The truck tore through the dying light, tires shrieking across broken asphalt, smoke and dust billowing in its wake like fleeing ghosts. Inside, panic clung to the air—thick, stifling. Every breath was a struggle against terror.
Olivia knelt low, hands trembling, lips moving faster than her thoughts could follow. Her prayers came in gasps, shredded by desperation. Not disbelief—she still believed. But belief had teeth now, and they were sinking deep.
Beside her, James held Emma close, arms wrapped so tightly around her small frame it was hard to tell if he was protecting her or holding on for dear life. The little girl sobbed into his chest, her whole body shaking, fingers curled into his shirt like she could bury herself inside him and disappear.
Alex sat at the back, legs drawn up, pistol clutched in white-knuckled hands. He had fired it once. On the range. Not at someone. Not at something alive. And not at that.
Sophia sat opposite him, seemingly composed—but only on the surface. Her teeth bit down on her thumb until blood welled, thick and red. With it, she painted a trembling symbol onto the truck's metal wall, the lines jagged with each bounce. Her lips moved, whispering memories of spells she hadn't dared speak in years. Her voice finally found sound: "Just hold on…"
Up front, the guards were preparing to die.
Captain Ira Dorne racked her rifle, face carved from granite, eyes unblinking. The moment Shrikecoil appeared in the rearview mirror, her world narrowed. Lucan Bell, crouched low behind her, checked his scope in silence—so still he might've vanished. Kara "Shiv" Velt slid two blades from her sleeves, exhaling with the ease of someone who had seen the end more times than she could count. And Darian Holt, the youngest of them, kept glancing back. At the passengers. At the family. He didn't know Angelo—but he knew enough to care.
Then—
CRACK.
Chains.
A sound like thunder made of steel. One chain whipped forward, slamming into the rear tire. Rubber tore apart. The truck screamed, lurching violently. Another chain lashed the road, carving a trench through asphalt as if the ground itself recoiled in fear.
The truck spun out.
Chaos. Screams. Blurred shapes.
They slammed sideways into a dead tree stump, metal buckling.
Shrikecoil landed behind them like a god of execution, wings folding with ceremonial grace. One chain dragged behind it, slick with blood.
Inside, Olivia screamed her prayers now. James shielded Emma, whispering promises he wasn't sure he could keep. Alex aimed the pistol at the door, his arms trembling so hard the barrel bounced. Emma choked on sobs, fingers digging into her father's jacket. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't stop shaking.
And Sophia—bleeding, pale—pressed the last stroke of the sigil into place.
The rune flared.
Then vanished.
"I bought us seconds," she breathed.
The rear doors flung open.
"Stay inside!" Ira barked, voice sharp as the rifle in her hands. "Do not follow us!"
Then the guards stepped out.
Death hung in the air like fog.
They looked less like soldiers now—more like sentinels of a dying world. Ira stood tall, rifle raised. Lucan crouched low, eyes on every shadow. Shiv rolled her neck once. Blades glinted. Darian didn't speak—but he looked back one last time, and that was enough.
Shrikecoil tilted its head. "Resistance… will only bring more suffering."
No one answered.
They opened fire.
Gunshots roared.
Shrikecoil twisted upward, chains writhing as it took flight. Pavement shattered beneath every strike. Lucan rolled, fired—his bullet clipped its wing. The monster dropped hard, crashing into the dirt, but it rose again, snarling.
One chain snapped toward the truck—only to bounce off something unseen. The air shimmered. Sophia's sigil held.
She let out a single breath. "It worked…"
But not for long.
"We're sitting ducks," Lucan growled. "We need to finish it before the other two—"
Whispers.
Movement.
Then—FLASH.
A spear shot through the gloom like lightning.
It pierced Kara's skull.
She was lifted off the ground.
The impact shook the truck. Blood sprayed across its interior. The family inside screamed as they were tossed to the floor. Emma shrieked in pure panic. Alex dropped his gun. James held her tighter.
Outside, Kara dropped like a broken doll.
No time to cry.
From the trees, two more monsters stepped into view.
Mireglass—fractured like a walking mirror, surrounded by rippling clones of itself.
Thornmarch—tall, thin, cloaked in banners and dried gore, walking like royalty through rubble.
The remaining guards rose, screaming vengeance.
They fired.
But every bullet passed through illusions.
Nothing struck home.
Shrikecoil returned.
Chains cracked the air.
One wrapped around Darian's neck, lifting him into the sky.
Another drove through Lucan's chest.
Ira spun to fire—too late.
A chain snagged her leg.
Then her waist.
Then her throat.
The sound of bone shattering as she was ripped from the earth echoed into the trees.
Three guards.
Gone in seconds.
Shrikecoil dragged their corpses like offerings.
And the Saints turned toward the truck.
Thornmarch stepped forward.
The sigil failed. It melted around him.
The barrier broke.
The door creaked open.
Alex rose with a howl. "Stay back!" he screamed, firing again and again.
Thornmarch caught every bullet with a flick of its spear.
"If you resist," it said, "you will die a horrible death."
Sophia stepped forward, shaking. "Okay… okay. We won't resist. Just—just don't hurt them."
Thornmarch studied her.
Then nodded once.
"Come out. Stand still."
One by one, they obeyed.
Alex. Olivia. James, still shielding Emma, who now couldn't stop crying, her breaths jagged and short. Sophia took the lead, placing herself between the monsters and the ones she had sworn to protect.
Shrikecoil's chains slithered forward, hissing and cold. They wrapped wrists and ankles like living things. Alex grunted in pain. Olivia whimpered through clenched teeth. James held Emma tighter, but the chains found her wrists anyway.
She screamed.
Shrikecoil turned to her—and smiled.
Then Mireglass spoke.
"You can't fly," it said to Shrikecoil, eyeing the mangled wing. "We need all three."
Shrikecoil didn't answer.
It walked to Darian's body.
And bit in.
The crunch echoed like a nightmare.
James tried to cover Emma's eyes, but it was too late.
She saw everything.
Her scream tore the silence open.
Shrikecoil chewed slowly. Swallowed. Its wing twitched. Then pulsed. Then began to regrow—veins, flesh, feathers—reforming in reverse decay.
"Better," it hissed.
Emma's cries turned to gasps. Her voice broke, but no one could stop it. She was shaking violently now. Her eyes wide. Her body limp from fear.
Shrikecoil smiled again.
Then the Saints rose.
Chains lifted their captives like puppets on strings.
The wind screamed beneath them. Ash swirled over the road.
Below, four brave guards lay broken, bloodied, and forgotten.
And the ones they died to protect vanished into the sky.