The screen of Nathan’s phone shows not one, but three vans parked on the road with one in his driveway so as to block the access. Shapes come out from every door, looking human still. There is just a small problem. They were expecting two, they had planned for five. There are currently eight of those monsters gathering just outside of his fucking lawn. Nathan considers calling the cops and getting some much needed reinforcement. Maybe not the cops, the SWAT, or better, the national guard. A gloved hands moves past his shoulder to make the camera zoom on the group. A wisp of blonde hair brushes his arm. Right. It’s too late to sissy out.

The grainy image shows six figures going up the path to the clearing, all dirty men wearing grungy clothes, slouching and stalking forward with the ease of a gang on its home turf. At their head, a massive bald man in a brown trench coat over a wife beater and slightly behind, a sneaky type wearing a leather vest over a naked torso. Seren practically hisses at the sight.

“This one is mine.”

Nathan knows there is something he is missing, with the familiarity of someone who loses his key twice per year.

Ah yes.

“Guys be advised we are missing two.”

Michael answers: “Oh yeah, they are probably cutting through the forest.”

Martin’s voice cuts coldly.

“ No change to the plan, just assume one suspect on each side when you move.”

“I can’t see them…”

“That’s ok Sarah we expected as much.”

A tense silence falls on the clearing. Twenty seconds, maybe, then they will be in sight. Seventeen. Fifteen now. Nathan’s heart thumps against his chest and his breath comes loud. Please let this just be over with. Less than ten seconds. Time to see if you can ambush ambush predators. Only a few seconds now.

The leaders comes in sight, then the rest only a few meters behind. They enter the clearing.

They are here.

The head Varog turns his eyes to Nathan. Even fifty meters away, he can feel the sadistic smile, the vile urge behind and the absolute self-confidence. This is not the confused stalker nor the monster in the warehouse, this is an entire entity entirely. A leader. A pack alpha.

He steps forward.

NOW screams Michael.

Nathan and Seren hit the deck in a fragment of a second. Ears blocked, moth open.

The world erupts in light and sound, a deafening bang that rocks the clearing and an instant later, a shockwave that he feels in his very bones. Debris fall near the entrance as Nathan looks and a cloud finally reaches them, smothering his nose with the stench of ashes, powder and charred flesh. He raises his head over the wood enclosure to get a better look.

The clearing itself is intact, the path, not so much. Even from here he can see a handful of trees shredded to mere stumps and foliage drifting down from everywhere in shades of brown and red, and then slowly the smoke disperses to reveal a shape.

“It’s our turn now”

Seren’s voice cuts the silence like a blade. She steps down with light steps and unsheathes her own sword.

There are two of them left. The big guy’s clothes have been completely shredded but his chest and arms are intact and covered by a weird serpentine tattoo that’s completely black. Behind his the sneaky guy in a leather jacket stumbles forward, his left arm missing at the elbow. Nathan stops at twenty meters and takes aim, shoots the big one in the chest. Not sure if it hits but it got his attention. The big one stumbles on unsteady feet and starts to grow.

It feels as if someone unveils a painting, or a fog is suddenly lifted. One moment, the world is somewhat mundane and the next an abomination half again the size of a tall man lumbers towards him.

Nathan holsters his gun, not that it will help, and rush left into the forest while Seren angles right to engage the sneaky bastard.

Nathan runs at a brisk pace on the only path on this side of his property’s forest, smoothly diving under branches and jumping above roots. His house is to his back and the road to his right. There is little reason for him to come here since Gwahin’s tree is on the other side. Behind him, something crashes. The pack leader is following him, all according to plan. The noise of crushed vegetation to his right is not exactly to plan, because it means one of the missing two is almost on him. Right. Divide and conquer. He increases his pace until he comes to a small clearing.

This is just an break in the canopy made by the fall of a few old trees. Waist high ferns briars hug the blackening stumps. Time is short. It will do.

The noise of the flanking Varog has stopped. Nathan positions himself with his back to a stump, facing the path to the house.

The flanking Varog takes the bait.

Nathan does not think, he turns around and sets the Makka against the ground with the tip pointing upward.

Sometimes it is easier to find what is missing rather than find what is there, for example, there is no feeling of life at his back. As far as his senses are concerned, the weave does not exist there. The second thing to remember is that Varog will always try to jump on you given the chance.

A form against the background, four limbs, caught mid pounce. Nathan moves the spear to find the perfect angle like Gwahin showed him. The Varog is mid flight, cannot change trajectory. It lands.

Nathan expected to stop the creature, or even impale it, instead there is a repulsive squishy sound. He finds himself staring deep into the eyes of a spiteful face.

The Varog screams. A putrid breath assaults him and he recoils as the shriek drills into his ears. The creature is frantically grasping at the spear haft, trying to dislodge it from his entrails. Nathan panics, frees one hand and pushes. Stinking grey viscera fall over his hands, his pants, the stench is abominable. The thing is still screeching, clutching at his sides. Nathan manages to free the Makka spear and looks at his work. The smell, the sight, the adrenaline. Too much all at once. He bends over and heaves, spewing vomit over the steaming gore.

No, cannot lose it now. Big one coming.

Nathan wipes his mouth. The Varog is curled in fetal position, whimpering in a strangely human way.

He should have realized it from Gwahin’s thorn bomb. Those savage weapon are anathema to the Varog. Is there a lesson about weavings in general? Something to think about later.

With a last shudder, the creature stops moving. Nathan can now smell his own sweat, the Varog’s shit and an overpowering stench of blood. He remembers another pool of vivid red, a similar smell, but manages to suppress it. There really is no dignity in death.

Nathan feels warm and feverish. That jacket is too much, too stuffy. He needs more freedom for the hunt. The jacket comes off. He would remove the chainmail as well but there is no time and a little voice insists he will need it.

Martin’s voice breaks through the numbness.

“ Big one headed your way, if you’re still in the clearing you got fifteen seconds tops”

Sarah’s voice echoes to confirm that he is. He is also already moving. The jacket is thrown under the biggest tree. Nathan jumps up, gloves catching the branches, then shoes. Body close to the trunk. He climbs. The frigid wind dries the sweat from his face, cold while his body burns with stress and adrenaline. Soon. Now.

The alpha enters the clearing. Only scraps of clothes cling to his naked body. The flesh is grey and flabby around the belly, the rest is taunt skin over muscles like steel wire. The black swirls of his tattoo cover the entire front of him and sends Nathan’s mind reeling when he looks for too long. The thing must be half again as tall as him, even as hunched as he is.

The alpha steps into the clearing, stomping around the stumps with barely a glance for his fallen kin. When he turns, Nathan can see that the tattoos extend to the middle of his shoulders. His back is exposed and angry red welts mar it here and there. He sniffs the air in disgusting snorts.

Nathan focuses and feels the weave around here. He is not there. The weave flows around and through him, just like Gwahin showed him. Gradually, his breath slows, his mind becomes calm and smooth. There is just him and the prey. The bait has been set. He does not need to move. He just needs to be patient. The weave now flows lazily as if he did not exist but he can feel something, a hint of excitement, like a prone wolf with one eye opened. The prey steps forward, it has seen the bait, it has smelled it. It is a big prey, and dangerous, but that is fine. He just needs to be patient. The wind rises. It is cold. No matter. The prey takes one more step, then wait. That is also fine. He can wait longer. The prey is a raider, it knows time is not on its side. Time is on the side of the hunter. The prey looks up but does not see. How can it, when the weave itself hides the hunter? How can it, when it has entered the hunter’s territory. The prey leans forward to sniff the bait.

Now.

Nathan jumps down.

But Nathan is no Yol, he is just a normal adult with a month of training.

The branch he used cracks under the stress of his weight.

The Varog hears it, looks up in surprise.

It raises its hand, too slow.

The Makka spear impacts the Varog’s forehead with enough power to almost rip it off his hands. Nathan can hear something crack, he can also see the black tattoos swirling at the impact point.

The spear fails to break past. It starts sliding

Nathan has failed.

The Varog howls in pain and backhands him by reflex. Nathan his caught midriff and sent flying through the air. He is airborne long enough to utter a curse before his side impacts with a trunk. Nathan falls on the ground. His spear is gone. Pain steals his breath and the creature looks at him with anger in its eyes. It steps forward.

Seren, three minutes before.

Seren likes beautiful words. When she was just starting to read, her mom offered her a book of rare and precious words and it was full of treasures. She had learned that the scent of early rain on a dry earth is called Petrichor. She had also learnt the word serendipity, would say it again and again, letting the syllables roll on her tongue like good chocolate. She still likes the word because her name is part of it. The meaning is also good. Serendipity means lucky happenstance, like her first meeting with Milo or the fact that fate has placed his murderer in front of her while she has a sword and a really serious need to let off some aggression.

The Killer rushes forward screaming, its right arm still missing. Seren steps back and to the side and throws a semicircular parry. The blade catches the monster’s wrist and bites deep. Seren continues the movement, slicing flesh and drawing blood then she thrusts. The Varog jumps back once, then twice when she follows up. It’s insanely agile. Instead of following she draws back and resumes an “En garde” stance.

The Varog starts circling her. Less than a second later two bullets catch it in the chest, one in the head. It causes some damage but not as much as bullets hitting flesh should. The Varog recoils and shakes its head. More holes appear on its chest, oozing black blood.

Suddenly the paths turn black in a straight line. Seren does not think, she jumps left. The Varog lurches forward like a rocket, trying to grab her. Its claws clip her shoulder without breaking through her vest. She recovers her balance and strikes even as it looks at its empty hands, dumbfounded.

Her blade finds its target in the armpit and withdraws immediately, the movement perfect. Once more she retreats and more bullets hit. The Killer turns and maneuvers to place her in the bullet’s path. Michael’s voice reaches her through her earplugs “Repositioning”. It’s alright she got this now. The paths are wide and clear, the probabilities all speeding towards the end.

She is in control.

“I like the way you look now.”

The Killer looks at her, uncomprehending. Seren attacks, using her instinct, her experience and the hints of the paths to drive the Killer back. He tries to push her back, to counter but the truesteel blade bites in his biceps, cuts a deep furrow in his chest, skewers his hand. Both arms now dangle uselessly. The killer looks with surprise at the blood dripping from his body. His wounds stubbornly refuse to close.

Seren feels something dark growing in her. A cruel smirk draws her mouth tight. Milo’s death. Her life going to hell. Her fear of the monsters. Her fear of the future. All gone now.

“When I’m done with you bitch, you’ll show me some respect.”

The Killer looks at her in the eyes and there is a hint of recognition in his vicious eyes.

“You…”

It steps back, surprise on its face.

“Remember”

A step forward, a feint, the Killer steps back and fall on his knee. Seren steps forward with her sword held high. She screams and swings with her whole body. The last inch of the blade ravages the Killer from top right to bottom left in a wrathful strike, she withdraws it as the Killer falls on his other knee and place the tip against its fanged mouth.

“I own you”.

Seren pushes the sword to the hilt.

Michael walks in as she cleans the blade. If anything, he is smiling even wider.

“Nice one.”

“Thanks. I saw you shoot him in the balls, what were you aiming at?”

“His balls”

Sarah interrupts them, she sounds frantic.

“Ho shit. Guys, Nate needs help, hurry!”

Now that things are calm on their end again, they can hear the whip-like sound of Martin’s silenced rifle.

They start running.

Nathan.

Nathan’s head hit the ground and he reminds himself to thank Michael for the helmets. Definitely saved him a few neurons here. He moves back to one knee and stops. Apparently chain mail does not protect ribs from blunt force trauma. Ouch. The alpha sprints forward with one hand still clutching his forehead and punches down, trying to flatten him.

And misses.

Nathan rolls and jumps to his feet and start running while the alpha stares uncomprehendingly at the ground. That’s when Martin starts shooting at his back.

To his surprise, the alpha roars in pain. The carved bullets must be working better than he hoped.

The alpha turns around with surprising speed and slashes him. Once again Nathan tries to dodge and only partially succeeds. He blocks with his forearms and claws the size of kitchen knives rake the mail without breaking it. He is sent flying.

That’s going to hurt like a bitch come morning.

Nathan kneels and pushes his spear up, his arms shaking from the effort.

The Varog is standing at the edge of the clearing. A few bullets flatten uselessly against his chest then Martin’s gun falls silent. He now towers over them like some primal god out of a horror story. His yellow fangs promise crushed bones and sucked marrow, his naked body so alien and grotesque that the weave shifts and flows around it in patterns that hurt Nathans’ already stressed consciousness. The monster is claiming the land and there is nothing he can do to stop him. His best weapon, a Makka made to kill his kind did not even dent the tattoo. Bullets did not even slow him down, even shot in his back, and the alpha is simply too fast and powerful for Nathan to fight, much less outmaneuver.

“Michael and Seren are on their way, stall if you can.”

Stall, right.

Nathan is tired. The stress, the casting, and probably the instinctual response that allowed him to misdirect the Varog have left him deeply exhausted. The frigid air is chilling him to the core and the sheen of sweat born from his earlier fright has already evaporated. He is running on fumes.

That said his home is here, his allies are at his back and they have already accomplished the impossible.

“There are too many of you hunters”

Against all odds or expectations, the alpha’s voice crosses the clearing like a cold wave. It would be easier, Nathan thinks, if it were gravelly, ugly, inhuman. Instead it would not have been out of place in a courtroom. It is pleasant, articulate, even a bit aristocratic, and that is a big, big mistake.

Nathan may not be able to weave for shit, but that has never been his strength. His strength has always been the ability to sense and to adapt, and right now the alpha metaphorically shot itself in the foot, and Nathan suspects he knows why. The Varog had him. He could have overwhelmed him then beat him into a pulp but he didn’t. Two things have saved Nathan, first the rules of engagement: for whatever reason, the Varogs want him alive. The second is more obvious when you think about it. Varogs are drawn from parts of the population that have limited empathy, and that means psychopaths. It makes sense that a leader among them would be a serial killer. Serial killers are not about killing, they are about the rush they get from it.

Nathan picks himself from the ground and takes a step forward. Immediately, the weave stabilizes in a fragile state of balance. The fight had been a one-sided punishment, now it is a challenge yet to be accepted. It will not be enough, but it will help. Nathan does not speak. Let the Varog be the verbose villain.

“Since there are so many of you and you killed some of us, I simply can’t take all of you alive.

“Talking to yourself?”

The Varog lowers his eyes to Nathan and he realizes that the monster had indeed been talking to himself.

Sarah’s voice is barely a sigh: “Seren will be here in fifteen seconds. Hold on.”

“He will ask why and he will know if I have lied.” The Varog speaks absently, barely paying attention. A claw mechanically scratches the edge of a tattoo.

“Is that the one who gave you the tattoo?”

The Varog’s eyes glint dangerously.

“I have said too much, we are not to speak to you little hunters. Besides, the main attraction is here.”

Seren bursts into the opening . If the sight of the looming alpha distresses her, it does not show. In fact she looks downright murderous as she slows down gracefully, bloody sword in her hand. Steel eyes sweep the clearing, barely slowing over the alpha and the other Varog’s corpse.

“Michael and I are on your right. I will keep a lookout for the last monster while he provides covering fire. You guys do your thing.”

“Stay close”. Says Seren.

“The tattoo makes the front of his body impervious to harm.”

“Got it.”

We walk forward together and the fight is on.

Seren’s wisdom becomes obvious when the Varog jumps on her and misses her by a hair, then strikes in reverse to evade being stabbed in the back. In two seconds and three exchanges Nathan realizes that while Seren holds her own, he is hopelessly outclassed. Only his chainmail and Seren’s flawless timing prevents him from being gutted here and there. Meanwhile, the alpha moves and strikes with a skill that hints at fighting experience, using his forearms to block. The alpha apparently notes his uselessness and their lack of teamwork and start working on Seren.

This won’t do.

Nathan stops attacking and maneuvers to step in his back, the alpha pushes Seren back with a thrust and windmills behind himself to strike Nathan. Repetitive practice finally kicks in and Nathan lets himself fall forward under the blow before rushing forward.

It works.

The alpha recoils in surprise and manages to block the spear with a hand.

There is a short moment of triumph when the Makka drills deep in the creature’s palm, a rush of pleasure as the hunter draws blood, and Nathan thinks for himself “Hah. Gotcha!”, then the alpha roars with eardrum-shattering intensity and front kicks him.

Nathan is airborne, his entire chest numbed by the impact, trees, leaves, and droplets of blood join in a stunning kaleidoscope until hits the ground head first, rolls several times and stops against a stump.

The world is brown and black.

The world is made of bark and, apparently, dirt. And things that sound like the crack of a whip.

No, remember the range, that’s a gun going off.

Nathan turns around to see the alpha punch Seren in the head. She blocks with both arms but the punch just rams them into her face and there she goes.

The alpha gets kind of blurry. No, focus. The alpha is holding its twisted hand, looks like there is more skin that actual flesh and bones. Its murderous eyes land on him.

The alpha strides towards him with a furious growl, bent on revenge. Nathan has got nothing. He is spent, and hurt. A searing pain shoots from his sternum and steals his breath, it is taking all he has to bring oxygen to his deprived lungs.

Another sharp pain hits his wrist and the alpha’s clawed foot misses his head by an inch, landing on the stump instead. Toothy. Toothy just woke up and saved his life, biting deep to draw enough power to misdirect.

The alpha stumbles and kneels to reveal the sword embedded deep within his back: the true steel sword. So that’s why Seren was disarmed.

The alpha stands back up as meaty sounds hint at bullets impacting his back. With a last grunt, the monster finally falls.

Directly on top of him.

Nathan’s last thought is of the monster’s cold, floppy and bloody tongue landing on his cheek.

“Seriously?!”