2-21: The Slaughter Line
They returned to the outpost just after dark.
No one spoke. Not for the entire walk back. The silence wasn't strained—it was heavy. Weighted with exhaustion, unanswered questions, and the lingering presence of the dead.
Too many unknowns. Too many implications. Too many bodies left behind.
When they reached the cluster of buildings, Fridley broke away from the group without a word and climbed the steps to the watchtower. A few moments later, the faint blue glow of a lumistone flickered to life above them, casting the stilts and rooftops in pale light.
Otter froze at the threshold of the outpost's main building. The soft light caught his eye—and his breath caught with it.
He bolted for the tower, boots slapping against damp planks.
"Fridley! Turn that off!"
The mage startled and leaned over the railing, confused. "What? Why? This is standard procedure. We set up a lumistone network for night visibility. If anything approaches, we'll see it—"
Otter cut him off. "This place is supposed to look abandoned. If they realize someone survived that ambush, they'll send more Kaosborn. Maybe something worse."
Fridley's face drained of color. He hesitated, then quickly extinguished the stone. Darkness swallowed the outpost again.
"I… I didn't think of that," he said quietly.
"Yeah. Neither did I. Until now." Otter exhaled. "Come on. Let's get inside."
Back in the main hall, the others were already peeling off damp layers, setting gear aside in tired silence.
Jasper had collapsed onto a bunk, blood seeping through the bandage on his side. Sage knelt beside him and gently unwound it. Her frown deepened as she examined the mottled bruising and angry tears.
She placed her hand over the wound and whispered a brief prayer.
Golden light shimmered beneath her palm.
Otter watched, transfixed, as the swelling faded and the torn skin pulled itself closed. The dark discoloration around the claw marks melted away like ink in water.
When Sage was done, she sat back on her heels and looked around.
"Alright," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Is anyone opposed to heading back to Brighthaven in the morning?"
No one answered.
Even Jasper—whose usual reaction would've been sarcasm—simply nodded.
Fridley, still shaken, stepped forward. "I'm coming with you. I'll bring the comm crystal. Maybe someone at headquarters can piece together what we walked into."
No one objected.
There was nothing more to say.
They ate a cold meal in silence, each lost in thought. Then one by one, they rolled into bunks or bedrolls, exhaustion dragging them under.
***
Objective Complete: Find the missing Outpost team.
XP Gained: 50 XP
The notification filled Otter with a mix of revulsion and satisfaction. Satisfying to get the XP bump, yes—but it sat hollow in his chest. They hadn't found the missing team. Not really. They'd found what was left of them.
They left at first light.
Mist curled low across the marsh, clinging to reeds and trailing from the trees like forgotten breath. The outpost sat behind them in solemn stillness—quiet, unlit, shuttered as if they'd never been there at all. A phantom memory on stilts.
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No one spoke.
Packs were shouldered. Weapons checked. Boots cinched tight. There were no morning jokes, no tired grumbling, not even Milo's usual commentary about humidity or bugs. Just quiet resolve. The kind forged by fire and failure.
They followed the same path they'd taken coming in, the one that wound along raised ridges of moss-covered stone, ducking between cypress trunks and skirted by brackish pools. The morning air was dense but breathable, and for the first time in days, the insect song returned.
A chorus of buzzing midges. The warble of some unseen marsh bird. A splash in the distance that could've been a frog or a fish. The normal background noise of a living, breathing swamp.
It almost felt peaceful.
Otter walked in the center of the group, eyes flicking left and right. Sunlight filtered through low branches in hazy gold streaks. Erin led the way with her usual silent grace. Jasper, behind her, was humming under his breath. Milo trudged near the rear, swatting occasionally at imaginary bugs. Sage walked beside Fridley, speaking in a quiet undertone.
It should have been fine.
But then, slowly, the sounds began to fade.
The birds went quiet first—mid-note, like a breath caught in the throat.
Then the buzzing softened, thinning out until it was little more than a memory. Milo frowned and glanced up from his wrisplay. "You hear that?"
Otter stopped walking.
Because there was nothing to hear.
No bird calls. No frogs. No rustling from the low brush.
Just the faint drip of moisture from leaf to leaf. The occasional creak of old wood underfoot. The dull squelch of their own steps in the mud.
Too quiet. By now, they knew what that meant. A predator was on the prowl. Maybe another fenclaw. Maybe something else.
Everyone stopped moving.
Fridley turned slowly, adjusting his grip on the walking stick that doubled as his arcane focus. Sage didn't speak, but she raised her chin slightly, eyes narrowed. Milo swallowed hard and stepped closer to Otter.
Otter's own pulse ticked faster. He tapped the side of his wrisplay. No notification. No alert. Not even a twitch from Luck's Whisper.
And yet…
The weight in his chest said otherwise. It said they weren't alone.
Something was watching. Something waiting.
"Keep moving," Erin murmured. "Act normal. But be ready."
And so they did. Their pace tightened. Weapons crept half out of sheaths. Every glance became a double-take. Every breeze sounded like breath. Every branch like claws.
Otter resisted the urge to look back. Not because he didn't want to—but because he already knew what he wouldn't see.
Whatever was following them… it was smart enough to stay hidden.
And getting closer.
The trail wound into a natural choke point—willow trees bowing low on either side, their branches forming a veil across the path.
"Keep your spacing," Erin warned. "We're bottlenecked here."
They stepped carefully beneath the trees.
That's when the first Kaosborn struck from above.
A scream tore through the air as a warped, six-limbed figure dropped from the canopy and tackled Milo into the mud.
Then all hell broke loose.
Figures emerged from the reeds—eight, ten, twelve—Kaosborn of all different shapes: some lean and insectile, others twisted mockeries of men with elongated arms and spined backs. Their eyes gleamed with that same violet light. Some carried jagged blades. Others just had claws.
Otter barely had time to yank his slingshot free before Sage was shouting, "Form up! Milo!"
Milo rolled, casting Mind Spike mid-scramble. The Kaosborn atop him spasmed, shrieked, and thrashed—but didn't fall.
Sage drew radiant power into her palm and hurled a Sacred Flame. A second Kaosborn screamed as the light seared its flesh—but it didn't stop, either.
Jasper swung his sword in a wide arc, deflecting a clawed strike, then slammed his shield into a second creature charging from the side. "They're everywhere!"
Fridley launched a fireball into their ranks. Several Kaosborn dropped, their twisted bodies burned to a crisp, but the enemy was too spread out.
Otter dropped a stone into his slingshot and fired. Whap!—a clean hit between the eyes. The creature staggered. Erin shot it through the throat before it could recover.
"They're trying to flank!" she called.
Three Kaosborn circled to the right, moving unnaturally fast.
"They're coordinated," Sage said grimly. "This isn't just bloodlust. They're organized."
"We're not gonna hold this!" Milo shouted.
And they weren't. Fridley was staggering, his mana dwindling. Erin was bleeding. One Kaosborn leapt onto Jasper's back and began clawing at his armor. Otter turned to help—and saw two more figures approaching from the trees behind them.
His blood went cold.
It was a trap. A slaughter line.
They weren't going to win this. They were all going to die right here, just like the outpost team did. He felt the anger flood through him, the outrage at being so powerless. Yes, they were a good team. They worked well together, they had developed skills, but this… this was too much. Even with his extraordinary luck, he doubted they'd survive this.
Another figure came into view, but this was no Kaosborn. It was a man, wearing robes that swirled with a multitude of colors in random patterns. Otter looked away, not wanting to be distracted. He fit another stone in his slingshot and fired. Just before he released, he triggered Bend Luck. If there was ever a time he needed it, it was now.
Reality slowed and split. Otter followed the two trajectories of his stone, and unbelievably, both of them found their mark. Sort of. One hit the robed man square in the chest. The other smack between the eyes. Otter chose the second.
When the stone found its mark, the man cursed and his hand flew to his forehead. Blood streamed between his fingers, but it hadn't killed him.
Otter's tiny spark of hope winked out as the Kaosborn charged.