Twilight had settled over the forest and the looming trees cast long, crooked shadows by the time we got to the grove. One glance and I knew we were in the right place. The forest we’d come through consisted mostly of coniferous trees like pines, firs, and spruces with the occasional spattering of maples and cottonwoods thrown into the mix. Not the grove. We found ourselves staring down into a perfectly circular valley that reminded me of a bullseye target. At the center of the depression was a tangle of hulking, twisted trees that looked like they’d been ripped out of a dark fairytale.

Huge cedars, sprawling elms, broad-leafed sycamores. At the center of the grove, was one stately tree that rose high above the others. It had a broad domed shaped canopy, an impossibly thick trunk, wide boughs, and what looked like an army of roots dangling down from the myriad of branches.

“Dude,” Cal said, “that’s one of those trees from Cobra Gold. Banyan trees, I think they’re called.”

He was right. Once upon a time, our unit had participated in a multinational Jungle Warfare training operation in Thailand. The locals taught us the ins and outs of conducting combat operations in a wet, humid rainforest filled with creeping bugs, a host of deadly critters, and the constant threat of monsoon downpours. We’d learned the hard way that surviving in the deep jungle was a helluva lot different from backpacking through the Appalachians or fighting in a desert.

I couldn’t image what a Banyan tree would be doing in a climate like this; even though we’d moved south, it was still very much winter. Most of the other trees nestled inside the grove weren’t evergreens either, but there were vibrant green leaves on every single branch.

By contrast, there was a wide ring-shaped space sandwiched between the grove and the edge of the forest that was completely barren of life. There had been plants once, but the grasses and flowers had withered and died long ago, leaving only frozen dirt and skeletal stalks behind.

“Rally on me,” I said, waving for the other Vigils to draw close. Kerra stood nearby but didn’t participate in our team huddle. “Since I have a working pair of eyes, it’s obvious that something unnatural has taken up residence in there. Chances are good that we’re gonna get swamped the second we get inside the treeline and that we’re going to be facing multiple enemies.”

“Maybe we could lure out whatever is inside?” Colin suggested.

“It’s a good thought,” I replied, quickly mulling it over, “but I don’t think that’s gonna work for a couple of reasons. Our survivor buddy mentioned that the trees are behind this and looking at that giant fucking tree at the center, I’m guessing that’s at least partially true. Which means we can’t lure the Mortka out of the forest, because the forest is the objective. Back where I’m from, we have these things called Venus Fly Traps—it’s a type of Carnivorous Plant—and I’ll bet dollars to donuts this is the Mortka equivalent. We’re gonna have to walk our happy asses in there, even if it means we’re heading into an ambush.”

“Or we could just try to set the forest on fire,” Marina suggested innocently with a little shrug.

“Oh, I like this one,” Renholm said in approval. “I too agree that we should set the whole thing ablaze. It’s the most efficient solution. Plus, I love to watch things burn,” he cackled.

“Wow, that got real dark, real quick,” I muttered, “but we’re not gonna set it on fire. Don’t get me wrong, I like where your head’s at, Marina. Never go with half measures. Problem is there might still be people alive in there. If we torch the place, they’ll die too.”

“I’m still not seeing the problem here,” Renholm said idly stroking Jacob-Francis’s head. “A few peasants seem to be a small price to pay for convenience.”

“No one asked you,” I replied flatly, “and we’re not killing a bunch of innocent people. Which leads us back to the ambush. We go in heavy, classic V-formation. I’ll take point. My job will be to draw the bulk of the aggressors to me. Cal and Berk, you’re my two flank guards. Plug the holes, keep them from encircling us. If we get hemmed in, we’re fucked. Marina, since you’re our resident spell slinger, your job is going to be rear area support—hang back from the heart of the action and cast as many offensive spells as you can. Hammer these motherfuckers. Maintain a clear line of sight and keep an extraction route open if you can.”

“What about me?” Colin asked, a defensive edge in his voice. He was the weakest member on the battlefield and he didn’t want to get benched on our first mission.

“Don’t worry, kid, I haven’t forgotten about you. Marina has all of our backs, you have her back. Stick to her like glue. You take out anything that gets into striking range, you tracking?”

He nodded, jaw set in determination. The kid was a love-struck puppy—he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Marina.

I conjured my war axe and pushed through the trees, pine needles and forest detritus crunching softly underfoot. Sir Jacob Francis padded long silently beside me, Renholm in the saddle with his tiny sword drawn. I tracked Cal and Berk in my peripheries, one off to my left, the other to my right, both about five feet back from me. A cloying, sickly-sweet aroma hung thick in the air like rotting fruit, and I could feel this place brimming with Essence.

There was something in here, alright. Watching. Waiting. Bidding its time for us to venture in a little deeper. Too deep.

The press of trees eventually gave way to another ring-like clearing with the enormous Banyan tree directly in the center. Its huge canopy blocked out the last, fleeting rays of sunlight and cast the ground into a perpetual murk. All around the base of the tree were heaps of bleached bones, some human others not. Thick tangles of vines covered with purple, star-shaped flowers twisted through the skeletal remains, and crawled up the trunk of the Banyan tree. Those flowers buzzed and quivered restlessly in the corner of my eye.

“Contact right!” Cal hollered.

A corpse, dried and desiccated almost beyond recognition, shambled out followed in short order by two more undead. Their clothes were in tatters, their skin waxy and tight. More of the choking green vines snaked around their limbs and a purple flower sprouted from each vacant eye hole. Necrotic fingers were wrapped tightly around large axes. Based on those weapons alone, I was guessing these were some of the missing loggers.

“That’s you, Berk,” I said.

“On it,” he called back.

There was a flash of power from his hand as he consumed a Transformation Token. His body swelled, course hair sprouted along his arms. His mouth elongated into a pig-snout and huge tusks punched upward from his lower jaw. The change took seconds and when it was over, a squat, bipedal boar-man stood where Berk had moments before. He let out a squeal, lowered his head, and charged into the encroaching zombies. He hit the first one in the chest with a bone-crunching snap that sent the zombie flying backward into the trees like a wet noodle.

The second one came at him fast, followed in quick succession by another and another and another. Berk’s job was to hold the right flank and keep anything from swarming us, but in an eyeblink he was surrounded, enemies clawing at him from every side. Goddamn it.

Movement on my left announced the presence of more creatures, though these weren’t logger zombies, these were something else entirely. Shambles, crafted from tree branches, deadfall wood, boulders, and a loose amalgamation of bleached bone, all tethered together with the creeping vines and purple flowers. There were five of them, with another three lumbering toward Berk. Double fuck. Like Berk, Cal consumed one of the Transformation Tokens I’d given him, morphing into one of the Hollow Maw he and I had exterminated back in Landren.

The Hollow Maw were built like jumbo-sized bulldogs and—as their name implied—had an enormous maw and gullet lined with spikes. Fuckers could eat damn-near anything. Despite the overwhelming opposition, Cal kept his cool, zigzagging back and forth along the line, harrying the shambles without ever really focusing on any one creature in particular. His job was all about crowd control and, unlike Berk, he was doing exactly what needed doing. Eight more of the shambles lurched out from around the trunk of the Banyan tree dead ahead, inhuman arms reaching, purple flower eyes locked onto my position.

“Renholm,” I yelled, tossing the pixie half a Rabid Affinity Scale, “go help Berk not die.”

The pixie snagged the scale from the air and popped it into his mouth like a greedy dog getting a treat. His body went rigid and his tiny eyes flared, seeming to grow two sizes. A vicious grin stretched across his narrow face.

“Madness! Bloodshed! Haaaavoc! I am become death, destroyer of worlds!” He turned, midair, and took off like a bullet, shrieking the whole way. He slammed into the face of a zombie and instead of trying to stab him, the pixie just went to town with his teeth, gnawing on what remained of the undead creature’s nose.

I put Renholm and Berk from my mind and surged forward with my axe in hand. The shambles came at me as one, but they were slow, awkward, and had all the grace of a boulder—which is mostly what they were made from. I danced through their ranks, executing the weapons forms that Niels and Kerra had drilled into my head. Gone were the wild and unwieldy swings. Instead, the axe moved in a blur of constant motion, chopping through reaching arms, taking off overextended legs, cleaving torsos in two as I triggered Rend over and over again, slowly burning through my Stamina.

[You have killed a Wither Bloom Husk! The world has been cleansed! You have been blessed with 115 Essence!]

[You have killed a Wither Bloom Husk! The world has been cleansed! You have been blessed with 115 Essence!]

[You have killed a Wither Bloom Husk! The world has been cleansed! You have been blessed with 115 Essence!]

The words flickered across my vision as fast as I could swing my axe and clouds of golden light eddied around my feet and swirled into my nostrils and mouth. A heady rush of raw power pushed me on as Essence replenished the Arcana and Stamina reserves I’d burned through so far. But with every Husk I killed, two more stumbled into the open, ready to join the brawl. Worse, they weren’t focusing on me, but rather were seeking out easier targets.

Cal was still holding his own, his slathering jaws grinding through limbs like an industrial-strength garbage disposal while his hooked claws slashed through the vines with brutal efficiency. Nothing else was going to plan.

Even with Renholm’s help, Berk was on the verge of getting murdered. There were now a full dozen of the Wither Husks surrounding him and half-again as many of the zombified, vine corpses. The pixie was a goddamned lightning bolt of manic energy, darting around, slashing at flower-eyes and leaving deep scratches in shriveled flesh. Not surprisingly, Jacob Francis was also getting in on the action. He was literally just a cat, but that didn’t seem to deter him in the least as he contended against supernatural forces far more powerful. He was currently clinging to the back of one the zombies, teeth savagely latched onto its neck.

A thunderclap ripped the air as several of the husks clawing at Berk were batted away by a blast of unseen force.

I spun and found Colin and Marina standing side by side, not but five feet away. Colin had a slender rapier blade in one hand and a doubled edged dagger in the other. Marina carried a white ornate staff, polished to a dull gleam.

“What the hell are you doing this close!” I yelled, axe still hacking and slashing.

A husk emerged from behind them and charged. Colin shoulder Marina out of the way and sent his rapier flicking through a rapid-fire series of thrusts, slashes, and parries.

Marine thrust her staff out and unleashed another wave of force—the creature exploded, limbs cartwheeling through the air as golden mist flowed into her mouth.

“Creeping vines erupted from the ground,” Marina yelled in reply. “It was either retreat or advance, so we decided to advance.” She thrust her staff forward and another wave of force swept out, swatting aside an encroaching Husk.

“And there’s something,” Colin said, “we’ve found the survivors.”

He dismissed the Soul Bound rapier with a flick of his wrist. He closed his eyes for a beat, breathed out through his nostrils, then brought his hands together in a clap that sent out a barely felt rippled of Arcana. The trees surrounding us shimmered as he dispelled a glamor that had been blanketing the clearing.

Several of the gnarled trunks had gaping holes, like open wounds, gouged into their centers. Inside were the few remaining loggers who hadn’t already been turned into zombies. From the looks of ’em, they were barely hanging onto life at this point. They were breathing, sure, but flower-covered vines pinned them in place, digging into their skin like medical IVs. The plants were draining the humans like juice boxes.

As horrific as human sippy cups were, it didn’t even hold a candle to the Banyan Tree. A purple flower as big as an SUV had appeared in the leafy canopy, and at its center was a single yellow eye.

Ethereal purple lines of energy glowed just beneath the surface of the ground, connecting the Banyan tree to the endless swarm of shambles and zombies coming out of the woodworks.

What. The. Fuck.