanked it open and grabbed her gun alongside a handful of paper cartridges, pulling out the ramrod as she ran out of the transport, yelling at the other two. By their faces, she knew that they knew something was amiss.

“It’s the beast! It must’ve followed us through the crossing point!” she exclaimed, sprinting to the other side of the clearing and taking up position behind a tree. With one swift motion she dropped a cartridge into the muzzle of her rifle, rammed it down and took aim at the front of the transport, from behind which she expected the creature to emerge.

By the time Spliteye ran out of the transport Zelsys’ instincts had already kicked into high gear, the beast’s ponderous movement easily loud enough to hear from where she sat. She looked to Sigmund and he looked to her, his breathing growing erratic as his posture stiffened. “I’ll b’fine,” he slurred as the seizure took hold.

“Shit, he’s out,” she thought, dropping the mess tin and reaching for the bandages that covered her gun. They wouldn’t budge, she had wrapped them too tightly. As she tried to pull the wrapping loose, there issued a thunderous noise and a bright yellow flash emanated from Spliteye’s position, soon followed by a thud and a horrific, gurgling roar. It sounded like…

“It’s a fuckin’ mutated bear!” Spliteye yelled, scrambling to reload her gun.

A sharp breath in. A breath of Fog out. A swift yank to rip the wrapping off, bringing the gun to bear on the creature’s head - or rather, what was left of it. A skinless skull with bloodshot eyes in its sockets, curtains of half-rotten skin hanging around its neck and long ropes of Black Fog trailing from its mouth.