Fear shut Aberystwyth down. Streets emptied, curtains were drawn, and a heavy silence settled, broken only by the distant thwup-thwup-thwup of the helicopters.
But in the houses bordering Nikale Wood, fear was turning sour. Locks clicked open.grim-faced groups stepped onto their porches, armed with whatever they had—shotguns, kitchen knives, baseball bats. They weren't waiting for the police.
Inside the Basement
Dust motes flying in the light of a single bare bulb. A young man, in his twenties, held an old hunting rifle.
"Dad... are we really going?"
His father didn't look up. He sat on a wooden chair with his one-half wooden leg, surrounded by dusty tackle boxes, methodically wiping down a heavy crossbow.
"Son," he said, his voice calm, "we are hunters. It's our job."
"But it's a monster." The son's voice was thin, his eyes darting to the dark corners of the basement.
His dad gave a dry chuckle, finally stopping his work. "Do you know what happened to my leg?"
"A bear attacked you. When you were a kid. Grandpa saved you, but… grandpa died."
The father pointed with his chin to a massive, horned skull mounted on the wall. "You really think that, that thing on the wall is a wild bison's head. Your grandpa killed it. Wit just a knife. Do you think a bear could do anything to him, especially when he had a gun?"
He leaned forward, his chair groaning. "He was known as Y Cigydd. The Butcher. And he was the second best out there at hunting them."
The young man frowned. "Who's first? And who are 'them'?"
The dad leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "Dafydd Rhys. Known as Angau Gefeilliaid. The Twins of Death."
"Are they twins?"
His dad laughed, a sharp, barking sound that echoed in the small space. "No. He used his twin axes to kill. Those two bloody axes will be the last thing the monster ever sees."
The father stood, the chair scraping back. He snapped a heavy bolt into the crossbow, the click sounding final. He shouldered the weapon, checking the aim.
"Suit up, son."
At the Police Station
The atmosphere was just as tense. Chief Inspector Hughes (Harlan) sat in his office, the rhythmic, angry click-click-click of his pen the only sound. He stared out his window, his jaw tight, watching the two helicopters circle the sky far away.
Outside, the media was a storm. Reporters shouted questions, cameras flashed, and their broadcast vans clogged the street. Rumors were spreading through the city like a toxic gas.
Then, two cars cut through the media circus. They didn't slow, forcing reporters to jump back, and stopped directly in front of the station doors.