Once the glamour is activated on our bikes, we head out. Mask up, helmets on. I take the lead, as the gate 144 spits us out right into the heart of Blue River, Yukon. A sleepy town frozen in time. The streets lie empty, except for a few couples making their way toward the glowing neon of the diner or the faded marquee of the old movie theatre.
We ease off the gas, the bikes humming low as we cruise through the quiet streets. A sharp wind from the nearby mountain cuts through the air, carrying with it a faint trace of something… off. This portal sits dangerously close to town. If a demon slipped through, it would leave a mark.
And sure enough, it looks like we’ve just found one.
“Guys, come take a look at this.”
Spinning around, I catch up with Caleb and Wyll standing at the entrance of a dark alley. On the cracked pavement lies a corpse. Mangled, torn apart, crawling with rats. Their shrill squeals pierce the silence as they gnaw deep into the raw flesh. Blood oozes from ragged wounds, pooling thick and dark on the granite. One rat’s body is half-swallowed inside the empty eye socket, its fur soaked in crimson.
“There are somanyof them,” Wyll mutters, disgust curling his lips.
“Caleb, you got anything for this?” I ask, voice low.
Without wasting a minute, he steps forward. Fingers diving into the labyrinth of pockets on his worn leather coat, each stuffed with vials glowing faintly in the dim light, Caleb pulls out two bottles, eyes flicking between them, before picking one.
“This might work.”
My teeth clench at the wordmight, but I say nothing. He chants low, ‘Stepvo,’ and the liquid inside the vial swirls from black to a blinding white. Hurling it into the rat pool, thick smoke surges up while the vermin shriek in pain. After a couple of heartbeats, silence falls over the street. Once the smoke clears out, there’s nothing, just dark, glistening blood staining the ground.
Wyll shudders. “Ugh, I just got chills. I swear, your Frankenstein science shit freaks me the hell out.”
Caleb doesn’t even blink. “Yeah? Well, my science shit just saved your dumbass.”
“Fair. Fair.”
Caleb shoots me a look. “I don’t know how you put up with his whiny ass, Kai. He drives me nuts.”
I chuckle as we head back to the bikes. “You get used to it. He’s just a big softie under all that.”
“Both of you fuck off,” Wyll grumbles, firing up his engine. “Also, what the hell brought all those rats? ”
But before any of us can answer him, a low, guttural sound rips through the alley. Deep, feral, and close, we all freeze and slowly turn toward the noise. Every muscle tight, breath caught in our lungs.
A figure stands at the far end of the alley.
Hunched—Twitching, not right.
Its eyes are pitch black, veins writhing beneath its skin like ink bleeding through paper. Foam bubbles from its mouth. Lips curling back, revealing a mouth full of jagged teeth, sharp, uneven, too many to count.
“What the hell is that?!” Wyll yells, staggering a step back, his bike forgotten.
“Caleb, tell me you’ve got another one of those bombs!” I shout.
He doesn’t look up, just mutters, “You had to fucking jinx it,” as he fumbles through his coat.
“Sorry!” Wyll whines.
Then the thing jerks sideways like it’s being yanked by invisible strings. Its head snaps unnaturally, and a thick, black sludge leaks from its orifices. Its jaw drops open, too wide. Dislocating with a sickening crack as the skin tears, and then it screams.
“Okay! Time to fucking go!” Wyll shouts, going back to his bike, gunning the engine. But I stay grounded, calm, pulling my starblades free with a practiced flick.
“Tha thu deamhan, tilleadh saoi-diabhal,” I mutter, the spell making the runes come alive.
The creature’s head jerks toward me, its movements sharp and unnatural. Then it launches. Whatever mind it once had is long gone; this thing runs on pure instinct.
I brace, then throw the starblade, it sinks deep into its head with a sickening squelch. The momentum carries it forward another step before it crumples, black blood spraying across the ground as its head slumps deeper onto the starblade before disappearing in a cloud of dust.
“ALRIGHT!” Wyll yells, jumping onto his bike seat. My lips twitch into a smirk, short-lived, because then we hear it. The wet snarls and heavy dragging footsteps echo down the street. Three more of them stagger into view. Just like the first, glassy black eyes, flesh peeling, something rotten lurking behind their twitchy limbs.
