Then footsteps.
Soft. Careful.
Closer.
Merlin drew his blade, hands slick with blood and sweat.
A head peeked over the ridge.
Not a monster.
Just human.
For half a second, he thought maybe, just maybe—
Then the figure's face peeled open down the middle. Not skin. Not muscle. Just rot. Teeth like pebbles. Eyes that weren't eyes.
It smiled.
Merlin stabbed it.
Hard.
Blade sank halfway through its throat.
It didn't die fast.
But it died.
He fell backward, gasping, shaking.
His ankle throbbed.
He looked around.
The ridge was empty.
So was the clearing behind it.
No more shapes.
No more screams.
Just broken branches and blood soaking into the moss.
He didn't get up.
He just lay there. Staring at the sky. Not night. Not day. Just red. Always red.
'They're gone.'
Cas.
Mira.
Thom.
Even the quiet girl. The one who made tea in the corner.
'All of them.'
Dead.
And he was still breathing.
'Why.'
The system flickered.
[Observer Count: 66]
