The inn felt wrong the second Axiomel stepped back inside.
Like when you walk into a room and realize the argument already started before you got there. The air was thick. The fire was low, barely alive, and the warmth from earlier had drained out, replaced by that cold smell he was starting to associate with bad nights.
Blood.
Too much of it.
They didn't sit so much as collapse. Thyrion dropped into a chair like his legs had finally remembered they were injured. Myris slid down the wall and stayed there, breathing shallow, eyes half‑closed. Kastor cursed quietly while lowering himself onto a bench, hands shaking more than he wanted them to. Eryx didn't even pretend—he just sat on the floor, back against a table, staring at nothing.
Axiomel leaned on the wall near the door and let himself slide down slowly. Every inch hurt. Honestly, he wasn't even sure where it hurt most anymore. Everything just sort of… throbbed. The potion helped, sure, but it felt like trying to patch a sinking boat with cloth.
He looked up.
The innkeeper was staring at them.
Not wide‑eyed. Not grateful.
Just staring.
"You killed it," the man said.
Axiomel nodded once. Talking felt like work. "Yeah."
Silence stretched.
Too long.
Then the whispering started.
Not loud. Never loud at first. Just little pieces of sound sliding across the room.
"…look at them…"
"…barely standing…"
"…they've got coin…"
Axiomel's jaw tightened.
Myris noticed it too. She pushed herself up slightly, eyes scanning the room.
"Ax," she murmured. "We should leave."
"Too late," Kastor muttered.
The door slammed shut.
Thirty people.
One of them stepped forward.
"You brought this here," he said. "That thing. You stirred it up."
Eryx laughed hoarsely. "We killed it."
"And now you're rich," another man snapped. "While we're still bleeding."
Thyrion pushed himself upright with a grunt. "Back off."
The man sneered. "Or what?"
Axiomel straightened slowly, forcing himself to stand despite the screaming protest from his body.
"We don't want trouble," he said. "Let us rest. We'll be gone by morning."
The first man smiled.
"That's the problem."
The pitchfork came first.
Axiomel moved on instinct.
He grabbed the shaft bare‑handed as it lunged toward him, wood biting into his palms. He twisted, yanking the man forward and driving his knee into the attacker's face.
Bone cracked.
Blood sprayed.
The room exploded into chaos.
Someone screamed.
Someone else rushed Thyrion.
Thyrion met them halfway, slamming his shoulder into a man's chest hard enough to knock the air out of him, then smashing his head against the table until it stopped moving.
Myris rolled aside just as a club shattered the wall where her head had been. She came up low and fast, blade slicing through a calf tendon.
The man fell screaming.
Kastor threw a knife without standing up.
The knife buried itself in a throat. The man dropped like someone had unplugged him.
Eryx roared and charged, hammer swinging wide and brutal. Bone caved. Someone stabbed him in the side and he barely noticed, returning the favor by crushing a skull with a wet, final sound.
Axiomel ducked under a wild swing, drove his elbow into a man's jaw, felt teeth give way. Hands grabbed him from behind—fingers digging into his wounds—and he screamed despite himself, slamming his head back.
Something broke.
The grip loosened.
He spun and punched the man in the throat until breathing stopped being an option.
Another blade scraped his side. Shallow. Thank gods. He grabbed the wrist, twisted hard, felt something snap, then used the broken arm to drag the attacker down and stomped his head into the floor.
Blood pooled fast.
Too fast.
"AX!"
Myris's shout cut through the noise.
He turned just in time to see two men rushing her.
His body screamed at him to stop.
He ignored it and ran towards her.
Every step hurt. Every breath felt wrong. But he ran anyway, slamming into the first man and driving him into the wall hard enough to shake the room. The second slashed wildly—Axiomel caught the blade in his forearm and hissed as steel bit deep, then headbutted the man until he collapsed.
A chair smashed across Axiomel's back.
White light burst behind his eyes.
He dropped to one knee, gasping.
The inn smelled like blood and sweat and panic now.
Eryx roared and charged, hammer swinging in brutal arcs, each hit wet and final. He took one to the ribs and barely flinched, smashing the attacker's skull in return.
It stopped being a fight.
That was the moment everything went bad.
Axiomel felt it when the man in front of him hesitated mid‑swing, eyes darting, breath hitching. When fear stopped being shared and started eating people from the inside.
Someone screamed.
Not a battle cry.
A panic scream.
A club slipped from trembling fingers and hit the floor with a hollow thud. Another man stumbled backward, tripped over a corpse, and landed hard on his spine. He didn't get back up. Just lay there making wet, choking noises.
"Please, I have a fam-" someone stammered.
Thyrion didn't wait.
He surged forward, spear driving through a man's stomach so hard the tip burst out his back in a spray of blood and half‑digested food. Thyrion yanked it free and swung, the blade ripping across another man's throat.
The sound was awful.
Like tearing cloth soaked in water.
Blood sprayed the wall in a wide arc. The man clutched his neck, eyes bulging, gurgling as he collapsed.
That broke them.
People started shoving. Tripping over each other. One man tried to crawl away, hands slipping in blood until Myris brought her blade down through his forearm, pinning it to the floor. He howled as she twisted the knife and kicked him in the face.
Kastor threw another knife.
It hit a man square in the mouth.
Teeth exploded outward. The blade buried itself through the back of his skull, pinning his head to a support beam. His body twitched twice. Then nothing.
Eryx took a pitchfork to the ribs.
The prongs punched through muscle and scraped bone. He roared—not in pain, but rage—and grabbed the shaft with both hands, yanking the man forward so hard the prongs tore free with a ripping sound that made Axiomel flinch.
Eryx brought his hammer down.
Once.
The man's head flattened like dropped fruit.
Axiomel stumbled forward, barely keeping his feet. Someone lunged at him with a knife, blade flashing wild and fast. Axiomel caught the wrist, felt the knife slice his palm, and slammed his forehead down.
Again.
Again.
The man's face collapsed inward. Blood poured out of his nose and mouth as he went limp.
Another grabbed Axiomel from behind, arm locking around his throat.
Axiomel gasped, clawing at the grip. Spots danced in his vision. He felt teeth sink into his shoulder—someone biting him in blind panic.
Axiomel screamed and threw himself backward.
They hit the floor hard.
Axiomel rolled, came up straddling the man, and punched.
Once.
Twice.
The third punch crushed something soft. The man stopped moving.
Someone tried to run for the door.
Eryx met him.
He swung the hammer sideways, catching the man in the knee. The joint bent wrong - horribly wrong and the man went down screaming. Eryx didn't stop. He brought the hammer down again, ribs caving in, wet sounds filling the room.
The floor was slick now.
Hard to stand.
Hard to breathe.
Blood was everywhere.
Thyrion grabbed an attacker by the hair and dragged his face across the table edge until skin peeled away, leaving bone and blood behind.
The screaming faded.
Not all at once.
Piece by piece.
Until only whimpers remained.
Axiomel leaned against the wall again, sliding down, chest heaving. Blood dripped from his hands, his arms, his clothes. He wasn't sure which wounds were his anymore.
Myris collapsed beside him, shaking, blade slipping from her grip.
Kastor laughed weakly, then gagged.
Eryx dropped to one knee, breathing like a broken bellows.
No one spoke.
The survivors avoided looking at them.
Those who couldn't… didn't move.
The inn smelled like iron and shit and fear.
Axiomel closed his eyes.
We just wanted to sleep, he thought, distantly.
When he opened them again, he knew one thing with brutal clarity.
They couldn't stay here.
Not another night.