For a second, I considered retreating to the beach and waiting for a rescue plane to find me. Or a ship. I had enough water to sustain me for a day—maybe two—and though I didn’t have food, humans could go an awfully long time without a meal. I’m a fat kid at heart, so the idea of not eating for a few weeks was horrendously depressing, but I didn’t like the idea of stumbling upon a cluster of the monster birds with only my knife and my pistol. From the beach, I could fashion a shelter from sticks and my parachute, start a fire, then wait it out.

Eventually, someone would find me. People didn’t get lost on deserted islands anymore. We’ve mapped and GPS’d the entire globe.

Unless, of course, this place wasn’t on any map …

If that were the case, heading back to the beach could be tantamount to a death sentence.

No, I had to get to the city and find water. Maybe even make contact with the people if it did turn out to be inhabited. But I wasn’t going to run headfirst into an ambush.

Again, the feeling of someone or something watching me was almsot overpowering. I searched the greenery and saw a snake slither off into the brush. That was it. A stupid snake. I was letting my imagination get the better of me. Still, whether the feeling was imaginary or not, I kept my pistol out and ready.

Reluctantly, I coaxed my feet back into motion and headed deeper into the jungle.

Carving my way through the thick tangles of vegetation was slow going, but after another hour, I reached a small clearing at the base of the northern mountain. I crept up to the edge of the treeline, and crouched down behind a trunk, surveying the glade. Sunlight filtered through the tall trees, dappling the ground with shadow and spotlighting more of the strange bird tracks. A spattering of purple flowers lurked into the shade on the far side of the opening; even from fifty feet away I could smell their stink—old, rotting meat left out in the sun.

As I watched, a centipede the size of my thigh skittered away through the flowers either hunting or being hunted.

I shivered at the sight. Monster insects like that belonged to prehistoric earth not modern-day Greece, though some of the spiders I’d found in the barracks back at the Incirlik Air Base were pretty huge and other-worldly.

“Man,” a haggard voice croaked, dusty with age.

I couldn’t tell where it had come from, and my mind immediately tried to convince me I hadn’t heard a thing. A breeze blew through the trees, sweeping through a thousand limbs and making everything around me move.

Another shiver traced icy fingers down the back of my scalp, through the hairs on my neck, and down my spine. I wasn’t going to give into the horror movie cliché of throwing out a tentative hello. If there was a monster waiting to rip my fucking face off out there, striking up a friendly conversation wouldn’t do much good. Gripping my M1911 in one white-knuckled hand, I pressed on, skirting around the edge of the clearing, not wanting to break cover. Another fifteen minutes brought me to my first real sign of human habitation.

Just ahead was a worn-down cobblestone path—the grout cracked and sprouting leaves, and moss covering most of the rocks. The walkway hadn’t been used in a long while, but I was thankful for the trail all the same. Chances were damn good that the path would lead me straight to the city I’d glimpsed from above.

The minute I hit the path, though, I heard the croaking voice again. “Man.” This time, I pinpointed the location, above me, in the trees on the right side of the cobblestones. Then, as if to answer, another voice, higher-pitched, called out from the left side. “Man.”

In front of me, a third voice. “Man, man, man!” This one was brave enough to creak out the word three times.

My steps faltered, I squared my shoulders, and brought my pistol up and to the ready. I didn’t know what the hell was on this island, but it was about to have a very bad day. I might’ve been a D&D nerd, but I was also a Marine and an Expert shooter both with the rifle and the pistol. All those first-person shooters had paid off big time.

“Man!”

“Man!”

“Man!”

All around, the creature’s continued to wheeze out that one word. It was like they were surprised, slightly pissed, and wondering if they should come and get a closer look.

In front of me, the leaves rustled and the brave one flew down from the trees, alighting in the middle of the stony, weed-covered pathway.

At first, I couldn’t believe my eyes. No, things like that didn’t exist, had never existed. The creature before me was six-feet of bird resting on huge, curved talons. It had giant black-feathered wings, which ended in three-fingered claws. It was the biggest bird I’d ever seen. But it wasn’t a bird. Not really. Instead of a feathery head and a pointed beak, the creature had the face of an old woman with leathery skin, stringy gray hair, and piercing yellow eyes above a prominent nose. I felt my mouth go dry in an instant.

The bird woman stared at me for a long beat, before offering me a thin smile, which revealed a mouth full of jagged black teeth, perfect for rending flesh.

I glance over one shoulder as another bird-woman floated down behind me in a flutter of enormous wings. A third one followed. The two newcomers had the faces of young women, with bright red lips and dark eyes, and if I hadn’t been sweating and scared to death, I might’ve considered them beautiful. Their long dark hair swept down to the wings on their shoulders.

I bolted left, pressing my back against a tree, keeping my pistol up and ready. But they had me surrounded, one on my left, two on my right, the jungle behind me far too thick to allow me an escape route through the vines and ferns.

It was time for me to talk. “I don’t want any trouble,” I said, trying to sound confident and dangerous instead of weak and frightened. “I’m just trying to get to the city and get some water.”

The old bird-thing cocked her head to the side like a curious cockatoo. “Trouble? Man? Trouble?” It then started to caw out laughter like the sound of breaking glass.

The younger birds cackled along repeating, “Trouble, trouble, trouble.”

The old thing hopped toward me in a series of stutter-steps that reminded of a pigeon on the ground. She fluffed her feathers. “Man. Not for a long time. Weak. Stupid. Flesh for our faces.”

Oh boy. That didn’t sound very promising.

The two younger beasts followed the lead of the old one, closing in on me from the right. Their little leaps left them about five yards from me. Way too close for comfort. They fell into a cacophonous repetition of “Flesh for our faces! Flesh for our faces!”

“Last warning,” I barked, leveling the 1911 right at granny-bird’s head. “You don’t want to mess with me. I’m not just flesh for your faces.”

That tickled the old one. She grinned again, showcasing her terrible teeth, and went for me. I fired three shots, aiming two at her chest and another at her weather-beaten face, just like I was on the firing range.

The force of the meaty rounds slammed into her like hammer blows, pushing her back, but I didn’t see any blood. Not a drop. She seemed perturbed but otherwise unhurt. As she gathered her composure, I saw one bullet pancaked flat against her forehead. Holy crap. The shot had hit true, but her skin was too thick to penetrate.

Yeah, that was a problem.

I maneuvered away from the tree as the two younger vultures threw themselves at me. One lashed out with a talon-tipped foot, which tore into my clothes. The other scratched at me with the three claws on her wings and raked my face. One of the nails clipped my cheek and parted skin like a razor blade. The white-hot pain fueled my adrenaline. With a roar, I charged forward, smashing my shoulder into a pretty face. As the creature stumbled back in shock, I lifted my pistol and emptied the mag into the other one, driving her to the ground.

Feathers drifted around me while the thing’s cackled and screeched in panic.

The old one was still cool and collected, however. She lunged forward, careening into me with her feathered torso. She hit me like a Mac truck, and I struggled to keep my feet, knowing if I fell here it would probably be game over. My pistol was empty, but I still had my knife. I slipped the K-Bar from the sheath at my belt and thurst the blade into the old vulture’s chest. Once again, her skin was too solid. It was like trying to drive my knife into solid oak.

In a desperate move, I scrambled back a step, then unleashed a front kick into her feathered gut, driving her back a few feet. I sheathed my knife in a blink, then ejected my used magazine and slammed in a new. Working the action, I was cocked, locked, and ready to rock.

The three terror birds paused as if shocked I’d fight back. Or maybe the thunder of my pistol had them confused.

I exploited that moment of uncertainty, turning left and sprinting down the worn cobblestone trail. Their skin was too thick to pierce with bullets or a knife, so I was going to have to get creative, either that or get away clean. Their eyes and mouths seemed to be my best bet, but making a shot like that in combat was going to be quite the trick. But what other choice did I have?

The trail narrowed, but I charged straight ahead, barreling past ferns that grabbed at my flight-suit. After thirty feet, the cobblestones opened into another meadow, which was bad.

The flutter of wings drifted to my ears as all three of the bird-women took flight and dive-bombed me. I threw myself flat into the dirt even as talons scratched across my back, slashing through the fabric of my suit. I flipped onto my back, and I aimed for the eye-socket of one of the young ones. I leveled the gun, breathed out, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked in my hand, jerking just a hair to the right.

My bullet hit near the eye but glanced off the thing’s nose. A swing and a miss.

The three vultures wheeled around, coming back in for another attack. In a panic, I scrambled to my feet and darted across the glade desperate to get out of the open and back into the jungles cover. The minute I hit the treeline, I whirled, pistol out. This time, I took an extra second to aim. One of the young ones floated in, wings spread, her beautiful face twisted into a grimace as those taloned-feet came in to rip the heart from my chest.

I fired three shots in quick succession. One shot went wide, the second slapped uselessly against her feathered neck, but I got damn lucky with the third shot. That bad boy punched into a vulnerable eye socket, gore spurting out on impact. Her head whipped back from the sheer force of the blow, and down she went, slamming into the earth with a thud. Dead. Black blood oozed from her face, puddling in the dirt. Not sure I’d get lucky like that again, and I was down to a magazine and half of ammo.

The two remaining vulture women pulled out of their dive after seeing their comrade’s corpse decorating the ground. They circled and spun, before finally settling on the tops of the trees above me, clutching the trunks with their arms, burying their talons into the bark as they stared at me with blazing hatred and mild fear.

“I warned you!” I shouted, brandishing my pistol. “You should’ve just left me alone.” I stole a quick look at the corpse. These things were monsters. I shouldn’t have felt bad, but for some reason I did. Her beautiful face, now marred by black blood just seemed so strikingly human.

I didn’t have long to think, though, because an arrow plunked into a tree next to me. Then another. The vulture women didn’t have bows, so what fresh hell was this?

Across the open field, a dozen men moved toward me, but they weren’t men. Sure, they had human faces and olive-skin, but they didn’t walk, they slithered. Instead of legs, they slipped through the brush on fat snake tails covered in black onyx scales, and their eyes were the slits of cobras. Each wore leather jerkins, and in their arms, they carried short recurved bows with quivers strapped to their backs. And were those swords in the sheaths on their belts? Yep. But some also carried cruel spears with hooked blades.

More arrows whistled by me, digging into the dirt. I was just out of their range, and I wasn’t going to waste any ammo on the snake men. Besides, I was outnumbered twelve to one.

I spun, sprinted into the jungle, and didn’t stop, not even when my heart thundered and my breath came in great gasps. Blood dripped from my wounds, staining in my clothes, and shaking me up. The pain was distant as my brain struggled to comprehend the horrors I’d seen.

Vulture women and snake men? What in the holy hell was happening here? Suddenly the thought of being on a new planet didn’t seem so far-fetched at all. As I hurtled through the forest, my mind worked in overdrive trying to piece this all together. The idea of monster birds with female faces seemed oddly familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it. And the dudes with snake tails? I’d read enough fantasy novels to recognize a naga. At least, that’s what I thought they were.

I kept right on trucking, and mercifully the path didn’t take me into another clearing. Trees offered me cover from the vultures, and while I thought I had outrun the snake men, I couldn’t be sure. I’d seen how fast rattlers and cobras could slither. I’d gone about a half-a-mile from the meadow—nearly halfway around the mountain—when I saw the trail bend toward a steep cliff. Off to my left, behind the cliff face, was the azure sea where white lines of surf rolled up to smash against the rocks. The path itself led right, and toward the city, but there was yet another problem.

Thick tangles of spiderwebbing covered the trees and ferns beside the cobblestone path. After what I’d seen so far, I had no doubt hulking spider monsters would be waiting to devour my insides. This was totally turning into that kind of day. I slowed my pace, trying to decide what to do, but a second later, dozens of arrows clattered on the trail as the snake men slithered up the path. Thin-lipped mouths opened in smiles as forked tongues shot out, sampling the air.

Again, two hands gripping my M1911, I fired at the lead snake man. Sadly, my shot missed center mass but did manage to wing his arm. Blood gushed out as he clutched the wound. The snakes behind him hissed in surprise and stopped, hesitation showing on their serpentine faces. Maybe I’d put the fear of God into these freaks, but a chorus of shrieks above reminded me that the vulture women were still out there. And they didn’t seem interested in giving up on me after I’d slain one of their number.

I couldn’t go back, I couldn’t leap off the cliff because the rocks below would murder me, and the mountainside to the right was too steep to climb. My only chance was to charge through webs and pray I made it out the other side. Before I could change my mind, I barreled into the white gossamer strands, head down, shoulders hunched forward, legs churning. It was nearly impossible to see since the webbing was so incredibly thick, but I kept right on moving.

About eight-feet in, something squealed to my right. It sounded like some sort of wild boar had unwittingly stumbled into the webbing.

Poor guy.

But I put the piggy from mind and kept right on pushing. I needed to worry about my survival at the moment. More squeals quickly followed, though, and after a few more feet I finally caught my first look at one of the boars. My steps momentarily faltered. Dude … uncool. The creature had a pig’s face—flat nose, pointed ears, pink skin, and a wide mouth jammed full of tusks—but it also had dozens of black beady eyes. And instead of a plump belly and stubby legs, it had a bulbous body sprouting eight long, hairy legs.

The spider boar launched itself at me, and I unloaded my pistol at close range, losing control in my sheer horror. It was huge, and it wasn’t alone.

Harnessing that sheer terror, I pushed my way through the strands of webbing, ejecting my magazine, and reloading my last as I moved. I had seven shots left, and though that wasn’t much, at least the bullets worked on the spider boars. Another six of the weird pig spiders scuttled toward me.

I tripped out of their web and then stumbled down a set of cracked steps leading toward the walls of the ruined city. The walls were blasted and pitted, but they seemed sturdy enough to hold off invading monsters, at least for a little while. And if I could make it through the main gates, I could slam them shut behind me. Yes, odds were high that even more hideous creatures haunted the ruins of the city—maybe a horde of demon zombie ants? —but right then, besieged by the spider boars and harried by the vulture women, I didn’t care.

Any port in the storm, as the saying goes.

I rushed across the landing where a mosaic showed a scene of a hero with a spear and shield fighting a multi-headed dragon. Much as I wanted too, I couldn’t stop and appreciate the art or ponder what it meant.

I glanced back and saw two spider boars rushing down the stairs in an avalanche of legs and hair and tusks. I wheeled around and gave each a bullet to the brain. They squealed as green goo erupted from the wounds, and slumped to the side.

But the pause cost me big. There was a shriek from above as a talon ripped into my shoulder, adding to my growing collection of wounds. The matronly vulture beat her wings furiously, lashing out with her clawed feet, before lurching up and away. She circled overhead, preparing to make another run.

With a grimace, I clutched at my bleeding shoulder, eyeing her as she flapped her oversized wings. I was down to five bullets, and I couldn’t afford to waste any ammo. What I needed, was to find cover and fast. I tore my gaze away and full-on sprinted until I hit the city gate. More arrows showered me—the snake men had finally caught up. Most of the arrows clattered on the stone or bounced off the walls, but one glanced off my shoulder leaving a shallow furrow across my skin.

I ignored the flash of heat and shouldered my way through the wooden gate. I wheeled around, eyes wide as I saw the horde of monsters descending on me like a biblical plague.

Another twenty spider-boars scampered from the jungle, tearing down the stairs. Some were big hairy males, but I also saw several females with pink teats swaying their bloated abdomens and baby spiderlings clinging to their multi-jointed legs, licking at lips covered in viscous goo, which I was positive was poison. With my current string of luck, it had to be poison. The baby boars only had nubs for tusks, but I bet the ivory would be sharp and their poison would either kill me or paralyze me.

More screams from the vulture women.

More arrows from the snake men.

With every ounce of strength I had left, I muscled the gates shut, then found a long beam of iron-reinforced wood and slammed it down, locking the gate.

I backed up, breathing hard, pistol ready. My boots left blood stains on the marble ground, and I realized it was my blood. Those vulture women had worked me over good.

I waited in terrified anticipation. But nothing came at me from the sky. Nothing tried to break through the gates into the city. No arrows arched over the stone walls. I let out a shuddering sigh of relief, my hands shaking from the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. Holy shit, I’d done it. I’d made it to safety. I bent over and clasped my knees taking a deep breath to help calm my frazzled nerves. I’d made it.

But then another thought flashed through my mind. A deeply troubling one. What if I’d accidentally stumbled into the lair of something even worse? Something so bad, even other monsters were afraid to come here? I stood and turned, scanning the ruins of the city stretched out before me. Everything was white marble, graceful columns, and intricate friezes. And the central temple at the heart of this place? It could’ve come straight from the pages of a Greek myth. Greek Myth. The words resonated in my mind, and suddenly things started to click inside my brain.

A few of my buddies had run a new campaign not so long ago—one set inside a Grecian world, so all the myths were still relatively fresh in my mind. The vulture women were from Greek mythology. They had to be the harpies. Had to be. And an uncharted island in the middle of the Mediterranean definitely fit with that theory. I still wasn’t a hundred percent about the nagas or the spider boars, but the harpies were unmistakable.

If so, what new frightening thing lay in the city? Were the monsters outside the gates afraid of some ancient goddess hibernating in the crumbling ruins? That temple would make the perfect lair. Hopefully whatever I found wouldn’t be bulletproof.