The creatures still trailed Angelo's presence like moths clinging to a dying flame. But suddenly, a new command echoed through their ranks—directly into the mind of their leader.
A voice so low and abrasive it could sand stone to dust murmured:
"It seems that… thing… stays just out of our reach."
The horde continued marching, but the leader listened closely.
The Bound Choirmaster—a mangled mass of flesh and broken instruments—gurgled out its reply, its voice wet and uneven.
"Yes, master Vaelgor. That thing may sense us… as we sense it."
Far away, in the throne room of a castle grown from the tear itself, Vaelgor lounged on a throne of living bone. He tapped a clawed finger against the armrest, thinking.
"Choirmaster."
The creature froze mid-stride.
"Your orders, master?"
"Split up your troops," Vaelgor commanded. "Send several Duskborn ahead to pursue it. The rest of you—slow your march."
The Choirmaster halted. The entire horde followed suit with a ripple of stillness.
"Understood, master Vaelgor."
Its three uneven eyes drifted toward the shadows between collapsed buildings. The Duskborn lurked there—skeletal silhouettes, limbs bent at wrong angles, their bodies seeping into the shadows.
The Choirmaster's voice rattled with discordant tones.
"Duskborn—four of you. Move toward the target at full speed. We will follow at a crawl."
Without a whisper, all four Duskborn vanished into the dark.
"The Duskborn have been sent in advance, master."
Vaelgor leaned his head against his fist, bored and predatory.
"There is a large number of humans moving away from the first location where that thing appeared. Send a handful to monitor them."
The Choirmaster scanned the horde until its gaze fell upon the Hollowed Saints—figures wrapped in light that flickered like corrupted halos.
"Mireglass," it croaked. "Take five Saints and follow the human convoy."
Mireglass—The Manipulator—grinned, a cruel, warped expression.
Five Saints glided forward; with a single gesture, Mireglass led them skyward. Their fractured wings glowed faintly as they ascended, drifting toward the evacuee convoy like vultures tracking dying prey.
The Duskborn and Hollowed Saints were too few, too subtle, for Angelo to sense.
Dusk crept over the horizon just as Nomad rolled to a stop before a rusting steel factory. The building loomed like a hollow carcass—windows shattered, metal ribs exposed, ivy dragging itself up the corroded walls.
Hale killed the engine. "How far are the monsters?"
Angelo shut his eyes and focused. After a moment he exhaled.
"They're still far. Slowed down for some reason."
Ryan smirked. "Guess those things do get tired."
Hale didn't bother replying. "We'll camp here tonight."
Ryan eyed the factory suspiciously. "Looks abandoned. What if there are ghosts inside?"
Angelo gave a smug grin. "Don't tell me you're scared of ghosts?"
Ryan didn't blink. "Yes."
Angelo paused, caught off-guard. "You seriously don't lie, do you?"
Hale cut through their chatter with a hard sigh. "Enough. Inside. Now. It's safer than sleeping in the open."
The factory groaned as they stepped inside, the floor echoing beneath their boots. Dust drifted lazily through the fading light. Rusted machines stood frozen in place, choked with silence—untouched for four, maybe five years.
While Hale and Ryan swept the main floor, Angelo slipped away. Quiet hallways branched off like veins, drawing him in with a spark of curiosity. After checking a few doors, he found an old shower room—surprisingly intact.
He grinned.
Perfect.
"Hey! Over here!" he shouted.
By the time Hale and Ryan arrived, the room was empty.
Ryan stepped in first, flashlight sweeping across cracked tiles.
"Angelo?"
Silence.
As he rounded a corner, a sudden beam lit a face from below—
Angelo, eyes bulging, mouth wide:
"Ugabugabugaaa!"
Ryan screamed like his soul exited his body and bolted out the door.
Hale blinked as he sprinted past.
"What the hell?"
"Ghost!" Ryan shouted, footsteps echoing down the hall.
Hale stepped inside, finding Angelo crouched behind the door, shaking from suppressed laughter. He jumped up, trying to scare her—
—and got a fist straight to the gut.
"Oof—FUCK—!" Angelo folded in half, clutching his stomach.
"I told you to quit messing around," Hale snapped. "Now go make dinner."
Still wheezing, Angelo managed, "Y-yeah… right…"
He limped toward Nomad, muttering curses under his breath.
Outside, Ryan stood with arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Angelo grinned. "You should've seen your face back there."
Ryan replied calmly, "You should see yours now."
Angelo blinked.
No comeback.
He groaned and trudged into the vehicle to start dinner.
Back inside, Ryan caught up to Hale as she checked the remaining rooms.
"Does the shower work?"
Hale glanced at the corridor. "Doubt it. Looks dead for years."
Ryan nodded, disappointed. "Would've been nice."
"Yeah." She motioned back toward Nomad. "Come on. Let's make sure that idiot doesn't poison our food in revenge."
Ryan followed, muttering, "For a guy with so much trauma, he sure likes pranking others."
They gathered behind Nomad, using a crate as a makeshift table. The meal was warm, simple—exactly what they needed. When they finished, Hale leveled a look at Angelo.
"You've got first watch."
Angelo's head jerked up. "What? But, I'm tired."
"That's your punishment for screwing around," Hale said.
Angelo slouched. "Fine…"
Ryan and Hale settled into their spots to sleep, while Angelo took position near the entrance, rifle resting beside him.
The hours passed in quiet creaks and soft wind slipping through the cracked windows.
At midnight, Ryan took over. Angelo handed him the rifle without a word and collapsed into his sleeping bag.
An hour later, Ryan was pacing the perimeter when something outside caught his eye.
A silhouette.
Humanoid.
Shambling toward the factory from the tree line.
He froze.
The figure moved wrong—limbs dragging, joints loose. As the moonlight broke through the clouds—
—it vanished.
Ryan's pulse kicked up. He ran to the others and shook them awake.
"We've got company," he whispered.
Within seconds, weapons were drawn. They swept the factory interior, checked the windows, scanned the tree line.
Nothing.
"You sure you saw something?" Angelo asked.
Ryan nodded. "Yeah. It was walking straight toward us. Looked human, but… not. When the moonlight hit it, it just vanished."
Before anyone could respond, a sharp hiss tore through the dark.
Hale dropped instantly as something lunged from the shadows.
A pale, gangly figure flew overhead, missing her by inches, and landed with a warped snarl.
"Well, look at that," it rasped, voice slick with malice. "You moved. No matter. I'll get you this time."
Angelo spun, raised his sidearm, and fired.
The muzzle flash lit the factory in white flame—shell casings pinged against the floor—
—but the creature dissolved into smoke mid-air, the bullet slicing through empty space.