Ain't That A Blog

The blood moon watched over the inn in Bramblebrush. A thick fog had settled in, giving the city an eerie calm. Lanterns flickered like they were thinking about going out, but never did. Horizio sat at the far end of a small study, hunched over a thick, leather-bound book. The title read “Codex Gigantica: Harnessing the methods of the Primordials”. Its foil lettering had mostly flaked off.

His eyes scanned a page marked with the header: Litany of Broken Heavens.

“Well, that looks lovely,” he muttered to himself.

The spell was basic electrokinesis, which harnessed the power of storms to fire a bolt of lightning at a chosen point.

Before Horizio was a rusted basin lined with copper wire. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his collar damp with sweat. He studied the sigils inked into the page.

He aimed for the basin, brow furrowed determinedly. A tingle built up in his arm, hairs rising. He extended his hand, palm facing the target, and—

A spark jumped from his fingers, fizzling out with a weak pop. A sharp pain briefly pierced his hand simultaneously.

“Dammit!” 

Flipping back a few pages, he looked at the annotations he had scribbled earlier. He underlined and circled the incantation needed.

“Fulmen Draconis, Vox Trium, Caelum Fragite” the book read.

“Alright,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together. “Come on, focus.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, muttering the incantation with his voice trembling.

 “Fulmen Draconis, Vox Trium, Caelum Franginte”

No response; even his hairs remained stationary. 

He exhaled slowly before trying again. Thin yellow cracks snaked their way along his arms and across his knuckles.

 “Vox Trium Draconis!” he shouted, as a sound resembling a high pitched, bell-like cackle rang out.

 He shot his hand the same way, but the bolt was too fast this time. The basin shattered before exploding in a puff of smoke. Horizio’s sleeve caught fire from a stray arc.

“Ow! Shit!” he yelped as he fell back out of his chair. 

He quickly patted his sleeve, where a small blackened hole remained. He stood up, coughing in the mist, with his hair half-lifted from the static. The stench of burnt wood covered the room. 

“God dammit!” 

He heard Demetrius yell from outside, followed by a door slam.

Demetrius walked into the room, looking dazed and confused, and held a wet towel to his face. This was where an angry red gash bloomed across the bridge of his nose and down his left cheek. His collar was undone, and his sleeves were rolled up. There were fresh tears streaking both his shirt and trousers.

Horizio’s stomach sank with concern. “The hell happened to you?” 

“Had a bad fall,” Demetrius muttered, his eyes not quite meeting Horizio, instead landing on the aftermath of Horizio’s experiment. “And you?”

“I was...experimenting.” Horizio sheepishly looked away. “You shouldn’t be alone this late, sir. I mean, with what happened to the Stingers—they're probably getting real antsy.”

He rushed his words, eager to deflect away from further humiliation.

“I just needed air, kid. Tripped and fell into some rocks.” Demetrius said as he stepped further in, brushing soot off the table. His gaze drifted to the codex. 

“Lightning magic, huh? ” Demetrius said, dragging a finger along the edge of the page. “What made you pick that?”

“I um…it’s showy, so I thought it would help if I ever become a circus performer,” Horizio explained with subtle embarrassment. “A… friend suggested it.”

He approached Demetrius, who had sat at the desk. A map lay open alongside several drawings and photographs. They were different images of the Stingers. One showed the earlier camp they visited that Chevy took out. Though, most were of their handiwork: pictures of people of all species, strung up like trophies, exhaustion carved into their faces. The Stinger members were posed beside them in the pictures, showing off their hunting prizes.

Towards the back of one of the pictures was a man shrouded in shadow. He had two sets of glowing eyes that pierced his surrounding veil of darkness. Demetrius zeroed in on him.

“Everything okay, Demetrius?” Horizio asked, seeing unease in his boss.

“Peachy.” Demetrius replied, starting to put away the evidence on the desk.

“Who was that?”

“No one knows his name. People have only come up with guesses; Azazel, Clyde, Alacran—but most just call him ‘The Stranger’.” Demetrius explained. “He’s the reason why people like us are needed. Some say he worships something long forgotten; others say that he is that something.” 

Horizio felt a shiver go down his spine when he looked at the photo. “You think he’s on the move?” his gaze flicked to Demetrius.

“I think he’s gonna get cut up rough over this,” Demetrius murmured, his voice fed up. “He’s gonna start acting like a cornered animal, which means we gotta be careful… and keep an eye out.” his hand shifted towards his sidearm.

Mari, exhausted, pushed open the door, leading the party back into their sanctuary, before rushing upstairs to her room.

“We’re backkkkk,” Twill exclaimed, draping himself over Chevy.

Demetrius laughed at the sight of them, “Well done! How was it?”

“Well first of all, you lied, there were two banshees,”  Boone grumbled as he followed behind Lyra as she beelined to the bar. “And second of all, we all made it back in one piece.,” he added, side-eyeing Twill. “For better or for worse.”

Horizio glanced at Demetrius, who jotted down Boone’s account in a small journal. “I see, well thank you so much, and as promised…” he pulled out several bags of coins, each containing 100 gold, from his case. “Your payment, as promised. Horizio and I were just looking over the details for future jobs, but for now, just rest easy—you've earned it.” A corporate facade was evident in the tone of Demetrius’ voice as he handed the payment out. Chevy shared a glance with Horizio as he went upstairs to his bedroom.

 Mari paced restlessly, her claws extending and retracting as a nervous tic. Her body trembled, heart raced,hands shook, and her feet tingled. Her vision was as distorted as the bleeding red moon glowing through the windows.

She stopped at the mirror, noticing a reflection of mania staring back with wide, hollow eyes and tangled hair. Her whole body locked up; she gripped the dresser at the point to where her knuckles went white, and her claws dug into the wood, forming grooves.

She let out a scream that shattered the mirror as she threw the dresser, along with the mirror, across the room, creating a loud crash.

“Mari? Are you alright in there?” Boone asked worriedly from outside.

Mari spun. Her eyes were a deep, soulless black.  She couldn’t bring herself to speak, only letting out a choked sob. Boone creaked the door open to see Mari launching herself in his direction, and Boone leaped out of the way. She slammed into it, making it crack under the force of her impact. He caught her shoulders just as she burst through, barely bracing in time. Her sharp claws dug slightly into his neck as her hand clasped around it, drawing blood.

“Mari!” he shouted, his hands flying up around her hand to lighten the pressure around his neck.. “Hey—hey! It’s me!”

She let out a guttural snarl,  and shoved him hard into the opposite wall. His back hit it with a thud. Pain lit his face, but he didn’t fight back.

“Mari,” his hand drifting to cover hers, “Hey… you’re okay, it's O.K.,” he said again, quieter than before.

Her breathing pattern stuttered. Her eyes widened, and her pupils dilated. All the blood drained from her face. Her claws retracted. Her shoulders slumped forward like they couldn’t hold her weight anymore. “Oh God,” she whispered. “Boone—”

“I’m fine,” he affirmed quickly, still pressed against the wall. “You didn’t—it's fine.”

She shook her head, backing away, every step more unsteady than the last. “I didn’t mean to, I swear— I didn’t know it was you, oh gods—”

“I know,” he said gently. “I know.”

“I could’ve killed you.”

“But here I am.” Mari’s knees nearly buckled. She turned and stumbled back into the room, hands trembling, claws trying to come back even as she forced them down. Boone followed her to the threshold but didn’t cross it. “Mari—”

She slammed the door shut, turned the bolt with a shaking hand, and pressed her forehead to the wood. Boone was locked out.

He sighed and turned, trudging toward the bar where Chevy nursed a half-empty glass. Boone slid onto the stool beside him, rolling his shoulder with a wince.

Chevy glanced over. “You look like hell.”

“Feel like it,” Boone muttered, raising an eyebrow. “What’s with you?”

Chevy grunted. “I drew the short straw and gotta share a room with Twill. So not exactly chipper.”

Boone nearly choked on his drink in laughter. “Actually… It's Mari.”

Chevy’s brow knit slightly. He didn’t say anything, just waited.

Boone rubbed the back of his neck, fingers brushing over the still-tender scratches. “Blood moon hit her hard. Real hard. She—” He paused, trying to find the words. “She snapped. Eyes glowing, claws out. Went feral for a second. Almost put me through a wall.”

Chevy straightened a little, quiet now.

“I saw it in her face,” Boone went on. “She didn’t know who I was. Not really. I wonder if she hadn’t come back to herself when she did…” He trailed off. “I’ve seen wild animals with more hesitation.”

Chevy’s jaw clenched. “She hurt you?”

Boone shook his head. “Not really. Scared me more than anything else.” He gave a small, humorless laugh. “I’ve seen her shoot, throw knives, hell I’ve even seen her make someone rot to death, and yet...”

His voice cracked, and he took a sip of liquor, hoping to lighten the mood after what had happened.

“I know she didn’t mean it. She thinks she’s too dangerous” He glanced toward the stairs. “Now she’s locked herself in and won’t talk to anyone.”

Chevy was already turning his glass in his hand. “I’ll go check on her,” pushing his chair back with a scrape.

Boone didn’t answer for a second. “Chevy?”

“Hmm?”

“What should we do?”

Chevy stood up, turning to the stairs and sighing. “You offer them warmth. Because the gods know their conscience won’t do that.  Trust me.”

With that, Chevy went up the stairs. Boone’s eyes lingered on the door, fighting with himself on whether to join Chevy or not, but ultimately turning his attention back to his drink, taking a sip to dampen his nerves.

There was no response the first few times Chevy knocked. This caused his hairs to stand on end. He saw what happened when banshees became completely animalistic just hours earlier. With the blood moon still ominously dangling over the landscape, he couldn’t help but imagine the disturbing possibility that Mari might be too far gone to think reasonably.

He hovered his hand over Nightsnare and slowly pushed the door open slightly with a creak, to his relief he saw that she was okay, albeit shaken up.

Mari didn’t look like she’d slept. She was curled in a chair by the window, still in the same clothes she’d worn the day before. Her cloak was half-slid off one shoulder, her boots were still on, and her hair had come mostly loose. She didn’t meet his eyes.

“No need, I’m done,” she sniffled, clutching the blanket tighter around herself .

“Just in case I needed it,” Chevy reassured. “just wanted to check on you.”

He eased into the chair at her bedside, hands resting on his knees.  Outside the window, the blood moon was still high over Dustmire, leaving everything bathed in its sinister red light.

“You hurt?” he asks, eyes scanning over what little was uncovered of Mari’s body from her cocoon.

Mari stared past him, her fingers tangled together in her blankets. “I almost killed Boone.”

“He's alright, just worried about you.” Chevy assured with a gentleness Mari hadn’t seen before.

She flinched slightly, jaw tight. “He didn’t deserve that,” she sniffled. “I just lost control, if anything I deserve—”

“You deserve peace,” he cut her off without an edge. “you weren’t in control, there’s no way it was your fault.”

Mari’s hands drifted to the necklace, which glowed as she clutched it. “It felt like I was a puppet, just spectating in my own body as someone else controlled the wires. I- I couldn’t stop it.” Her voice broke. She turned her head away.

Chevy looked down at his wringing hands, looking down and sighing. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

Mari glanced over, grimacing faintly. “Do you?”

He nodded, taking a long breath before speaking. “When I first got… turned,  I didn’t even know I was sick.” He rubbed at the scar on his flank absently,  “I’d been feeling wrong for days. Hungry. Cold. Everything hurt, and I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep.”

Mari said nothing, just watched as he resisted tears.

“One night, I woke up… in the middle of the kitchen,” Chevy continued, with sadness that had long since been dormant inside him threatening to burst. “It was just quiet with moonlight coming in through the window. she was there to check on me.”

“Your mother?” Mari guessed cautiously.

He nodded. “She’d come to check on me. Thought I’d been attacked or…shit I don’t know. She ran to me. I don’t remember what she said, just that she was scared. Trying to help.”

He paused. His jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

“When I came to… she was cold, I was full, My hands were sticky and red, and she—” He stopped again, swallowing hard. “She didn’t even fight. She was just trying to hold me… telling me it was her, and that everything would be ok.”

Mari tentatively placed a caring hand on Chevy’s shoulder, rubbing it gently.

“I drank her dry,” Chevy said, voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t in control… but some part of me enjoyed it. To feed on something, feeling it go limp, cold and stiff in your arms… and to feel like you were more full than any meal had ever done for you. That was what terrified me.” 

Silence fell again, heavier this time.

“You’re not a monster,” he said, eventually.

Mari nodded, gazing back out the window at the overbearing blood moon.

“If you were,” Chevy said, “you wouldn’t be sitting here, shaking over what happened. Monsters don’t even consider that they are one; they don’t dwell or regret. They justify. That’s why it's so easy for them to do evil, because they aren’t held back by empathy.”

“I’m still dangerous.” she said, trying to convince herself.

“So am I,” Chevy said simply. “and to be honest, so is the entire party, I mean, have you seen what Twill has done in the last 2 days?”

A soft, genuine laugh escaped Mari, shaking her head as it subsided.

“I guess you’re right,” she paused, letting the levity hang. “have you told anyone that story before?”

“No, there isn’t a need to bring up the past.  You just gotta learn from what happened, and move forward.”

She nodded, slowly. “Thanks… I’m sorry you felt like I was a responsibility.”

He paused at the entrance.

“You’re not my responsibility, Mari,” he said, glancing back. “You’re my friend, and I won’t let you walk through hell alone.”

Mari watched Chevy leave down the stairs again as her mind kept repeating that word over and over again.

Friend. 

Chevy thought of her as a friend.

Horizio sat in the foyer, hunched over a half-scorched notebook, a half-drained coffee beside his elbow. Sparks danced between his fingertips, as he tried to coax another controlled strike from the sigils of the codex.

Demetrius was at the other end, shoulders drawn tight, with a bloodied bandage tucked against the gash on his cheek. His eyes were locked on a spread of grainy photographs and yellowed maps. They were of the Stingers camp, before and after, with their smug grins beside the tied and broken bodies of their victims.

Demetrius froze, tilting his head. His fingers hovered over a photo. His brow twitched, barely noticeable, he closed his eyes and let his other senses heighten.

Outside,a dog barked, crows were digging into a carcass, but most prevalent was the sound of thunder and wind. A sandstorm was on its way. Another series of noises unnerved him more than any of them  fabric waving in the wind, sand being disturbed, and the clinging of spurs from boots making contact with the flank of a horse, framed by hoofsteps in the distance.

Horizio didn’t notice, rubbing his forearm where the static had torched him again. “Think I’m finally getting the burst,” he muttered, trying to spark up another arc.

Demetrius pushed his chair back, slow and steady. He gathered the photos and slipped them back into a leather folder, careful with every movement.

“Put it away,” he commanded, leaving no room for discussion.

Horizio blinked. “What? I just—”

“Now.”

“Is something wrong?”

Demetrius didn’t look at him. “Close the curtains. Twill, go barricade the other entrances, I don’t want any surprises.”

Twill saluted before stretching his arms to envelop several pieces of plywood and hacking up a hammer, whistling as he headed over to the back door.

The candle hissed as a draft slipped under the windowsill, before being blown out by Horizio, drawing the curtains closed.

“... You’re being weird.”

Demetrius just made eye contact with him, before nodding his head towards the pictures splayed across the table: no more explanation was needed.

“Ugh, what the hell is going on now?” Boone groaned, rubbing his eyes.

A gunshot rang out, followed by the sound of shattering glass and screams.

“No time, just get into any defensive positions you can, close the curtains and get people away from windows,” Demetrius replied crassly as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, pistols trained at the door, turning as he heard. Chevy descended the stairs, pausing and tilting his head before looking at him. 

"You feel that?" Chevy asked carefully as he reached for Nightsnare.

Chuckling, Demetrius replied. “Why do you think I’m doing all this?” He turned to Horizio. “You think you can fight with your magic?” 

“I uh… I mean I can fire a pulse and make an arc, but really aim it though—” Horizio shyly answered, rubbing his neck, “—but I can see what I can do with the book!” he assured, anxiously flipping through the pages. 

“Got any defense spells red?” Demetrius eagerly asks as his gaze flickers to Lyra.

 Lyra nodded with a smirk, andswiftly traced glowing runes in the air with her fingers. The air around the windows shimmered and warped, becoming subtly distorted, like looking through heat haze.

“Where’s Mari?” Demetrius called out to the room.

“Behind you.” she answered bluntly, making Demetrius jump a slight amount. He nodded and let her pass.

Horizio stood in the corner with his sleeves rolled up and hands sparking. Demetrius approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Stay near me. Focus on either distraction or getting people out of danger. Lightning bolts are hard to dodge—use that to our advantage.”

Demetrius turned to the others with a glare. “Positions.”

Boone checked the load on his rifle and took aim, Lyra stared daggers as two knives from the kitchen hovered next to her, aimed towards the door. Twill joined Chevy upstairs in Mari’s room.

A man sat on a pale horse. His face was hidden by a hat and a mask. The mask was a heavily stylized, jagged skull, with smoke appearing to pour from its mouth and nostrils.

“The Nightrider!” someone cried out in the distance before their voice was cut off by a gunshot.

Valentine, the young town seamstress, burst through the door downstairs, bloodied and terrified. 

“He… he got my ma,” she sobbed after practically leaping into Demetrius’s arms, seeking comfort. He responded kindly, rubbing her back as he embraced her. Horizio slammed the door, barricading it with a chair before ducking under an adjacent window.

“Shh… I got ya… you’re safe,” he reassured her with practiced words. His gaze drifted toward the door, anger plastered on his face.

CRASH! was the sound that came from above as the group whipped to Mari’s room.

“The fuck was that?” Demetrius called out.

“Hijo de su madre—No! Twill decided to jump out the window to greet this fucker!” Chevy yelled as he leaned into his scope.

“Should we—” Horizio started before he was cut off by the sound of joyous laughter coming from Boone.

“You fuckin’ kiddin me? Fuck that, he’ll be great bait for us to make a plan!” Boone barely responded through cracks in his laughter

“Little shit’s gonna blow our cover, but whatever, it's fine, just keep our eyes open.” Demetrius ordered begrudgingly. The current situation bore no resemblance to his original plan..

“Go hide behind the bar, sweetheart, alright?” he requested, his voice a soft, warm whisper. Valentine nodded, still sniffling, and slipped behind the counter.

“Shit…” Horizio exhaled, exacerbated at the sight of Twill disappearing into the sandstorm outside.

Twill ran like a boy on a dare, and was waving a rusted pipe like a baton. He smacked it against a wall with a metallic clang. The wind swallowed the sound whole. “YOOHOOO!” he called out, leaning against the wall. “Hey, big guy!”

The figure turned his head towards Twill, tilting it like a raven, and shrugged. Before Twill knew it, a piercing, nauseating pain bloomed in his shoulder. A jagged stinger connected to the man’s tail was embedded in his shoulder. The Rider lifted Twill effortlessly, drawing him close like a prized catch.

“Hellooooo sailorrrr,” Twill slurred. His pupils were dilated, and his tongue thick. Venom burned through his veins like wildfire.

The Nightrider’s gravelly voice slithered out a laugh. “You’re a funny lil’ fella, ain’tcha? " he teased in a smoky voice, “I’m afraid I ain’t got time for ya right now, so if you excuse me…” 

He flung Twill aside like a stone, and the stinger ripped free with a wet, tearing squelch. Twill hit the dirt with a thud and a grunt, blood pooling in the sand beneath him.

“Shit—I can’t see him!” Horizio muttered from the window, keeping his eyes on the scene in front of him.

“Oh well that sucks, anyway—” Boone was cut off by an elbow to his shoulder from Mari. 

“Callate, pendejo” she barked out. “Demetrius,” she asked with a piercing stare, “any ideas?”

“Who here can go into churches?” he queried, studying the group. Mari and Boone raised their hands, puzzled. “Why?”

“We need to get Twill into the church. The Nightrider can’t go on blessed grounds… the dust storm should provide us some cover, but we’ll be vulnerable to ambush.”

 Lyra's hand shot up like a student who desperately wanted to be called on. She declared, "I got an idea..." “yain’t gonna like it though.”

“Not like we have options.” Demetrius grumbled, his fingers hovering over the trigger, keeping his eyes dead ahead as he moved over to the bar where Valentine was. 

Lyra whispered an incantation before dissolving into a cloud of radiant blue dust. Her disappearance was evident only by the shifting surroundings and the groan of aged floorboards beneath her unseen steps as the door swung open and sand blew in, outlining where Lyra was before being slammed shut by the wind.

The town outside was a maelstrom of dust, blood, and chaos. Lyra bobbed and weaved in between fleeing livestock and people. Her vision was heightened at night, but she was still met with difficulty, as the dust got in her eyes. She made her way into a bubble where the storm seemed to orbit the rider, faded back into view, and walked up. Leaning against a fence next to him, Lyra called out.

“Well, aren’t you just an angel on horseback?” she purred, running a slow finger along the reins. “And that’s one hell of a piece… custom?

“Well, thank you kindly darlin’,” he drawled in that same smokey voice, “I’ll be happy to show ‘er to ya if you would like to take a closer look” followed by a dry, almost wheezy laugh, breaking out like magma.

 Lyra cautiously glided up to The Stranger with the slightest performative swing to her hips. “Oh I would love to,” she cooed, brushing her hand along the horse’s flank before glancing up at him through her lashes. 

“I had ‘er custom made, with a corkscrew engraving to honor Gebara,” he explained, pointing to his repeaters. Their barrels had a spiral drill pattern tapering to the end of the barrel, on the side of the gun was another engraving of some sort of insect that was a cross between a mole cricket and a beetle. 

“May I?”

“Go aheadmissy.”

Lyra carefully ran her hands over the pattern. However, her attention was stolen by the feeling of The Stranger’s tender, gloved hand tilting her head up to meet him.

“Well, I’ll be, that is the most beautiful shade o’ red I’ve ever seen, vampire?” 

His tone was appreciative but not in a way Lyra was used to; this was predatory, like a cat eyeing up a mouse. She swallowed and forced a coy smile.

“Fangs and all, darling,” she said, a voice like syrup.

The man leaned in, and though his face was covered, Lyra could feel him smiling. 

“I’ll let you know one more lil’ secret darlin’.” 

His revolver lifted, gleaming in the half-light. The metal whispered with each smooth click as he spun the cylinder. 

Whirrrrr-click. 

His finger caught it mid-spin, and in the blink of an eye, the muzzle was pointed at her chest. 

“Silver bullets, baby…” he muttered, before pulling the trigger.

White hot Pain screamed through her torso. The silver was eating her insides. It burned like acid, and gnawed at her bones like a hound. Her breath came in a desperate wheeze, but her lungs refused to fill. 

Her vision blurred at the edges; she wasn’t dead, but she wished she were. She struggled to gather her bearings. The wind roared over her, and through the haze of pain. The Stranger simply stepped over like she was just a mild inconvenience.The gunshot echoed across town as she crumpled to the dirt, as the silver burnt through her chest. The front doors of the inn burst open. Demetrius was the first out, with his pistols drawn. Boone followed quickly, darting into an alleyway where he took watch.

Chevy whispered an incantation, and the swirling dust storm dissolved in a rush of wind as he stepped into the shadows of the alleyway.

 “Idiot…” he muttered under his breath, scanning for Twill.

Mari was a blur streaking across the street toward Lyra. Behind them, the Nightrider stood tall. A cracking noise filled the air as two new arms unfurled from his sides, each reaching back to grab two repeaters, smoking with arcane energy.

He opened fire.

Bullets screamed past, slamming into shutters, carving trenches in the street. Magic bolts followed, and explosive flashes of oranges, greens, and purples bloomed out like twisted fireworks. Boone dove behind a rain barrel, returning fire in precise bursts.

Somehow, before any of the shots made contact, The Stranger managed to quickly weave between the bullets before aiming at the barrel Boone was hiding behind, and a massive blue and orange bolt rocketed towards him.

“OH, FUCK OFF!” Boone shouted as he leaped out from behind the barrel, scrambling up a pipe and ducking under a water tower as the beam hit where he was, turning it to shrapnel of wood. Demetrius rolled under a carriage as the wood rained down on him, before rushing to the Nightrider, fluid and savage. He ducked and dodged bullets, beams, and debris, answering with shots of his own. He groaned as he lifted up the wheel of a destroyed carriage with an impressive amount of strength and effortlessly launched it with a roar towards the mysterious man, who slipped behind a wall as it flew by, almost hitting Horizio on the saloon patio.

He crouched under a table, book in hand, trying to draw lightning from the pages. Wild and flickering sparks built up in his palm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, come on, come on—”

The bolt arched toward the Nightrider, who stepped just out of the blast radius, with it making contact with the ground next to him, knocking him off his feet.  Horizio growled and tried again. The second one made contact, slamming him into the wall behind him, burning his coat.

Mari skidded to Lyra’s side, kneeling in the dirt and wrapping an arm around her. “Come on, Mija,” she whispered, gritting her teeth as she pulled her to her feet. “You’re not dying like this.”

As they made their way towards the inn, her gaze snapped toward a broken windowpane.

The reflection of the Nightrider behind them made her breath hitch. In an instant, she whipped back and a scream erupted from inside her chest. The air trembled, and the cobblestones cracked beneath her feet as her voice flooded the entire village.

The Nightrider flew back. His feet flew off the ground and his hat blasted off his head. His distinctive silhouette vanished in the thick haze of smoke and sand, but his cape, ragged and torn, still danced violently in the air like a flag.

Mari grabbed Lyra tighter. “Come on, come on, we’re almost there—”

They staggered toward the church. Demetrius emerged from cover and met them halfway, face set in a grim scowl. “I’ve got her,” he said, scooping Lyra into his arms with a practiced motion. “Boone! Cover!”

Boone planted his boots and opened fire.his Shots whistled past Mari’s head as she ducked into cover.

Chevy dropped to a knee beside the wreckage where Twill lay buried under part of a broken cart and several shattered barrels.

“So… what’d we learn?” he grunted as he yanked a beam off Twill’s leg.

Twill groaned, and for the first time, had nothing to say. “Ugh… fuck off.”

Chevy laughed. “Good to see you’re still alive, you little freak.”

He hoisted Twill over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and darted through the alley. Then a voice like knives dragging across glass 

“Hello, Chevy. Nice to see you again.” with that same predatory consideration that foreshadowed Lyra’s attack.

Chevy froze mid-step, his stomach twisted, as he slowly turned his head.

The Nightrider stood at the mouth of the alley, his two revolvers pointed at Chevy. All the old fear came crashing back and all the memories that Chevy wouldn’t ever dream of reliving came flooding back. He was speechless. 

Demetrius slammed into the Nightrider with full force, lashing out with claws, glowing like iron fresh from the forge. He swung in a brutal rhythm. There was no technique—Demetrius wanted to kill him. He punched with his whole body, snarling like an animal. The Nightrider reeled before spearing his tail forward.

Demetrius caught the stinger mid-strike, twisted it with a brutal jerk, yanking it up to the Nightrider’s own throat.

The Nightrider drew his pistol.

BOOM!

The shockwave sent Demetrius skidding across the ground like a thrown stone, his claws digging trenches into the soil as he barely stopped himself from tumbling through a wall. He crouched low, gasping.

The Nightrider rose, he lifted his revolver and fired, Horizio sprinted in lightning-speed—matching the bolts he had been firing—and lept to tackle the man.

The bullet tore into his shoulder.

He collapsed mid-stride, eyes wide with shock as his body locked up. The silver seared in his elven blood. “No—!” Demetrius rushed to his side, scooping Horizio up with a snarl. “Dumb kid—!” He threw him over his shoulder and ran for the church, boots pounding the cobblestones.

Behind him, the Nightrider straightened and aimed for the next shot before a dagger flew into his shoulder like a missile. He staggered, half-turning, hissing in pain.

Mari launched herself at him with all the force her body could carry. She hit him like a freight train. They tumbled through the dirt. His mask came off, clattering and spinning across the street.

Four glowing eyes like lanterns arranged in a square across his brow, and four smaller ones below like a spider’s. His skin was weathered like stone, sunkissed and cracked like a dried riverbed.

Mari shrieked, driving the broken edge of the mask into his face. It carved a long, bloody gash from his lower jaw to one of the large eyes. The Nightrider screamed as he rose, clutching his ruined face as he stared at Lyra with a mix of agony, anger and barely hidden fear.

On the steps of the church, Demetrius and Chevy emerged, Their eyes locked on the revealed face of the spectre that had brought disaster to the sleepy town.

The Nightrider spat blood, hissed, and raised a hand. He drew a red circle on the ground with his own blood. It flashed as red sparks exploded outward. The man was gone.

Morning broke over the town as smoke still drifted in lazy plumes above scorched rooftops. Ash dusted the streets like snowfall.

Inside the modest, cluttered doctor’s office, the quiet buzz of recovery hummed between beds and whispered footsteps.

In the back room, Lyra sat upright, her torso wrapped in tight, sterile bandages. The wound still pulsed, but the potion had taken the edge off. She was sipping from a metal mug, carefully bracing it with both hands. 

Boone sat on a stool at her bedside, twitchy and anxious. One of his knees bounced at a constant rhythm.

Chevy leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He tossed her a half-smile. “Told the doc you wouldn’t wake up without booze. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Lyra looked up at him, eyes tired but amused.

Boone raised a brow. “So how you feelin’?”

Lyra let out a sharp exhale. “Ever been rejected after flirting with someone who has the nerve to shoot you after?”

Boone and Chevy glanced at each other.

“It don't feel good.”

“Shit.” Boone muttered.

“I’ll live.” she added after a beat, her voice softer.

Boone took a swig from his flask and grunted, “You scared the hell outta me.”

Her smirk curled, small but present. “Don’t get all mushy on me, rat.”

“I’ll knock your ass back out.”

She laughed, then winced, clutching her ribs. “Gods, don’t make me laugh.”

Across the hall, in a smaller room draped in low candlelight, Horizio stirred. His face twisted as pain throbbed through his shoulder. His eyes cracked open. Everything was hazy and too bright.

“Still dramatic as hell,” a light and warm voice teased.

His vision cleared, heartbeat quickening as Rika sat beside him, leaning casually on the edge of the cot. Her long blue hair was tied back in a loose braid that draped over one shoulder, and her dress was rumpled like she hadn’t slept. Her violet eyes glinted with mischief.

“Rika?” Horizio croaked. “What—how—what’re you doing here?”

“Aw, don’t act surprised,” she said, reaching for a damp cloth and dabbing gently at his forehead. “Demetrius called in a favor. Sending spell, full-on panic mode. Something about you catching a bullet with your shoulder.”

“Dramatic,” he repeated faintly. “You said it yourself.”

She snorted. “I figured I’d better show up before you were charged with vandalism from another lightning spell.”

He gave a half-smile. “Hey, I almost landed that last one.”

“Oh, for sure. You missed the target by, what, six feet? Very impressive.”

He chuckled, then winced. 

Her face softened, eyes scanning over him. “Silver’s still burning through you. You're lucky it didn’t hit anything vital.”

“Does this count as a house call?” he asked, voice teasing.

“If it does, you owe me a drink,..and maybe dinner, and a kiss.”

“I thought you wanted to take it slow.”

She leaned closer, voice dropping. “I do, but I make exceptions for unconscious idiots who almost die twice in one week.” with that her eyes drifted shut as she placed a tender kiss on Horizio’s lips. He froze at first, before following in kind.

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the ache in his shoulder faded beneath the warmth of her smile and the memory of her lips.

“I missed you,” he said quietly.

Her hand drifted to his cheek, with Horizio leaning into her palm. “I missed you too.”

Demetrius sat with his arms crossed and a drink in his hand. The door creaked open behind him and before he knew it, the same dagger used in the night’s attack was against his neck.

“You want to start explaining things?” Mari asked, voice low.

“I didn’t think he would be here so soon—” 

“Cut the horseshit!” she severed his statement, “Who. Is. He.”

He took a slow sip of the drink, then spoke without looking at her.

“I don’t know his name. Not his real one. No one does. He’s been called the Stranger, the Nightrider. I've only seen him once…ever heard of what happened at sablewood?”

Mari’s expression didn’t shift.

“You brought him here,” Mari said. Not a question.

“I set a trap. I knew he fed off something emotional, something...rotted. I thought if I could get his attention—pull him somewhere on my terms—we could kill him. I didn’t know he was watching already.”

“You used me.”

Demetrius turned his head finally, just enough to meet her gaze. “I used all of us.”

Her jaw locked, lips drawn thin. “You knew what I’d just gone through with the banshees. You knew I wasn’t stable, and you painted a target on me anyway.”

“I thought we could control the variables.”

“You mean control me.”

The silence that followed confirmed it.

Mari lowered the dagger, but only to throw it into the wall beside his head with a solid thunk. Demetrius didn’t move.

She stared at him for a beat longer, searching his face for some flicker of guilt. She found it.

But it didn’t matter.

“I don’t care what you’ve been through,” she said, voice flat. “You put the team in danger. You put me in danger. And you didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face.”

She turned, walking away, boots crunching the dirt with finality.