Davina was still working from within the house, her power burning hot now, the vines lashing out like whips, draggingmore of the Lucent screaming into the darkness. For every man that escaped her reach, two more were caught. The ground was slick and red beneath their boots.
Within minutes, the battle had devolved into chaos.
A soldier lunged at Lucy, catching her by surprise. She ducked, using his momentum to throw him over her shoulder before plunging her knife into his side. She looked up just in time to see Corey blasting two more, the flash of his gunfire lighting his face in bursts of orange.
“Lucy!” Byron shouted, pointing behind her.
She spun, pulling the trigger just as another Lucent broke through the smoke. The bullet caught him clean in the neck. He fell hard, the thud lost under the roar of the vines tearing through soil again.
The forest was alive, the way it was pulling men back in felt like they were being devoured.
Within ten minutes, it was over.
Bodies littered the grounds, twisted and broken. Smoke hung thick through the night air.
Corey stood bent over, hands on his knees, chest heaving. “Jesus,” he muttered.
Ethan turned, wiping blood from his cheek. “And they said we couldn’t hold.”
Byron looked over the carnage, silent and then walked over to Lucy who was still trembling, he held her tight around the waist and then she steadied.
Back inside, Barnaby’s monitors flickered back to life, the static clearing as the cameras came online one by one. His eyes widened at the sight of the massacre outside.
“They must’ve killed the blocker,” he breathed. He grabbed the walkie-talkie. “Corey! You killed the blocker, I can see you now. This must be working.”
Static crackled, then Corey’s voice came through, breathless but steady. “Yeah. They work. We’re clear.”
He turned to others “Let’s get back inside, we need to rest. Before the rest come”
“Then they too will wish they hadn’t come.” Byron said as they walked back to the house.
And for a moment, the manor stood silent. The forest was still again, smoke rising slowly from the field it was a battlefield turned graveyard.
Mandy came down the stairs, her face pale but composed, eyes faintly glowing as she adjusted to the energy in the room. “My senses are back,” she said steadily. “They’re still quite close. I’d say at least half an hour before they break. But this time…” she paused, looking around at everyone, “it will beallof them.”
“All of them?” Lucy’s chair toppled backward as she shot to her feet. “How the hell can we manage all of them?” Her voice cracked, panic tightening her throat.
The others froze.
Byron reached across the table, taking Lucy’s trembling hand. “Hey,” he said firmly. “This is what we’ve trained for. Every day. We don’t have time to panic.” He looked up at the others, his voice rising with command. “Drink something. Check your weapons. Get your heads right. We do what we’ve always done.”
Mandy stood near the doorway, watching him, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides.
Across the room, Mary hadn’t moved. Her gaze was distant, unreadable. Lucy looked toward her, and something in Mary’s eyes made the hairs on Lucy’s neck stand up a quiet, knowing look that wasn’t fear at all but something far more certain.
Without a word, Mary turned and walked slowly toward the stairs. Lucy wanted to call after her but didn’t. She just watched as her footsteps faded upward into the dim hallway.
Mandy followed a moment later, glancing back at Lucy before she went. “I’ll let you know when they’re minutes from entering,” she said softly. Then she disappeared upstairs after Mary.
Downstairs, the group began to gather again, closer this time the air between them thick with unspoken worry.
Corey looked from face to face, his voice level but stern. “All right, before we start jumping at shadows — is everyone good? No injuries?”
A few quiet murmurs of “no.”
“Good,” he said. “Then we wait. Eat something. Drink if you can. Just… be ready.”
The words hung there, and time stretched. The minutes felt like hours. The house itself seemed to be holding its breath every tick of the clock too loud, every gust of wind against the windows a false alarm.
