Hello you wonderful Mist Villagers! This is the Super Secret Index for Book 8!
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And now on to the Epilogue!

Epilogue

Leathery wings glided silently through the mist. The aerial predator passed over packs of monsters. She could have slain some of them, but a simple kill was not what she was seeking. The sun had long since set, but her Darkvision enhancement had doubled in strength since her evolution. She could see far into the distance with no difficulty. Hours later, she found her prey.

An armored insect, the size of a golden retriever, was noisily consuming an elk. The fallen deer had wicked horns. It even looked like the tips had started to turn black, a probable sign that the animal had been evolving thanks to the flood of new mana around the village. The poor mammal hadn’t changed fast enough. The ankheg that was eating its entrails hadn’t been deterred. The empty tunnel nearby told the tale of how the insect had hidden its body underground before striking.

If any of the Mist Villagers had come across such a monster, they probably would have given it a wide berth. At the very least, they would have gathered allies before trying to take something like this down. That was not what Alma was going to do.

This was going to be the first kill she made since changing. The days of bed rest afterward were enough to make the dragonet gnash her teeth. That hateful sprite healer, Sumiko, had made her stay inside for days. Days! It still made Alma furious. If the woman hadn’t been a Life master Alma would have attacked her.

Point in fact, Alma had attacked the sprite… twice. The first time, the dragonet admitted she had been too weak to hunt. She’d fallen off the table when she’d tried to pounce. The second time, though! The second time it had only been the healer’s Life magic that had held her down. The dracanoid creature was still offended. How could Sumiko have made her stay indoors when her beloved was trapped underground? He needed this experience!

That was why, large or not, she was going to take this monster down. She silently circled above, the perfect night hunter. Her grey-black scales gave perfect camouflage against the night sky. She stared down, using one of her new abilities, Psight.

Knowledge flooded her mind. It was level twenty-six. The ankheg could spray acid from two holes on its forehead. Its armor was also somewhat formidable with a defense value of +10. That wouldn’t save it from the power of Thought.

Sure that there were no other monsters in the immediate area, she dove. The wind whistling past her body gave away her presence, but it was too late for the ankheg. Before it even finished the thought that something was nearby, she had release Psi Blast in it narrowest beam. The ray of psychic energy passed through the insect’s carapace like it wasn’t there. It heard an angry buzzing noise while debuffs wracked its body.

Reciprocal messages appeared for Alma.

Your Target is Stunned, Confused and Disoriented!

She unfurled her wings a moment before impact, drastically reducing her speed. Her four claws latched onto the monster. Barely a second had passed since her first attack. She placed her own head atop its chitin covered skull and began to drain!

Its primitive thoughts, health, its very essence, was absorbed into the dragonet. While she fed this way, she was helpless, but the ankheg’s health fell like blood down a drain. Being level twenty-six made it deadly, but her Brain Drain was level seven. Unless her target had strong mental defenses, anything under level thirty-one was at her mercy. As her master would say, the insect wasn’t a thinker!

As she emptied all of its stats bars, it grew weaker and even less likely to resist. Short minutes later, it was done. The ankheg collapsed lifelessly to the grass. Its head was still buried in the body of the elk. Alma raised her head with a blissful croon, savoring the energy she had just feasted upon.

A prompt greeted her.

You have been awarded 44,468 experience (base 508,216 x 0.07 x 1.25) from Brain Drain against Level 26 Ankheg.

A similar prompt appeared in her master’s vision bringing a smile to his face. The only difference was that he lacked the 25% XP boost. Alma had made sure to drink a potion of clarity before hunting, something that was no longer available to Richter. While the experience was greatfully accepted, what truly warmed his heart was the knowledge that his love wasn’t only alive, she was also deadlier than ever. It somehow made everything okay, even what had happened with the orcs.

Alma didn’t know her master was smiling, but she hoped that he was. Sending him a large chunk of experience was her love letter. A low growl made her snap her neck down and stare into the trees. Three sets of shining eyes stared back at her. A wolf walked forward. Its fangs were glacial blue, and a thick stream of frost painted the air with every exhale. The alpha bared its teeth at her.

The dragonet roared in response.

It had taken her hours to find a monster that was both high level and alone. She couldn’t afford to use Brain Drain against a pack. Even if she scattered them initially, they might come back while she was defenseless.

While it was true she’d already her primary goal of gaining experience, she wasn’t about to let a couple of dogs steal her kill. This land belonged to her master. He belonged to her. Ipso facto, this land and everything in it was hers!

The monsters and beasts were getting stronger every day. Her own evolution had heralded the same for the creatures of the mist. If she backed down from just a few mutts, she’d never be able to help all the monsters know the truth. That she, was nobody’s bitch. They were all hers!

Alma roared back at the wolves, standing atop her prey. Her wings unfurled, stretching five feet, tip to tip. Her sinuous tail arched up like a scorpion’s, and the barbed tip pointed at the wolf’s face. All of her razor sharp teeth bared. Her eyes promised pain and blood.

The alpha wolf lowered its head and put its tail between its legs. The betas urinated in fear. Alma harrumphed seeing how easily they backed down. Punk ass bitches. She sank her claws deeper into the cracks in the ankheg’s armor. With three powerful beats of her wings, she was airborne, carrying her prey with her. A yellow glow surrounded her, increasing her speed by more than 20%. She flew back towards the village, wondering what the smiths, crafters and alchemists might be able to make out of this body.

In the limbs of a high tree, a hidden figure watched the dragonling retreat with her prey. The bugbear Ranger, Yi’torv, rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in regret. It would have been so easy to make the shot. He had no idea what that flying creature was, but it looked a bit like a dragon. He’d never killed a dragon before.

The Ranger pursed his lips in disappointment. Orders were orders. This was recon only. His commanders did not want the people that lived in the village to know their defensive mists was as useless as thin smoke on the wind. Defying orders was not something that happened in the Basilisk Alliance. Not more than once.

He reapplied the salve beneath his eyes. The alliance’s potion crafters had been able to make a processed strength cream. The salve’s range was now increased to over two hundred yards. That still wasn’t far enough in Yi’torv’s opinion, but it was much better than the paltry range from the original formula. Testing the cream was one of the main points of tonight’s excursion. Despite his criticism’s, the potion was effective.

Yi’torv whistled, his voice simulating a brown screech owl. Two echoing hoots answered him. The trio of Professionals descended to the forest floor. They began silently running to the southern edge of the mist spell. All three had satchels filled with mist roots, the primary ingredient for Mist Vision Salve. The plants were the second goal of their mission.

The army’s Herbalists should be able to make an unlimited supply of the plants with what the Rangers were bringing back. With the alliance’s Magi speeding the plants growth, the Alchemists would then be able to make enough salve for a small army. Soon, very soon, it would be time to invade and claim the Dungeon in the name of the Basilisk Alliance.

It was only a matter of time.

**************************************************************************************************

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Review for Book 8

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Now, without further ado, enjoy the Prologue of God’s Eye: Awakening!!!

617,827,053 breaths.

That was the original measurement of Remington’s life.

At the time of his birth, the Fates of the Skein had determined exactly how much time he would be allotted and what he would do with it. His would be a life of honorable achievement. Of sadness, true, but of far more joy. Of children and warm hearths, and finally, after a life well spent, he would be gifted with a dignified death.

It was true that predicting the weave of Fate’s strings was harder on Earth due to the Chaos in every Earthling. Still, the predictions of Fate could be relied upon. For even in a system of the greatest Order, there is the possibility of Chaos, and even in a world of pure Chaos, Order can be found.

Put another way, Fate’s plans went FUBAR when a bolt of pure Higher Energy struck the world. The Wyrd Skein was torn asunder, and the three immortal sisters found their own fates to be at risk. In the days following the Forsaking when the sky turned a roiling grey, some lived that should have died, and many, many more died that should have lived.

Threads were cut short, and countless new threads were woven into the story of Earth. No being, no matter how powerful, could now predict the future of the planet. The destinies of billions were set free to float on the winds of Change and Chance. One such soul was now running for his life.

***

Screams filled the night and the sour tang of vomit filled the air. Remy’s heart beat harder than ever before. Though neither he nor any other being could know, he was gasping the final breaths of his tragically shortened life.

107 breaths remaining.

Sweat ran down Remy’s face and plastered his shirt to his back. He didn’t even notice. His heart also thudded hard enough to cause physical pain. Even that didn’t capture his attention. All he was thinking about were the living and the dead.

Two hundred and fifty-nine of them had fled the city. Every one of those hundreds of souls had agreed to run to the dubious safety of this old army bunker. Only sixty-eight remained. Fifty-five had made it into the fortified structure that would hopefully be their new home and salvation. Twelve more prayed to any deity that would listen while they tried to make it to the fortified door. One stood at the threshold.

Remy stood in the doorway, one hand braced against its frame, and bellowed, “Run! Run! They’re coming after you!”

105 breaths remaining.

The only answer was the agonized scream of a woman. Sara was an overweight suburban mom that had managed to survive when so many others had died. You wouldn’t have thought she would make it through the last days of hell on Earth, but she had discovered a strong will to live. Where others had succumbed, she had fought tooth and nail to survive. She had gained the respect of everyone in the group. Within eyesight of safety, however, her story came to an end.

A mutated cat, black with red claws, jumped out of the darkness. It was no mere housecat. It had the size and physique of a mountain lion and easily bore her screaming figure to the ground. The two rolled in a violent struggle, but there was no doubt as to the outcome. Within the first few seconds, Sara’s red blood splattered in broad arcs across the grass. In the twilight it looked black. The shadow cat gouged, bit, and clawed while she screamed and begged for mercy.

Remy watched with a tight jaw, but did not leave the safety of the doorway. When a group of people survived days of death and hopelessness, they could form bonds strong enough to last a lifetime. Her screams for help echoed through the night, but not one of the other eleven slowed down or even looked back.

No one was coming to help her.

In this new world, no paltry bond of friendship would protect you when monsters prowled. Misplaced mercy would kill you as quickly as a fang or claw.

They weren’t men and women of the Western Confederation any more. Nations, gender, and race no longer mattered. Idealism was for fools. Most idealists had died out in the first few days of monster attacks. Those that survived lived only to feel those soft feelings crushed by the weight of reality. They were all Forsaken now. All that mattered was survival.

Instead of stopping or helping, they just used her agonized screams as motivation to run faster. Their legs pumped like pistons. They all heard the yowling screeches of more monsters closing in. When given a choice between heeding the threatening roars of monsters or the begging of a woman who was already almost dead, the answer was obvious. The most kindhearted of the eleven just wished her a quick death. The more pragmatic of them hoped that she suffered as long as possible. Her screams might distract some of the monsters and provide the rest of them with precious time.

Remy watched as the woman went down, as more blood sprayed across the ground, as Sara continued to fight, frantically pushing at the partially insubstantial body of the shadow cat. Her efforts accomplished nothing. The only reason she was still alive was because the monster hadn’t gone for the kill yet. Mutated or not, the beast still had the personality of a cat. It was playing with its food.

The dark skin on Remy’s face stretched as his jaw clenched even tighter. Still, he didn’t leave the doorway. He knew the same thing the remaining eleven runners did. She was already dead. Her body just hadn’t caught up to that fact yet. Instead, he looked at the men and women he could still save. Remy’s eyes locked onto the man lagging the farthest behind. Jay was a father, a good man. He was the kind of guy you would be lucky to have at your back. The only reason he was lagging behind was that he held his little boy in his arms. Even at fifty paces, Remy could see the whites of the man’s fear-swollen eyes.

100 breaths remaining.

Remy shouted for him to run faster, but it was obvious Jay was at the end of his stamina. He was falling farther behind the others with every second. Exhaustion was putting lie to the belief that parents could do anything to save their children. The monsters crooned in excitement at seeing weaker members of the herd struggle and fall behind. The sound deepened Jay's fear into terror. Froth appeared at the corner of his lips, and his son sobbed into his chest.

I can’t look back! I can’t let go! Those two thoughts were on repeat in Jay’s mind as he gripped his small son to his chest. Don’t look back. Don’t let go. Don’t look back. Don’t let go!

With fell, inevitable cruelty, two shadow cats emerged from the darkness and leaped. Their combined weight easily overwhelmed Jay and drove his body to the ground. One swipe of red talons opened up three jagged wounds in his back. His back arched and he shrieked in agony.

Most people would be surprised that such a large man would make such a high-pitched sound. Remy was not. He’d seen hardened soldiers cry for their mothers as they bled out far from home. To him, there was neither surprise nor shame. Everyone went out in their own way. In the end, it just didn’t matter. Dead was dead.

In Jay’s pain-addled state, he lost his grip on his son. The second cat sank its teeth deep into the boy’s shoulder. The three-year-old cried out in pain and fear. He screamed for his father, the invincible figure that had always kept him safe. He screamed it over and over while the shadow beast mauled him. The only blessing was that the cries did not last long. He died still believing he would be saved. Jay howled, “No!” as the last member of his family was literally ripped from his arms.

The last sight Jay had was another shadow cat clamping its jaws over his son’s face before jerking its head to the side. The small body twitched spasmodically after the neck snapped. A foul scent revealed the child had soiled his pants.

The world of the Forsaken showed the full extent of its mercy in that the father’s throat was ripped out before he saw his son being eaten piece by quivering piece. As their blood spilled out on the grassy field, the last vestige of their bloodline disappeared forever.

95 breaths remaining.

Damn you, Remy thought. His fingers gripped the doorway so hard his knuckles turned white. Yet still he remained in the bunker. He couldn’t help either of them, and he wouldn’t waste the life left in him for nothing. He and everyone else on Earth were Forsaken, and the weak would die sooner or later. Instead, he shouted once more for the survivors to run faster.

Remy’s eyes flashed upward in a particular way. His HUD phased into existence, and he examined the three bars in the upper left corner. They were the same length and were each a different color: red, blue and green. He grunted, seeing the purple corruption infesting the red line. It was what he’d expected, but it still sickened him. Breathing out, he focused on the full green and blue bars. They would have to do.

He turned his focus back to the men and women running for their lives. In the back of his mind, he reflected on the insanity of the world he was living in. Everything had changed when that “heads-up display” or “interface” had appeared in the vision of every person on Earth. It was the same moment they were all notified that their world was now connected to the Labyrinth, whatever that was.

Since then people had come to accept that if they let their eyes unfocus, they could pull up their very own video game interface. They had also figured out that it could give them information and even make them stronger. Some had gained significant powers. The “Able.” That was what people had started calling the minority of the human race that had been granted an ability during the Forsaking.

Remy was one of those precious few. His ability was only second rank, uncommon, far from the nearly superhero capabilities that others had gained. Still, it had let him teach a few survivors to develop their own skills, attacks and defenses. Being “Able” had played no small part in making him the de facto leader of this group, even though that thought seemed like a cruel joke. What kind of leader lost nearly eighty percent of his people?

Dark figures continued to materialize out of the night, each a monster capable of killing a full-grown man in single combat. They gave chase while the survivors sprinted for their lives. A teenage boy was the next to fall. His screams were bloodcurdling as two of the cat monsters sliced through his Achilles. The boy’s shrieks only grew in pitch and volume as he was dragged off into the night. Remy realized he didn’t even remember the kid’s name.

The next to go was a father who chose to spend his life to save his family. He knew what was about to happen to him, but still he bought his wife and daughter precious seconds. The little girl was peeking over her mother’s shoulder, and watched her father turn to face the monsters. She reached her small hand backward and screamed “Daddy!” but her mother held on tightly to her squirming body. The woman’s heart was breaking, but still she sprinted for the safety of the bunker door.

The nail-studded bat the father held glowed red for just a moment as he activated Sweeping Blow. The weapon moved almost on its own. The speed with which it cut through the air was far faster than the man should have been able to manage. More, it struck not one but three cat monsters all at once. The trio of monsters were knocked backward, rolling back along the ground. Sadly, the special attack was not without its price.

The man’s stamina was already low from running; the special attack bottomed it out. The father fell to his hands and knees, gasping. It felt like he’d sprinted uphill in a Georgia summer. He could barely focus. The edges of his vision blackened.

Another cat approached him cautiously. It sniffed and circled his body to see if he would attack again. The man glared at it, but could do nothing more than heave labored breaths. Seconds later, it sprung onto his back and sank its fangs into his neck. A strangled huff mixed with his ragged breathing. More blood spilled onto the ground. A wheezing groan came out and he collapsed to the ground. Seconds later, four more cats latched on, eating him alive. In his last seconds the brave man lost all semblance of courage. His cries filled the air. He screamed for his mother as he pissed himself.

Remington just nodded at the man’s passing and picked up his gun. It was almost time.

81 breaths remaining.

Remy had made a promise to get these people to safety. He wasn’t a fool and wouldn’t waste his life if he couldn’t help, but he was no coward. It could easily be argued that he had done enough getting any of them to the bunker. God knows it hadn’t been easy, and there had been sacrifices. Even though he would not waste his life on a hopeless cause, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t spit in Fate’s eye if he found a worthy one. He saw just such a cause in the pleading eyes of the mother running toward him. Saving a woman and her child was a good thing to buy with the life he had left.

He’d left men and women to die before. Just like he’d watched Sara and Jay die, he could see the big picture and act accordingly. Making difficult decisions did not weigh him down like it did so many others. That didn’t mean he had no heart, contrary to what many in his life had thought. Instead, it meant that his heart was just harder and rougher than others. He was willing to bear pains that others were not. If he thought there was no hope for the people running, he would have already shut the door. Point in fact, Remy had two distinct reasons for leaving the safety of the shelter.

One, he was sure that he could help at least some of the runners make it. More accurately, he was sure he could improve their chances. That fact made it easier to focus on the task at hand. It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel fear or doubt. Those emotions just didn’t stop him from anything he decided needed to be done. He’d learned long ago that pain was a lesser burden than regret. Remington had sworn to help these people. He would try to fulfill that promise if he could, even if it meant risking his life.

Two, he hadn’t made it through the last several days unscathed. There had been a personal cost to getting his group to the bunker. A bite from a small mutated insect, like a flying ant with a scorpion’s tail, had done him more damage than any monster. After everything he had lived through, before and after the Forsaking, the thought that a bug bite was going to do him in had made him chuckle more than once. Not a bullet. Not a bomb. A bug bite. He’d climbed over the bodies of his comrades, swum through rivers turned red with blood, and in the end, it was shitting on an anthill that was going to do him in.

In the past few days, the bite had grown from a small red nodule to a golf ball-sized hole in his side. The edges were black and necrotic. Tendrils of infection spread out from the wound. The contamination reached across his chest and down his leg. He’d held some hope that the bunker might have antibiotics, but in the last day he’d come to realize that a shot of penicillin was not going to kill whatever organism was eating him alive. Better to make his last days count for something.

Gripping his rifle, he took a step out of the bunker. Before he could take a second, a hand grabbed his coat sleeve. Looking back, he met his sister’s eyes.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

She asked the question in a tone that was half accusation and half begging. It held a pleading intensity that was reflected in her fevered eyes. Her face was also wan from blood loss and fever. She had lost three fingers in an attack five days ago. Now the entire limb was fire-engine red and the stumps were black. She didn’t say anything else, but the plea in her rheumy eyes was obvious. Don’t leave me, they said. For once, don’t try and be the hero. Don’t risk your life. Let them die.

The look in his own eyes was all the answer she needed. Love, apology, and steely resolve. Maybe if he was the hero she thought he was, he would have stayed. What she did not know was that he had killed more people than any of these monsters. He had sent countless more to their deaths. Again and again, he had made difficult, blood-drenched choices that men and women of conscience would balk at. He had committed atrocities for his Federation, for his people, for his government.

He was no hero.

That was why his government had always called on him. He was the one who would always look at the bigger picture and then just wash the blood from his hands when he was done. Now, however, there was no bigger picture. There was just a child he could help with the fading life that was still in his body. Preserving decades of potential in exchange for the few pain-filled days he had left was a good deal, plain and simple.

He didn’t tell her any of that. Honesty and truth had never been major priorities. Instead, he just spoke the words that his mother instilled in them their entire lives. Words he knew that would comfort her.

“We stand.”

Hearing that, something almost physical broke inside of her. She let go of him, in body, mind and heart, just as he knew she would. Tears began to form, but she didn’t let them fall. If her brother could be brave, she thought, then so could she.

For his part, Remy didn’t waste any more time or breath on goodbyes. Instead, he took that second step out of the bunker and raised the rifle to his shoulder. Focusing, he poured his will into the weapon and brought the stock up to his cheek. A now-familiar overlay appeared in his vision as he accessed his Sure Shot skill. Reticles appeared over each enemy in his view and greatly increased his accuracy.

With a second exertion of will, each bullet in the rifle was infused with gold-white light. He had no idea how it worked but, thanks to a skill, he could pour “mana” into each bullet. It made his shots hit harder. That was necessary because the monsters and invaders seemed to be able to shrug off normal bullets. In the past few days, Remy had had plenty of time to shake his head at the insanity of these new “natural laws.” All he cared about in that moment though was bringing the pain.

Activating his skills took barely any time at all. In fact, it was done by the time he took his fourth step away from the bunker. Despite his speed, he’d unknowingly just spent a major portion of the life he had left.

69 breaths remaining.

After triggering Ammo of Light, his mana had plummeted by more than half. It gave him a headache, but Remy pushed it aside. His focus was on the enemy and the innocents. The former soldier sighted through the ACOG scope and squeezed, never pulled, the trigger. Three rounds shot from the end of the barrel in a second. Each tore through the air, trailing white light. All three exploded into the body of one of the cats.

Fifty yards away the bullets entered the monster, the kinetic damage amplified by Remy’s use of Light mana. He didn’t know it, but the cat was at least partially a Dark creature. The opposing nature of his attack greatly magnified the damage. Three grievous wounds appeared in its body. It dropped to the ground, dead. Remy had already sighted on another and three more white tracers filled the night.

With his increased accuracy and damage, the closest members of the pack were soon dispatched, giving his people precious seconds. Even as he replaced the mag, his breath came in heavy gasps. Sure Shot increased the likelihood that he hit his target, something absolutely necessary with the agile cats, but it drained his stamina every second he used it. His mana had also bottomed out when he used Ammo of Light on the second mag. The magic depletion brought on a splitting headache that made it harder to think. When he fired again the bullets glowed, but didn’t have the white tracing of magic. He just hadn’t been able to put as much mana into the second round. Because of that, the bullets did considerably less damage. It didn’t matter to Remy. He kept firing.

57 breaths remaining.

Under his cover fire, survivors made it into the bunker, including the mother and her child. The woman actually increased her pace somehow and made it to the bunker ahead of some of the others. Seeing her run past him brought a smile to his lips. The whole time he never stopped firing, advancing all the while.

When the last living member of his group finally ran by, hope surged in his breast. It was another suburban mom, Jenny. She was still wearing the ripped and filthy designer track suit she’d had on when the world ended. At some point the rhinestones on her bottom had probably spelled “PINK,” but now it just read “IN.”

Jenny had clearly been a Buckhead Betty, one of the young trophy wives who looked down on Publix and only shopped at Whole Foods or the farmer’s market. Now though, her cheeks were sunken and her face was gaunt from weeks of near-starvation. Sweat drenched her body and made her skin shine in the fading light. She looked him in the eye as she passed, her gaze filled with both fear and gratitude. Remy just nodded, keeping his rifle trained on the cats that were coming ever closer.

“Keep going!” he shouted, while he started backing up. “I’ll hold them back.”

“Thank you,” she cried. It was more sobbing gasp than pronounced words, but she did as she was told.

Remy kept firing as he retreated. His eyes were on a swivel, trying to keep track of the shadowy bodies of the predator cats. Not an easy task as they all but disappeared when they stepped into shadows. When his mag ran dry, the monsters slowed to an aggressive stalk. They all glared at him malevolently but didn’t rush forward.

He kept his gun raised but didn’t fire. This was his last mag, and he didn’t have any mana to use his skill again. Remy had managed to kill more than ten of the monsters, but they just stepped over their fallen without a glance. The man pointed his gun at one of them, then another, hoping they were smart enough to be afraid but not smart enough to know that his stamina and mana were almost at zero.

39 breaths remaining.

For a moment, he allowed himself to think that everything would be okay. That his foolish gamble would pay off and he would make it safely back to the bunker having saved some lives. That was when he heard the scream. Risking a look behind him, he saw Jenny lying in a pool of her own blood. Two cats had circled around behind him and caught her before she could make it to safety. He looked past the duo now feasting on the woman’s flesh and saw more shadow cats running toward the entrance to the fortified structure only thirty yards away.

Remy looked past Jenny’s mutilated body and locked eyes with his sister. She was still standing in the doorway, her one good hand on the knob. She silently begged him to somehow run faster than the bounding cats. To make it back to safety and to not leave her. He gave her the smallest shake of his head, and his face communicated a simple request.

Close the door.

22 breaths remaining.

Her heart broke, but they had both been raised by the same strong woman. Neither was afraid to face the truth, and neither shied from difficult tasks. With a fractured cry, she slammed the heavy door shut and threw the bolt just in time. One of the shadow cats threw its body against the door so hard that it fractured its spinal column. The impact made a bone-cracking crunch.

The other monstrous cats immediately began scratching at the wood. Their claws gouged deep furrows in the door, but only the outer door was made of oak. The inner door was solid steel. She closed that as well, and locked it seconds after the first. The only light was the faint red from the hazard bulbs. In near darkness, she stared at the chrome metal door as if trying to see through it. Trying to let her brother know that he wasn’t alone even though he was. A thick strand of spider silk drifted down and caressed her tear-streaked face. After yanking it away in shock and disgust, she noticed there were a good number of webs farther down the corridor, still thick even after everyone had walked down it.

Outside, a low-pitched growl made Remy snap his head forward again. He had only looked away for a second, but some of the cats stalking him had covered more than half the distance between them. They weren’t slowing down. After having been through so many life-and-death struggles, he knew what was about to happen. He’d survived more times than he could count, but this time something inside him knew that there would be no escape. As the end of his journey raced toward him, he realized, with a slight bit of shock, that in addition to the adrenaline, pain and a wisp of fear, what he felt most was… free.

Soon, he could let go of his chained rage, his impotent fury at trying to make an ever-worsening world a better place. Soon, the clogged poison in his soul would weep, and he wouldn’t have to worry about fitting into society, about being a “good” person, about keeping the monster inside him at bay. His entire life, he’d struggled against the violence and anger that always seemed to be right below the surface. He’d joined the military to channel his impulses. He’d been recruited by the Organization to release them.

He had tried to balance out the lives he took after leaving the service. He’d gone into medicine to square his cosmic debt, though, truth be told, it was more to humor his mother than anything else. As it turned out, even in the hospital he couldn’t run from what he was. He’d been drawn to blood and trauma, once again making dispassionate decisions that carried the weight of life and death. Every action and decision of his life had been aimed at “that part” of himself. Now though, he could just be what he was. Now, and forever more, he could be free.

There wasn’t much time left, but with the time he had, he was going to share his anger! There was a savage smile on his face as he squeezed the trigger again and again. Cats fell, but countless more kept running toward him. Guess Uncle Yo was right, he thought with a grin, pussy really will be the death of me.

With the stock at his cheek, Remy squeezed the trigger and pumped rounds into the circling shadow cats. He pulled the trigger until he heard the inevitable click, click, click. The rifle was empty.

The pack seemed to know he was no longer a threat. They slowed down again and began to creep forward like an unstoppable black tide. The cats did not have the intelligence of a human. What they did understand, however, was pain. They also understood suffering, and they loved them both. At the end of their prey’s life, they followed the instincts of their evil hearts and savored the hopelessness of the bleeding man before them. After all, surrounded and alone in the dark, what could he possibly do?

Hearing their yowls and soft screeches, the small wisp of fear Remington had felt disappeared. Anger filled the void. He had been through too many battles to delude himself that he’d survive long. He knew that these were his last minutes. That didn’t bother him. He’d spent his life well. As far as he was concerned, the people he’d just saved were worth what was about to happen. He wasn't worried about his impending death. What really pissed him off was that he could feel the arrogance and scorn of the beasts. They were looking down on him. Dismissing him. Silently asking the same question that so many others had asked when they told him he wasn’t good enough.

What can you possibly do?

He had the same answer he always had.

“I can do anything,” he spat at them in defiance.

Reaching one hand into the diseased wound in his side, he dug out a handful of congealed blood and pus. It cost him a few health points, but that wouldn’t matter soon. He reached down to his waist for the foot-long knife he’d taken from a hardware store. He liberally smeared his own filth on the blade. It wouldn’t kill any more monsters before he died, but maybe, just maybe, he’d pull a few more of these bastards into the abyss with him after he was gone.

“Well,” he shouted as loudly as his weakened body would allow, “let’s finish this!”

The monsters could not understand him, but they agreed to his terms all the same. The rest of the pack sprang forward like a shadowy black wave. Angry yowls filled the air. He swung his weapon and scored a deep cut against the face of one of the cats. It was knocked to the ground. Before it even landed, he was already swinging at another.

This time, his knife bit deep into a monster’s shoulder. His attack stopped its pounce, but his weapon caught in its flesh. It was only stuck for a second, but that was long enough. Another jumped on him at the same time, raking its Dark magic-enhanced claws down his left side. Remy cried out in pain and fury. His blood flowed fast and thick.

14 breaths remaining.

Turning awkwardly, he chopped at the head of the cat that had sunk its teeth into him. It growled deeply but didn’t let go. He pulled his arm back to swing again, but a second cat pounced before the strike could land. It caught his right wrist in a bite that fractured bone.

Remy screamed in spite of himself and fell to one knee. Before he could do anything more, a third monster dove onto his back and rode him to the ground. He fell on top of the one biting his wrist. With madness-induced strength, he bit its ear and tore it free of its head. The cat screeched and Remy smiled, blood caking his teeth. A sick and cheerful laugh gurgled from his throat.

3 breaths remaining.

That was his last victory. After that, the shadow cats piled on. Then he felt only pain. The stink of his blood was heavy in the air. Lust-frenzied cries filled the night and monsters fought over the right to tear off pieces of his flesh.

2 breaths remaining.

He’d never felt pain like this before, but even as he wailed, something inside of him let go. At last, he was free. Free from expectations. Free from the selfish people who screamed arguments they didn’t understand simply because they enjoyed screaming. Free from the contradiction that had made every day a confusing agony.

Free from the lesson of his father.

Free from the command of his mother.

1 breath remaining.

A cat bit into his neck, tearing into his carotid artery. His lifeblood geysered into the monster’s mouth and his thoughts came to an end. The breath escaped his body with a sigh, and a final bolded prompt appeared in his vision, heavy with finality.

You have died.

Take me to God's Eye!

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The Mist Village Cares

I am also happy to report that over the last 4 years, with the help of the Mist Village, I have raised almost $100,000 for various charities!

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