Sickle skidded to a halt at the forest’s edge.
Scanning the clearing, he saw barren, dimpled hills of limestone. Pocked and dented, void of anything green or lush, it was a network of tunnels that wormed deep underground.
And just there, in the distance?
The rising cloud of an approaching horde. A mob of infected, both mutated and grotesque. Beasts without Giaus’ sharp wit, or noble measurements. They were horror trapped in flesh. Doomed creatures cast out by the Nine.
Demons who ate without bothering to kill.
And he was standing directly in their path.
Sweat bloomed over Sickle’s nape, his forehead growing damp and clammy as he watched them approach. Sneering at the mindless terror urging him to flee, he glanced back, toward the way he’d come. To Balkazar and the cruelty he knew would end him.
This was a choice. A fork in the path between two options—return to the life lived for others, or to be swallowed up in a single horrific instant. Pummeled to death beneath the savagery of a feral horde.
Death on either side, because Sinadim couldn’t help him now. The hybrids wouldn’t bother.
There was no one left to save him.
“SICKLE!” the war chief called again, closer now. Balkazar’s skills as a hunter had not been diminished by the infection rotting him from the inside.
And then Sickle saw the horde in a new light.
Salvation.
A tool.
Sickle chose a new way. One not manicured by the cruel influence of others.
“What a pretty justice,” he cooed, grinning into the shadows. Searching for any hint of Balkazar breaking through the tree line, he hunkered down to wait. To set a trap for the war chief who meant to be an Alpha, who’d takeneverythingfrom him but hadn’t been made to pay the price.
Yet.
When the distant crashing of a beast grew loud enough to pick out each individual footfall, Sickle sprang into action. A moving target, he sprinted and claimed the ground halfway between the limestone summit riddled with dark caves and the forest. Arms spread in welcome when Balkazar burst through the trees.
Eyes rimmed in red, oozing from every orifice, Balkazar looked wretched. His bulk seemingly increased in uneven waves, his right arm hung heavy from the socket. A club of muscle and deadly claws more wicked than any Sickle had ever seen.
Dripping in all manner of horrors, Balkazar’s brow was furrowed in dim confusion. Sensing the trap, even in his state, he hesitated. Not yet seeing the danger rolling toward them, there was time to taunt.
Time Sickle meant to use.
Grinning, he said, “I have to hand it to you, war chief. I was wrong.”
Balkazar’s head tilted. Heavy and distorted on one side, something noxious and green spilling from his ear.
“You’ve adapted to this place better than I ever might have expected.” Grinning, Sickle took a single, calculated step back. “You have purpose, relic. Still expendable,” he said, and shrugged, “and your death will be heinous, but it’s a fitting end for a diseased whore like you.”
Mumbling nonsense, Balkazar’s mane rose up in an uneven flare. The pounding of a balled fist into the opposite palm was enough of a clue about his meaning.
Sickle laughed, just to keep those watery blue eyes focused on him. “You took everything from me, and now it’s time to take your reward. And I have to admit,” Sickle shouted as the horde drew near, “I’m going to enjoy watching you fall. They’re going to dine on your flesh and knot your every ruined orifice, but you’re meant for this.” Sneering, Sickle took another step back. Drawing Balkazar fully into the barren stretch of limestone. “Only this.”
And then, bellowing challenge, Balkazar charged.
Limbs working as fast as they might go, Sickle raced the front edge of the horde. Bathed in a moonlit shroud, he claimed a cloak of confidence that might earn him a grisly end, but would do so at his own authority. That would take Balkazar down with him.
Tripping over limestone, Sickle’s boots snagged on uneven ground. And he leapt, clearing the desolate, barren planes of rock and spewing geysers puking up sulfurous smoke. Vaulted over a pool of bubbling muck rimmed in crusty yellow foam, and staggered over the bulk of a massive beast.
Dead.
