The Cabin Is Always Hungry (A Dungeon Core Horror Slasher)

LAST RESORT
Part 27

SCENARIO 4
4:58 AM
2 Hours Until Dawn
3 Delvers remaining…

Kevin, Lope, and Vivian burst through the door of the boathouse and closed it behind them. The three delvers glowed faintly behind my many-eyes, their auras flickering like dying candles. Vivian's was the worst—bleeding red and on the edge. I reckoned she'd be the one to go first once the werewolves reached the boathouse. Or she might surprise me. There had only been a handful of delvers who managed to claw their way out of the brink of their Resolve. Sure, most of them didn't make it in the end, but there were still less than two hours to go.

A lot of things can happen in two hours, I thought.

I looked at the time, focusing on 7:03 AM when the first dawn would touch this mountain, and bathe the dungeon with its rescuing light. You'd think that another two hours of screaming, fighting, and running would only kill them faster, but that was not what I was seeing.

I meant for Kevin to die screaming and painfully in the first few hours, broken like most of the others who trespassed into my domain and for harassing my family. A part of me believed that an asshole like him had earned such a punishment. He'd spat on my funeral, disrespected my family, and laughed about it, drunk, cruel, and fucking stupid.

But here, now…

I saw something else.

Kevin's aura wasn't just bright—it pulsed a steady glow, stubborn and tenacious. When he closed that door beside his niece, it wasn't fear driving him. It was rage. It was love. He'd lost his girlfriend, his friends, his brother (all in the span of three months), and a little bit of his sanity, but he still fought like some mangy pitbull that refused to die.

Perhaps I've misjudged him. He's still a big fucking asshole, there's no doubt about that, but he's totally different from his murdering, psychopathic brother. It's too early to call him worthy though. Guys like him in the movies either ended up dead as the first body during Act One, or the satisfying death at the finale.

Although I wanted to be more upset with him by focusing on what he had done at my own funeral (and the other funerals of the cult's victims), I couldn't help but be impressed by his persistence to survive and to keep the others alive. I thought he would be one of the first person to abandon everyone, but he didn't. Wasn't there a saying for this? The true measure of a man is how he stands at times of adversity?

"You think they saw us?" Lope asked.

"They probably did," Kevin answered.

"Fuuuccck…."

"Look, Uncle! A boat!"

Vivian pointed at a small four-seater motorboat bobbing lazily in the interior dock.

Lope cracked a smile. "I fucking knew it! There is a boat!"

"Just shut up and hop on," Kevin barked, already moving toward the motorboat. He couldn't get the image of Kate's face being eaten alive by those things. He didn't even have a word for it. Beetle Bites? Flying insect death cloud? It reminded him of that one fella who got eaten in The Mummy by those scarabs. Once onboard, he checked the fuel tank and frowned. "The tank's empty."

"There's some gas tank over here," Vivian gestured to the propane tank by the far corner, sequestered behind a chain-linked fence. Fortunately, the narrow gate was unlocked. Lope grabbed a red can from the shelf and dropped to his knees beside the propane tank. He turned the spigot and gasoline started pouring into the can.

"Just don't fill it up. We can't wait that long. Get enough to get this boat running," Kevin said.

"Gotcha."

"Just hurry!" Vivian exclaimed.

Kevin noticed his niece was panicking. "Vivian, hey, hey, look at me," he said, trying to sound calm. "We're almost out of here. We just need this gate open and the boat running. You can do this, kiddo."

She nodded, blinking tears away, her lips quivering. "They're right behind us. I can hear them. I can hear them, uncle. They're gonna get me."

From somewhere in the woods, a howl answered her.

"Did they do this?" Vivian asked.

"Did what?"

"Mom? Dad? Did they…did they release those monsters? On the news, they said Coach Hodge was a leader of the cult and that they performed some sort of ritual here when they killed all of those people. They worshipped Satan, or whatever. Since Mom and Dad are part of his cult, did they summon those things to this mountain? Is that what's after us?"

"I don't know. You know me. I don't really believe in that kind of stuff."

"But that's what the tapes showed! Mom…Dad…they're behind this…they…they made Xavier into that. They brought The Devil here, didn't they? That's why we're going to die. That's why we are being punished."

"Hey! Listen to me, kid. Don't think like that. We're not going to die, okay? We're gonna get out of here, and we're gonna find a way to get Xavier back, you hear me, Viv? Doesn't matter what bullshit my stupid brother got up to—" Kevin leaned in, voice low, cold,"—You are not going to die."

"I don't know if I believe you."

"Look. I was wrong about my brother. But I'm not wrong about you getting out of here. I promise. We'll get out."

The little pep talk from Kevin brought Vivian out of the red zone. Her Resolve returned to a darker orange. The wolves were not going to be too happy.

Lope turned off the spigot. "Done! I got it!"

Kevin clapped his hands together excitedly. "Finally! Pour it into the tank. Vivian, why don't you grab and pull that chain that releases the boat, yeah? Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah. Okay."

On the boat, Lope unscrewed the cap on the tank, his hands shaking as he poured the gasoline in. Every sound in the world seemed amplified—the drip of water, the creak of the lake's current nudging the dock, the faint scratching of the chains as it unhooked from the boat. Lope poured. The gas sloshed and the fumes hit him, sharp enough to burn his nostrils.

"Vivian," Kevin said, "there's a crank lever by that door. See it? That opens the garage gate. Turn it counter-clockwise."

Vivian found the heavy metal handle half-rusted to the wall. She grabbed it with both hands and spun to the left, but it only groaned and didn't move at all. She tried again, harder this time, the muscles in her forearms flexing.

"Uncle, It's stuck!"

"Shit!" Kevin ran to help her, hands over hers, adding his strength. Together they forced the garage to open, metal screeching like a wounded animal. Slowly, painfully, the gate began to part right at the middle, letting the night air roll in.

And then they heard it.

The werewolves.

Feet pounding as their claws raking earth; their howls rolling closer. The timbers shuddered as their shadows whipped past, drawing closer to the boathouse.

Vivian froze, breath catching in her throat. "Oh my god, they're coming."

"Gate's open!" Kevin shouted. "Lope, you got the motor ready?"

"Almost! Just need to prime it!"

Vivian walked toward and stood by the window, staring into the black woods, trembling. A pair of yellow eyes blinked back at her from the trees. Then another. And another.

"Oh, fuck. They're here," she said softly.

The words barely left her lips before the first silhouette broke the treeline.

In the woods, Were-Alan directed his brothers to attack the boathouse. They sensed the presence of a wavering Resolve within, peeking from the window, and they were sprinting for the kill.

But he turned to Xavier, and said, "You stay here. If any of the delvers escaped, follow them."

"What about my sister?"

"We have given her a chance. She refused. She dies."

"But—"

"She dies."

Were-Xavier wanted to join the pack with the bloodbath, but slowly bowed his head to the Alpha in submission. Satisfied, Were-Alan dashed toward the boathouse after his brothers.

The first werewolf—Luke—hit the dock with a thundering crack. Boards splintered under his weight. He took the scene before him with a huge inhale of air. Eyes burning like coals, his jaw slick with drool and old blood. Vivian screamed and stumbled back, tripping over the empty gas can.

"Little pigs, little pigs! Let me come in!" Luke teased as he stalked toward the front door. "Or I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your fucking house down!"

"Get to the boat! Get to the boat!" Kevin shouted, yanking her upright. "Go! Go!"

Lope was by the motor, fumbling with the string to start the motor, his hands shaking but steady enough to work. "I almost got it! just get her in!"

Kevin shoved Vivian into the boat and then grabbed the rope, working it free from the wooden piling, then froze as another howl erupted closer from the door. Kevin's instincts screamed. There wasn't enough time.

He turned toward Lope, and for a moment, their eyes met—two men who'd fought all night, lost many of their friends, and both knew exactly how this was going to end.

"I'll stay," Kevin said, voice steady. "Get her out."

"What?! Uncle Kevin! No!" Vivian protested.

"The hell you will." Lope ripped the line loose from another piling and tossed it aside and into the boat. "You're the only family she's got left, asshole. You're not dying here."

"Lope—"

"No." Lope shoved him hard, nearly sending him halfway to the water, but Kevin managed to land into the boat. "I've been following your stupid ass since we got here. Not this time, you hear me? You said it yourself—family first. I'm making sure you still got one."

"No, I'm staying! I should stay! I got you all into this mess!"

"Kev, quit fucking around! Get your niece out of here! Let me do this. Please." Lope grinned then—just a flash of teeth. "Hey, after this, I'm quitting. Consider this my two-weeks notice." He threw the silver knife into the boat right next to Vivian's feet. "Take good care of it, Viv!"

Kevin's heart broke as he gunned the motor. The boat jolted, tearing free, gliding toward the open lake as Vivian sobbed into her hands.

"Lope! I'm sorry!" Kevin roared, but Lope only shook his head. All the emotions Kevin had been trying to hold at bay—Sheila's death and now a good friend's sacrifice—broke through the dam, and a tear fell down his cheeks.

"You stupid motherfucker," Kevin muttered.

"Go, Kev! Get her out!" Lope said one last time before he was out of earshot.

The sight of the boat faded down the lake, leaving only the hush of the waves and the distant, receding cry of the engine. For the first time since the night began, Lope was alone.

The silence didn't last.

A low growl rolled through the walls, followed by another, and another, until the whole boathouse seemed to breathe around him. He looked down the dock, to the front door where the werewolves worked their way in.

He muttered to himself, "Alright, boys. Guess it's just us now."

He moved quick. The spigot on the propane tank was rusted, stiff, but Lope found a wrench lying around and jammed it around the handle and twisted until it shrieked and broke off completely. A translucent jet of gasoline hissed into the air, filling the boathouse with that sharp chemical tang that burned the back of his throat. He coughed, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and grinned through it. Gasoline spread across the floor like a shallow stream.

Something clattered above him. Lope glanced up and spotted a red plastic crate on a shelf—road flares. He laughed out loud. "Well, ain't that poetic."

He grabbed a couple, tucked one in his jacket just as the front door and the walls exploded inward.

Three werewolves came tearing through the wooden siding, claws first. Alan was the first to enter but hanged back at the thresholdm allowing Luke and Garth to walk past him, stalking toward the delver ahead. Even though he was cornered, Lope's Resolve never wavered a shade darker.

Lope didn't back away. He raised the shield he had been carrying all night, banged it against the wooden column next to him, echoing a challenge against the werewolves.

"Come on, you fuckers!" he yelled, voice cracking with fury and laughter. "You ugly sons of bitches want me? Here I am! Come get me!"

The werewolves froze at the sound, nostrils flaring. The smell of gas hit them. Alan's ears flattened. "Don't!" he barked a warning. "Brothers—back! He's—"

Lope struck the flare then.

It came alive in his hand—fffffsssssssshhh—bright like the sun, painting his face blood-red.

He gave Alan one look. One stupid, defiant grin. "Fetch."

Then he dropped it.

The flare hit the puddle of gasoline near Garth's feet, causing the flame to slither across the boards in a racing vein of fiery orange, twisting and snaking toward the propane tank. Luke and Garth followed where it was going.

Lope turned around and dove for the water.

Alan retreated, roaring, warning for the others to get out of the house.

But it was too late.

The world went white.

The explosion tore the boathouse in half.

A bloom of flame erupted outward, shredding walls, flinging splinters, and swallowing everything inside. The shockwave cracked the dock like matchsticks. The air itself turned solid, hammering Lope off his feet as he dove into the lake while everything above him exploded into smithereens.

Luke and Garth were still mid-charge toward the window, trying to escape the boathouse when the fire found them; their bodies vanished in a wash of orange light. Alan threw himself through the open door as the blast hit and seared his back, his howl tearing through the night as he rolled across the exterior dock and into the shallow water.

I leaned back, blinking at the wild sudden carnage I was seeing, bathed in the flicker of firelight. For a moment, I thought that was a mistake. But no, that was real. My monsters. My handcrafted little terrors, gone in a flash of gasoline and inferno. Garth and Luke, reduced to chunks of meat and burning fur.

Just.

Like.

That.

A slow smile spreading across my face. Then I started to laugh.

"Holy shit," I whispered, leaning close to the wreckage. A delver finally killed an archetype. "The fucking idiot actually blew them up."

The cooldown timer flickered into existence in the corner of my eyes.

[ Luke Sawyer is Dead and Incapacitated. Cooldown: 1 week ]

[ Garth Sawyer is Dead and Incapacitated. Cooldown: 1 week ]

I threw my head back, still laughing. "Now that was an unexpected twist I didn't see coming," I said. "I should have. But I didn't," I told Oracle. I really thought Lope was going to be a goner. No one has killed my monsters before and initiated the revival cooldown.

Oracle said nothing, busy shaking off the bits of Kate's flesh still stuck in a quarter of his nanite swarm.

"I am going to kill them!" Alan roared from the beach as soon as he crawled out of the water, fuming with murderous rage.

"Ooh, right. Sorry, Alan. That was very insensitive of me."

"Sorry, Alan," Oracle said even though Alan couldn't hear him as he was still hanging back at the cabin.

But then Alan's wolfish snout began to crack a smile, too. "No, my lord, I am going to enjoy ripping them apart."

The boat bobbed hundreds of yards out. Kevin and Vivian huddled inside, their faces washed pale by the flames. They stared at the inferno that used to be the boathouse.

Then, a dark shape sprung up between the waves. For a second, Kevin thought it was debris or one of the werewolves who survived the explosion. Then the shape raised a hand, coughing and wheezing, calling for help.

"Lope?"

Vivian gasped, nearly tipping over the side. "Oh my god—uncle! Look over there! He's alive!"

Lope's head broke the surface, blackened with soot, hair plastered to his skull. He was laughing through the coughing fits, eyes wide with disbelief. "Still alive, baby!" he shouted as he swam toward them.

Kevin spun the wheel, gunned the motor, and brought the boat around. Vivian reached out and grabbed Lope by the arm, and together with her uncle, they hauled him onboard. He collapsed on the deck. Vivian's Resolve ticked back to a yellow hue when her gaze landed on Lope, dripping, shaking, half-burned, but alive.

"You're one crazy bastard, you know that? Was that always your plan?" Kevin said.

Lope chuckled, and gave him a thumbs up. "You do know I'm serious about my retirement, right? I can't enjoy retirement if I'm dead."

"I accept your resignation, you idiot."

"Thank fuck. I should be at a beach right now."

"Still a pretty sight though." Kevin cocked his head toward the burning wreckage.

"Hey, stupid. You dropped this," Vivian said, handing Lope the silver knife.

Lope smiled and sheathed the blade on his belt. "Thanks, kid."

The three of them just sat there for several minutes, maybe more, sucking in air, watching the ruins of the boathouse burn by the shore. The fire danced across the lake, painting the night in streaks of orange.

"You think you got them all?" Vivian asked finally.

But their gaze slowly slid toward the shores, watching back was—

The Alpha.

"Oh. Think we missed one," Vivian said softly.

"Two," Lope corrected. "I don't think we got Xavier in there, so there's still two of them."

Vivian didn't know if she should feel relieved or horrified at the thought of her brother still out there, trying to kill them.

"Was hoping for a wipeout," Kevin said. He got up toward the wheel and gunned the motor again, heading toward the summer camp. "Let's get out of here."

Were-Alan peered into the treeline where Were-Xavier was waiting, watching, and said, "Follow."

The two werewolves dashed across the lakeshore, heading the same way.

SCENARIO 4
6:07 AM
57 Minutes Until Dawn
3 Delvers remaining…

Almost half an hour into their crawl across the lake, the dark smear of the summer camp came into view. They had passed by the summer camp twice already, finding Were-Alan and Were-Xavier waiting for them by the docks. Kevin decided to loop around Wizard Island for a couple of laps, hoping that the werewolves would think they were going somewhere else.

"We're gonna give it another try!"

"Is the werewolf there again?" Vivian asked. "We didn't put enough gas on boat."

"Third time's the charm," Kevin said.

"We can always double back to the cabin," Lope suggested.

"No way. Whatever killed Kate must still be there. Did you see what it did to her?"

Lope shrugged. "Okay, fine. So we're not going back. We can't put more gas anyway since…well…everything exploded."

"Just help me keep a look out," Kevin said. "They might be hiding in the trees."

Other than the summer camp, there was a boat ramp for locals and tourists to off-load their own boats on Cedar Lake, which was further down the shore by Lover's Rock. Were-Alan and Were-Xavier realized they couldn't just keep following the boat back-and-forth forever, and so Alan ordered Xavier to stay by the boat ramp while he kept watch on the summer camp's docks.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Whichever Kevin chose to dock, there would be a monster waiting for them.

"Fuck it. We're gonna dock." Kevin throttled forward toward the summer camp, the engine grumbling beneath them when the world let out a resounding crack.

At first it was just the sound—like stepping on cracking glass—and then the lake went dead still. The air itself seemed to draw in a breath, cold enough to tingle their flesh. Then, frost webbed outward from the hull, spreading around them with terrifying speed. In seconds, the lake's surface, or at least the expanse between the boat and the camp's docks, froze solid. The boat lurched, groaning, the hull locking into the ice and trapping them in place.

"What the hell—" Kevin started, but the words died in his throat. The outboard motor was locked tight, entombed in a strange icy white crystal that erupted from the water below.

Vivian stood, staring across the sudden frozen expanse, her breath a shivering cloud. "The water's frozen!"

"What did this?" Lope asked, peering over the railing. "I don't think we can get this boat out."

Vivian pointed to the starboard side. "The water over there aren't frozen though. That's not possible."

Lope grumbled under his breath. "This some magic shit again, right?"

"Doesn't matter. The dock's only about a few hundred feet away. We can walk to it," Kevin said.

"Is that a good idea? What if we fall in?"

"Well, we can't stay out here, can we? Maybe those wolves can perform magic, too, and got us stuck out here. I don't fucking know! I'm not Gandalf."

Lope rolled his eyes. "Not saying you are. Just don't shout at me."

"Sorry. I'm just…I'm just tired."

"Plus, Gandalf has never shown he can do ice powers. I mean he could, but not—"

"Oh, shut up for a sec, will ya? Let me think."

"Why don't we stay in the boat then?" Vivian asked. "Wait for dawn that way?"

"They can still come after us," Kevin added. "They can walk across the ice."

Lope heaved a sigh. "Just our fucking luck. First good thing happens, only to land on another bullshit."

"That settles it. We're getting off the boat and get to the camp," Kevin said, grabbing the shotgun. He still had five shells left, hoping that would be enough.

They grabbed their stuff and hopped out of the boat, and to their relief, the ice sheet supported their weight. Barely.

"I really hope this is not a mistake," Vivian grumbled.

They started across, the wind biting their cheeks. Every step made the ice echoed like stepping on a million scattered eggshells, causing the delvers to pause and flinch, which was a deliberate attempt to affect their Resolve. Some of them were ticking darker and darker…

And beneath them, unseen, the water stirred. Familiar shapes glided in the dark and into view. The Sirens followed their shadows like cats stalking mice. The pod kept pace—a silent, rippling convoy of death, waiting for one wrong step.

As Kevin and the others trudged forward, the lake beneath them shuddered.

A strange ripple shot across the ice. Kevin's head jerked up just as the surface exploded in a geyser of icy shards and mist. Something sleek and pale burst out of the black water—Penelope. Her scream wasn't human as she launched herself at Kevin, arching through the air like a dolphin. He dove aside, boots skidding on the slick surface, barely missing her sharp claws as they tore through the air where his throat had been. Penelope hit the ice hard, rolled, and punched another hole through the ice sheet, vanishing into the dark waters.

"Jesus fuck!" Kevin shouted, trying to get his footing again. "What the fuck was that?!"

"Mermaids?! Mermaids! Kev! There's fucking mermaids on the mountain!" Lope exclaimed, horrified.

The water churned behind Lope and Vivian. A second shape shot up—this one taller, slicker—Calypso. She grabbed Vivian's ankles and pulled her down toward the hole she made. Vivian screamed, kicking, clawing at the ice, desperately scrabbling for purchase.

Lope roared, bringing the metal rim of his shield down hard, smashing Scylla's wrist. A sound like snapping branches filled the night, and the creature hissed at him before retreating back through the ice. Lope reached down and hauled Vivian up by the arm.

"Keep movin'! Don't stop!" he bellowed.

But the ice was breaking. The smooth, endless sheet fractured, spiderweb cracks spreading in every direction. Chunks the size of cars broke loose, drifting apart, forming slick little islands between the dark water, the boat, and the dock.

"Goddamn it!" Kevin spat, leaping to another sheet as the one beneath him groaned, dipped, and tipped over.

And that's when they saw him.

At the far edge of the lake, Were-Alan stood like a mountain at the edge of the frozen dock. A mountain of fur and murderous rage, his breath a plume of hissing steam, claws dragging against the boards of the dock as if teasing the delvers with his mighty and terrifying presence.

Vivian froze mid-step. "No…no, no, no—"

The Alpha threw back his head and roared. The sound split the air, shattered whatever courage they had left.

Then he charged.

He hit the ice running, cracking under his weight. Kevin barely dove aside as claws slashed where he'd been standing. Lope swung his shield, metal meeting sharp claws in a brutal clang that reverberated across the splitting lake. The werewolf stumbled but came right back, snarling at him. Lope killed his brothers. There was going to be payback, Red Resolve or not.

The Sirens didn't stay out of it. Penelope reemerged, circling beneath the ice like a shark, slamming her shoulder up through the cracks to unbalance the men. Circe and Calypso surfaced too—laughing, singing—their voices sweet and distant, trying to pull Vivian's eyes away from the fight.

Lope planted his boots, keeping his body between them and her, shouting over the chaos. "Viv! Go! Get to the dock!" He gestured to a wide opening between her and safety.

Vivian hesitated only a second before she turned and ran, jumping from one floating slab to another, ignoring the Siren's song of distraction. Behind her, she could hear Kevin shouting, the metal scrape of Lope's shield, the guttural roars of the beast. Circe leaped out of the water to grab her, but she saw her shape first beneath the surface, giving her plenty of time to duck out of the way and jumped to another floating slab.

Lope held his shield up, steel dented and slick with frost, bracing against the Alpha's charge. Drool splattered all over his face. The thing hit him like a truck and sent him sliding back, his boots carving trenches into the ice.

Kevin skidded across a slab twenty feet away, shotgun raised. "Lope, DOWN!"

Lope dropped to his stomach.

BOOM!

The blast hit the werewolf square in the chest, the recoil nearly sending him on his ass. The slug punched through fur and sinew, crimson blood fountaining across the ice. Alan staggered, snarl turning to a yelp. It was not going to kill him, but it was going to piss him off more.

Kevin pumped the shotgun, chambering another round, but the ice buckled beneath him. His left boot plunged into freezing water up to the shin, and cold like knives raced up his leg. He bit down a scream, yanked his foot free just as a white hand shot up from the hole, webbed fingers clutching for him.

Scylla.

Her face breached next, eyes like pearls, mouth opening too wide for a bite out of his knee. She hissed, her teeth like needles, so close to munching on his flesh…

Kevin didn't hesitate. He jammed the barrel under her chin and pulled the trigger.

The shot blew her head apart like a watermelon.

[ Scylla is Dead and Incapacitated. Cooldown: 1 week ]

Chunks of bone and gray matter painted the ice. The recoil knocked him backward, but he stayed up, one knee bent, teeth bared against the cold. Beneath the water, something screamed an unholy song.

Kevin racked the shotgun once again, frost crackling off the steel, eyes tracking the hulking shape that moved through the fog ahead.

He barely had time to shout before it happened.

The Alpha came back swinging. Lope brought the shield up barely in time, metal screaming as claws raked across it. But the beast didn't stop there. He grabbed the rim of the shield, yanked it sideways with brute strength, and with the same motion—ripped Lope's arm clean off from the elbow.

Lope screamed, cut off as the werewolf's other hand clamped around his shoulder and hurled him across the ice like a ragdoll. He hit the ice hard, skidding, carving a long red line across the frozen lake before colliding with Kevin like a bowling pin. Both went down in a tangle of limbs.

"Jesus—Lope!" Kevin rolled him over. Blood poured out in sheets, steaming against the ice. Lope's face was gray, teeth chattering, but somehow he grinned through it.

"Run, man. You…gotta…run," he managed to say.

Kevin shook his head. "Ain't happening, bro."

Alan's growl rolled across the ice like thunder. "Enough running," he said. "You killed my brothers. A feat not many delvers can say. You will die slow. A prize from me."

He advanced, claws clicking over the cracking ice. Kevin tried to aim the shotgun, but Lope's weight pinned him down.

Then a sharp twang split the air.

A harpoon whistled out of the fog and punched Alan's back and went through his chest. The steel tip erupted out his back in a spray of black gore. He roared, staggered, spun toward the lake, and saw—

Vivian.

She was standing on the half-frozen boat, one foot up on the railing, harpoon gun trembling in her hands, face pale as bone. She had ran back to the boat instead of the safety of the dock.

Lope shoved the silver knife on Kevin's chest. "Kill the fucker for me."

Kevin didn't waste it. He jammed the blade into his coat pocket and then brought the shotgun up again.

Three shells left.

BOOM!

He fired once. The slug hit Alan in the ribs. Blood and fur flew into the wind.

BOOM!

This time the blast tore through the werewolf's shoulder, spinning him half around.

BOOM!

The third shot—his last—missed. Alan ducked, and in a blink, he was on him.

The shotgun clattered away, sliding across the ice. Alan's claws slammed Kevin down, pinning him by the throat. His breath felt like burning fire, his teeth inches from Kevin's face.

"Any last words, human?"

But Kevin only has one word for him. "Nope."

Kevin's hand moved before his brain caught up. He yanked the knife from his pocket and drove it straight into the werewolf's left eye.

The blade went in DEEP.

Alan howled. Suddenly, blue infernal fire ignited from the wound, spreading down his cheek like wildfire under the skin. His claws tore gouges in the ice as he reeled back, clutching his head, half of it was now on fire. The smell of burning fur and ozone filled the air.

Then the ice beneath him gave.

The Alpha crashed through the surface, plunging into the cold black water. The Sirens came up instantly—Penelope and the others—swirling around him, screeching, clawing at the knife, trying to pull him back up to save him. But the flames burned hotter, spreading, searing through the water until everything around him boiled in blue.

Kevin stumbled to his knees. He turned toward Lope, who was half-conscious, purple-lipped and bleeding out. Vivian was already running toward them across the ice.

Kevin got his arms under Lope, dragging him, step by step. Vivian reached them, grabbed Lope's other side. Together, they hauled him toward the shore as the moon burned white above the lake. Behind them, the water bubbled and hissed, Sirens shrieking as they sank with the fallen wolf.

They collapsed on the lakeshore, Lope barely conscious, blood pumping from the stump where half his arm used to be. Kevin immediately pressed his hand down on it, trying to stem the flow, but it's gushing fast—bright, hot, and steaming arterial blood.

Vivian acted fast. Despite the terror in her eyes, she tore off her jacket and wrapped it around the wound, but the blood soaked through in seconds. Kevin cursed, knew that if they didn't seal it fast, he'd bleed out in less than a couple of minutes.

"Tourniquet," Kevin said, scanning the ground. "We need a damn tourniquet."

Vivian ripped her belt free, hands shaking, and Kevin looped it high around Lope's bicep—what's left of it—and pulled until Lope howled in pain. He twisted it tighter with the broken handle of a harpoon shaft until the blood slowed to a dark ooze.

But it was not enough.

Lope's gone pale, his breathing getting shallow. His pulse was even erratic. Kevin's seen that look before—from men previously wounded in accidents on a few job sites, or worse.

Then Vivian spotted the spare flare still in the pocket of Lope's jeans. She pulled it out, and without hesitation, burned the steel of the spare harpoon from the harpoon gun until it was red-hot, using the friction and remaining flare propellant.

Kevin stared. "What are you doing? You can't possibly do that?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

And before Kevin could stop her, she pressed the searing metal to Lope's stump. The smell of burning flesh flooded the air; Lope screamed as his face twisted in pain, tears spilling down as the wound sizzled shut, black and smoking.

"Almost there. Almost there," Vivian reassured him.

The screaming faded into whimpers. Lope passed out cold, his chest still rising, barely.

Vivian drops the flare gun, hands trembling. Kevin looks at her in disbelief.

"Jesus Christ, kid," he said quietly. "You might've just saved his life."

She wiped her face with a bloody sleeve. "That's just a band-aid. We need to find something in the camp that will stop the bleeding. That might buy him an hour. Maybe two. He really needs to go to a hospital."

"Where did you learn this?"

Vivian paused. "P.E."

"We might have our first worthy delver of the night, my lord," Oracle said.

"Who?" I asked, curious.

"Lope Sanchez."

"How come? Dawn's not here yet."

"He's unconscious. It's difficult to bring down a delver's Resolve when they're not awake to feel fear."

I frowned. I thought of Leo Grady when he first delve the dungeon. He was knocked out by Demon before he was brought back half-dead to the cabin. Before light touched him. The System had still called him worthy. Gave him a boon for his suffering.

"Do you think he will wake up before dawn?" I asked.

Oracle tilted his head, like he was listening to a frequency I couldn't hear. "With a serious injury like that, highly unlikely. The probability of him waking up in the last leg of the delve is…eight percent. The probability of him bleeding out is at thirty-nine percent."

"Even with him bleeding out, will I still be able to collect his essence?"

"Yes. If he dies," Oracle said. "The System will more than likely treat his death in the dungeon as a failure on his part."

"But not always a guarantee."

"That, too. At least his Resolve is at a darker orange. The System might think that's enough to collect an essence. A slow death like that can be interpreted as them giving up. But it will take a considerable shock to his system to wake him up to guarantee an essence."

"Like an axe to the leg?"

Oracle smiled thinly. "Yes. Like an axe to the leg."

I said nothing for a while, watching Kevin and Vivian drag Lope's limp body through the snow, their breath steaming in the cold.

There was a risk to waking an unconscious delver. Sometimes I might get lucky that when they'd wake up in front of an archetype, their Resolve would quickly drop to red because they were frightened and they realized they were in a fight for their life. But that was not always a guarantee. A stronger-willed delver needed to be worked. To be seasoned. After regaining consciousness, you had to push them harder. Scare them harder. Break their bones and let them crawl before they understood what real despair tasted like. It was safe to say Lope might be the latter. The bastard might actually make it until dawn if Goliath couldn't get to him fast enough.

I looked down to the surviving delvers stumbling into the grounds of the summer camp.

"They're tougher than they look," I muttered.

That amused me.

The path to the camp wound through a line of firs and black pines, the delvers' shadows crawling over the mud like long, thin fingers.

Then, through the mist, the sign appeared, hanging crooked on a rusted chain: CEDAR PINES SUMMER CAMP.

The words were big and cheerful once, painted in that goofy kid-friendly bubble font, but now half the letters were sun-faded and chipped off. "Welcome" had rotted right off. Kevin stopped in front of it, catching his breath.

Lope groaned behind them, slumped against Vivian's shoulder. His skin had gone the color of wax paper. Blood soaked through the jacket she'd wrapped around his shoulder, and it was starting to seep between her fingers. The guy was heavy, dead weight, and he wasn't talking anymore, just a mumbling of slurred speech, telling the others he was fine.

"Let's keep moving," Kevin said.

They followed the trail until the trees broke and the camp spread out before them: rows of cabins with a few missing doors, sagging roofs, and windows punched out like yawning teeth. The Wellness Lodge stood at the far end, the sign above it bleached to the color of bone. The red cross on the door had faded long ago. Kevin kicked the door open, and the hinges screeched. A family of spiders scattered across the counter from the force.

Kevin flicked on his flashlight and started rummaging through drawers and cabinets. Most of them were empty: rat droppings, a sea of cobwebs, and a half-used box of Band-Aids. Vivian laid Lope down on an old bed with an old mattress, pressed her palm to his throat. A faint pulse, but it was there.

"Looks like a lot of people have picked this place clean already," Vivian said.

Kevin opened a closet door and froze. "Well, I'll be damned," he said.

Vivian looked up. In his hands was a white canvas bag, big red cross stitched across the front. The surface gleamed, clean and seemingly untouched.

"That shouldn't be here," he muttered. "Last time I was here, the Gradys cleaned this place out during their big move. Even the paddles from the lake were gone."

"Well, thank God they missed it. Give it to me," Vivian said.

Vivian took the bag from him, unzipped it. Inside were gauze rolls, sterile bandages, antibiotic packets. Hell, even morphine ampoules still sealed in their plastic.

"This shit's fresh," she said.

"Yeah," Kevin said slowly. "That's the weird part. How could they missed this?"

"Let's just be thankful it was there."

I chuckled. Nothing really weird about it when it was one of the many loot drops found across the dungeon.

"And what's this?" Vivian raised a small and thin vial filled with sloshing red liquid with the consistency of maple syrup.

Kevin shrugged. "Drugs, maybe?"

Vivian looked at it a beat longer, then slipped it into her pocket without another word.

I knew what it was, a Potion of Healing. It was capable of sustaining a delver's stamina and healing any previous wounds they received. It was one of the few magical loot drops I actually placed on the map (and not randomly placed by The System). It couldn't regrow new limbs though. That required a much powerful potion or spell.

Vivian got to work by tightening a proper tourniquet around Lope's arm, packing the wound, cleaning it with antiseptic. Lope jerked once, then went limp again. His breathing steadied.

Kevin kept glancing at the door, then back at the bag.

"You don't think…" he started.

Vivian looked up, her eyes sharp and tired. "Think what?"

"That the werewolf is dead, right?"

She didn't answer. Just tightened the bandage, hard, until Lope's body twitched again.

"It doesn't matter," Kevin said finally, shaking his head and answered his doubts. "Dawn's almost here anyway."

"What if there's a monster in this camp, too?" Vivian asked softly. The question hung in the dark a little longer.

Kevin gave a short, humorless laugh. "If there was, we'd have heard about it. Dead kids. Dead junkies. Dead someone. Heck, we should see some of 'em, right? It's the weekend, after all. This place draws your kind of people, doesn't it? Where are they?"

"Not my crowd,"Vivian said. "And yeah, I guess you have a point."

Well, I'm sorry to tell you, Vivian, those kids couldn't make it to the summer camp tonight. You should thank Oracle for that, I thought. Oracle invaded several group chats and posts to keep people from coming to the mountain tonight. It might sound like a lot of hassle, but it literally took Oracle barely twelve seconds to complete it.

Kevin sighed, crouched beside Lope for a second, watching the bandaged stump rise and fall. "Xavier's the only one left anyway."

Vivian stopped working. "Do you think he'll have it in him to hurt us, Uncle? Back at the manor, he still… remembered me. Said he wanted me to be like him. To be one of them."

Kevin didn't answer right away. He chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking. There was no comfort left in him. Just tired muscles, bones, and drenched clothes against the chill. He didn't want to entertain the idea of killing his own nephew.

Finally, he rose and said, "I'll keep a lookout."

He took the flashlight with him, the beam swaying across the broken windows letting the cool morning air in and the peeling wallpaper. The thought of killing Xavier still lingered in his mind.

But then Kevin froze. The flashlight beam caught the thing just as it stepped out from between the trees—

Something big.

It walked slow. Shoulders like a linebacker's, arms that hung low, heavy as clubs, dragging a double-sided axe. The long duster coat swayed around its legs, the fabric stiff and caked with mud.

Then he glanced up to its face—no, not a face.

A mask.

It looked like it had been made from a deer's skull, the bone yellowed and cracked with age. The antlers were sawed short, uneven, jagged at the ends like an elaborate devil's horns. The eye sockets were like black holes that he could tell was looking into the window he was standing in front of. The mask had split the deer's jaw and wired it open, teeth filed into points. The thing's breath steamed through the gaps, a steady, ragged wheeze.

This was one of Goliath's several new masks he had fashioned over the few weeks in his isolated shack. He had many unique masks like it, hang along the walls in his sanctum, accessories he'd like to wear in future hunts. It seemed like he wanted to wear the Stag Mask for tonight's scenario.

Kevin quickly killed the flashlight and stumbled away from the window.

"Viv," he whispered, breath trembling. "Viv, someone's out there."

"Is it Xavier—"

"Definitely not. Help me get Lope up," Kevin said. "Now."

Between them, they dragged Lope's limp body to the corner and stuffed him into an old wooden supply cabinet. Vivian packed towels and a sheet around him to muffle any sound. Lope groaned once, half-conscious, and she pressed a hand over his mouth until he went still again.

Kevin's heart hammered in his chest. The floorboards creaked beneath them, loud enough to give them away if they weren't careful.

He swept the beam once more, low this time. The place was a mess of overturned chairs, medical cots, and broken cabinets. At the far end, a row of tall linen lockers stood crooked against the wall. One of them was big enough for a person if they squeezed tight.

"There," Kevin said, nodding toward it.

They climbed in together, pressed shoulder to shoulder, breathing through their mouths. Vivian shut the door until only a sliver of the room showed through the gap.

Then, silence.

A long moment later came the creak of the front doors reverberated across the lodge.

He's inside.

I watched Goliath step into the Wellness Lodge. The doorframe brushed his shoulders, carried the axe in one hand and dragged the head along the floorboards to taunt the delvers hiding inside. Heavy bootsteps. Each one thudding through the floor like a heartbeat.

The deer mask turned, listening.

Breathing.

Searching.

Kevin dared a look through the crack. He saw the creature's silhouette move through the gap, backlit by the faint moonlight leaking through the windows. Vivian's hand found his. Her grip was trembling but strong, but the sudden move rustled their clothes. It was subtle, but almost like a dinner bell for the hunter stalking inside the lodge.

Goliath stopped.

Tilted his head.

Then, Goliath stepped out of view.

For a few seconds, it was just the sound of him walking. Sometimes fading. Sometimes getting louder. The boots creaked and thudded on the floorboards. Kevin could feel the vibration through the metal cabinet walls. Vivian pressed a fist against her mouth to keep from breathing too loud. Her pulse beat against his arm like a trapped bird.

Then the footsteps stopped.

Only the slow, ragged wheeze from that thing's throat echoed somewhere in the dark.

Kevin leaned forward, eyeing the thin seam of light between the cabinet doors, but he couldn't see anything. He thought maybe the hunter had gone deeper into the lodge. He opened his mouth to whisper something to Vivian—

WHAM!

The cabinet suddenly tipped over, front first.

The whole thing went over like a coffin kicked downhill. Metal shrieked against the floor. The two of them crashed together inside, tangled in shelves and supplies, Vivian's knee jamming into her uncle's ribs and screamed. Kevin gasped, dizzy, the breath punched out of him.

The sound of something heavy embedding into the wall just above them. Goliath had wedged his axe into the wood, freeing both his hands.

Through the ringing in their ears, came a low grunt.

Kevin saw a shadow move past the narrow strip of light at the top of the fallen cabinet. The deer mask leaned close on the gap, as if saying peek-a-boo, the hollow sockets blacker than the dark around them.

Another pause.

Then came the shink of a blade leaving its sheath.

A scrape of metal.

And then—

SHLING!

The first stab punched through the cabinet's thin metal wall, inches from Kevin's face. He yelped and flinched back as the tip of the kukri sliced the air where his head had been. Another stab, lower this time, tore through a shelf. A third cut ripped open a stack of rolled-up old rags, flinging lint and dust into their mouths.

"Jesus—stop, stop—!" Vivian screamed, scrambling away from the next blow.

The kukri plunged again—shling!—and this one found her. A sudden wet sound, a flash of pain, and Vivian let out a gasping screech, blood spilling warm down her calves.

Kevin tried to shield her. The next stab came straight through his shoulder, a burning impact that drove him against the wall.

"Mothefucker!" He screamed, tried to push himself free, but the blade twisted once before it pulled out again, leaving a burning fire in its wake.

Goliath sheathed the blade and crouched, gripped the edge of the cabinet, and lifted.

The whole thing went up like it weighed nothing. He dumped it sideways, and Kevin and Vivian spilled out in a heap, covered with blood and sweat. Old supplies clattered and rolled across the floor with them.

"Go! Go!" Kevin rasped, dragging Vivian up by the elbow.

They stumbled toward the back hallway, the flashlight beam jerking wildly over overturned tables and broken wheelchairs. Behind them, Goliath straightened to his full height and let out a low, steady, and silent growl.

He tore the axe from the wall.

Then he started after them.

The hallway yawned ahead of them. Kevin dragged Vivian, his wounded shoulder burning, leaving a trail of red handprints along the wall.

Behind them came the sound of heavy boots.

Kevin risked a look back. Goliath filled the doorway, shoulders scraping against the frame, coat tails dragging behind him like a shroud.

"Move! He's behind us!" Kevin hissed.

Vivian limped beside him, her leg bleeding badly, one shoe slick with her own blood. She half-ran, half-hopped through the next door—a smaller infirmary. The room was littered with worn beds and stained glass windows where kids used to lay down for the night when they caught a bug from the cabins or the woods.

Goliath stepped right behind them and swung the axe down.

Kevin pushed Vivian aside just before the axe's blade would chop through his elbow. The axe wedged itself onto the floor.

And Kevin found an opportunity. He launched himself up, grabbed a metal tray from the nearby counter, and slammed it into the side of Goliath's head. The sound rang like a bell. Goliath roared, staggering sideways, the tray twisting in half against his skull.

"Run!" Kevin shouted.

Vivian limped away as Kevin threw himself between her and the monster. Goliath swung the axe, catching the corner of a bed frame. The blade ripped through steel like paper. Kevin ducked, the wind of it brushing his hair, and bolted through the next door to his left. Kevin tipped over a shelf to block Goliath from coming after them, or at least hindering him for a moment, and the shelf came crashing down in a grating cacophony of shattering old jars and medical tools.

Kevin shoved Vivian ahead of him. "To the back!"

They burst into another corridor, the exit sign faintly showing at the far end. Vivian limped faster, gritting her teeth through the pain. Behind them, Goliath broke through the wall instead of using the door. Dust poured from the hole and the ceiling around him.

"Jesus—Who the fuck is this guy? Michael Myers?!" Kevin didn't dare look back. He grabbed Vivian and they smashed through the exit door.

They continued running—

—but they didn't make it past twenty yards.

A sudden barreling sound tore through the cold and then something hit them from behind.

Goliath came out of the shadows at full sprint. He hit them like a goddamn train, his shoulder ramming between them. Kevin went spinning into the dirt, his back smacking the ground so hard his lungs seized up for a hot second. Vivian flew sideways, skidding through the edge of the trail.

By the time Kevin blinked away the dots and stars from his vision, Goliath was already moving to the easier prey between them. The antlered mask glinted in the pale dawn as he stalked toward Vivian.

Vivian tried to crawl away, dragging her bad leg, gasping, "No, no, please, don't—!"

Kevin roared and launched himself at the monster's back, wrapping his arms around Goliath's throat. He might as well have been hugging a goddamn tree.

"Get away from her!"

Goliath didn't flinch. Just reached back, grabbed the scruff of Kevin's shirt like he was throwing a sack of potatoes, and threw him over. Kevin went weightless for a heartbeat, then hit the dirt so hard again his teeth clacked together.

Before he could roll, a heavy boot came down on his leg—

CRACK!

Kevin let out a primal scream. Pain flared white across his blurring vision, burning through his body like electricity. He tried to twist away, but Goliath pressed harder on his broken knee, pinning him to the ground.

Then Goliath drew his kukri from its sheath, the curved blade. Kevin looked up just in time to see his own terrified expression reflected in the metal.

Kevin's Resolve went down to Red, and Goliath aimed for the kill.

The blade came down in a blur, but Kevin jerked sideways. The tip of the steel kissed flesh. It opened his cheek from jaw to ear, spraying red across the dirt. He howled, clutching at his face, the world narrowing to blood and pain and the distant sound of Vivian crying his name.

Goliath raised the blade again, muscles flexing, the sunrise just beginning to crawl up the horizon.

"Please…no! No!" Kevin begged, raising one hand up as if that would do him any good.

But before Goliath could swing the blade down, the light caught the edge of the blade, a bright flare that washed over the steel like fire. Then it slid down, touching Goliath's mask, his chest, and then down to his legs. The dawn bled across the campgrounds, slow but unstoppable.

Kevin squinted through the blur of blood in his eye. He saw the mask twitch, the antlered head tilting slightly toward the rising light.

Goliath heaved a sigh and lowered the blade. He stood there for a moment, glowering at Kevin, and then slid the machete back into its sheath. He reached down, lifted his axe from where it had fallen, and gave Kevin one disheartened look and a lazy thumbs up. Then, he walked back to the forest.

Kevin was confused. "The fuck…?"

Vivian crawled toward Kevin as Goliath's figure grew smaller, swallowed by the trees and the golden haze of the morning light. When he disappeared completely, the forest went still.

When he realized Goliath was no longer coming after them, Kevin lay back to the ground, chest heaving, staring at the growing sky. Vivian knelt beside him, sobbing softly.

He looked at her, tried to smile, half his face slick with his own blood. The pain never went away, dulled by his waning adrenaline. "Guess… we made it?"

The sun climbed higher.

Dawn spilled over them both.