The peace died with the sound of shattering glass.
There was no warning, no villain's speech. The front window burst inward, spraying the room with cold wind and razor-sharp fragments. And with them came the shadows.
Feral bats, each the size of a dog, with glowing red eyes and serrated teeth, poured into the room. Behind them, squeezing through the doorframe now cracking under the weight of massive bodies, came the Shadow Beasts: wolves made of solidified smoke and hatred, disposable foot soldiers of the Underworld.
"Nyra, behind me!" Eijiro roared.
He didn't hesitate. There was no paralyzing shock, no instinctive fear at seeing nightmares take form. Only the reaction of a protector.
He kicked the low table, sending it flying into the first bat diving toward the futon where the newborn wailed. The creature screeched, bones snapping against the wood.
Nyra tried to stand. Her instincts screamed FIGHT!, but her body screamed NO!.
The moment she put weight on her legs, her knees collapsed. The blood of childbirth was still fresh on the sheets; her hips felt disconnected from her spine. She fell forward, grasping blindly for anything, a knife, a shard of glass, a stone.
She was one of the deadliest warriors in existence, but right now, trembling and bleeding, she was just flesh.
"Eijiro!" she cried, voice breaking.
Eijiro was already armed. He had grabbed the lumber axe he kept by the fireplace. It wasn't a Kaburami. It wasn't enchanted. It was ordinary steel, heavy, dull, worn by use.
But in his hands, it moved like a storm.
A Shadow Beast lunged at him, claws reaching for his throat. Eijiro twisted and brought the axe down. The blade sank into the creature's shoulder with a wet, revolting crunch. The beast howled, stumbling back as black blood hissed across the wooden floor.
"Get the half-breed!"
The distorted voice seemed to come from every monster's throat at once.
They ignored Eijiro completely. To them, the human was insignificant. They swarmed toward Nyra and the tiny bundle screaming on the futon.
"No!" Eijiro threw himself in their path. He was a wall of flesh and will between hell and his family.
He struck left, then right. The axe rose and fell. He split the wing of one bat, crushed the skull of another. Sweat and blood ran down his face. He fought like a berserker, shouting not in fear but in raw territorial fury.
But they were too many. And he was only a man.
A Shadow Beast flanked him. As he tore the axe from a bat's chest, the wolf of smoke sank its teeth into his thigh.
Eijiro grunted, dropping to one knee. Bright arterial blood erupted, fast and hot.
Nyra watched, frozen with horror. She crawled to the baby, covering the tiny body with her trembling one.
"Eijiro, run!" she choked.
He didn't run. Even with his leg shredded, he forced himself upright again. He used the axe as a crutch, then as a weapon. He blocked a claw that would've taken Nyra's head.
"Get… out…" he gasped, blood on his lips.
Three Shadow Beasts surrounded him. They understood that the human wouldn't move.
The final attack came all at once.
One beast bit into the arm holding the axe. Another raked its claws across his back. The third, the largest, charged straight for his exposed chest.
There was no slow motion, no tragic soundtrack.
Just the brutal sound of flesh tearing and ribs breaking.
The impact lifted Eijiro off the ground and hurled him into the wall where, months earlier, he had promised to make her a winter coat.
He slid down to the floor, chest split open, the axe slipping from his weakening fingers.
"EIJIRO!" Nyra's scream was so sharp it ruptured the closest bat's eardrums.
The creatures paused for a heartbeat, savoring the triumph, preparing for the main prize.
Eijiro was still alive. Barely. He didn't look at his mortal wounds. He didn't look at the monsters.
He turned his head, slowly, heavily, toward Nyra.
His dark eyes, always so calm, so full of quiet acceptance, were clouded now. But the message in them was clear, piercing like steel.
He looked at Nyra, then at the child crying beneath her.
Protect her.
That was it. No "I love you." No "goodbye." Just his final command.
The light in his eyes faded. His chest stilled.
The blacksmith, the simple man who loved a monster, was gone.
Something broke inside Nyra.
It wasn't the weakness of childbirth. It was the humanity she had built with him. That soft part of her, the part that learned to smile and bake bread, died with him on that wall.
What remained was ice.
A toxic surge of adrenaline flooded her, burning through exhaustion and pain. Her eyes burst into a blinding blue.
She scooped the baby with one arm. With the other, she grabbed the black leather coat hanging near the futon, his gift, his armor.
When the first Shadow Beast pounced to finish her, Nyra was no longer there.
She hurled herself through the back wall of the cabin, her supernatural strength returning in a hysterical surge, splintering the rotting wood as she crashed into the snow and mud outside.
Behind her, the toppled fireplace flared. Flames licked the spilled oil and dry logs. The cabin, their home, their refuge, Eijiro's tomb, began to burn.
Nyra ran.
She ran into the dark forest, barefoot, bleeding, holding her unnamed daughter against her chest, Eijiro's coat trailing behind her like the wings of a death angel.
She didn't look back. Eijiro wouldn't have wanted her to.
He wanted her to live.
And to live, she had to become what he feared most:
Alone.