A stench hung heavy in the air, similar to humidity on a summer day; you would think it possible to cut through it with a knife. The taste of rot entered their mouths as the bank of ammonia and decay hit them. Once a haven of sweat and improvement, it had become a slaughterhouse infested with rats. Ravensboro's gym had seen better days.

  David stood seven feet tall with his stone-esque skin layered with intricate white marble lines. The plague of rats that threatened to devour him broke against his claymore. He appeared not only rock-like with his skin but also in his demeanor. The final rock upon a beach broke the tide of rats. His claymore, an unadorned piece of steel, showed its efficiency as it reaped the lives of scores of rats with each swing.

  Besides him stood Isabell, feathers adorned her thick brown braid of hair snaking down her back. The braid rustled softly with the foul air, and Isabell plucked errant strands behind her dagger-like ears. She stood tall, even with numerous wounds covering her legs, but poised to strike at any second. A pair of fiery quatars gleamed in her hands as they gave off heat.

  “Incoming,” she whispered, her breath the faintest of echoes across the noxious air.

  No other word was uttered; there was no need. David's emerald eyes glowed with intensity, scanning every minuscule wave of shadows in the gym. The vibrations of the earth and shifting of the air made him aware of the pursuers they faced.

  A kin to a flood, the rats poured out of the darkness, ready to reap their lives. The battle ahead would be steep; normal rats would have been an easy obstacle. What poured out of the doorway was anything but that. The bulk of the swarm was rats the size of miniature ponies. Occasionally, they were able to see twisted shapes moving in the dark, human-sized beings walking on two legs with short arms. The previous gym residents, survivors Isabell and Vanessa had gone to great lengths to save. Red beady eyes light up the dark, and as one, no matter how big or small, the flow of rats moved in.

  “Ready?” Isabell asked, her voice a soft chime against the roar of blacking claws, tightening her grip on the quatars.

  He hefted his claymore. The movement was economical and precise, a testament to the path of Sciath he had embarked on.

  “No,” he rumbled, his voice a low, metallic growl. "But I have to be."

  David's weapon sang a chorus of metal as the wave closed in. A gray streak of steel left images, and halved rat bodies littered across the floor. A part of his path contained carnage and destruction underlined by precision and finesse within each swing. The sickening sound of painful squeals, chirps, and hisses filled the air.

  Isabell danced between David's onslaught, finding purchase on rats in the narrow corridor he created. Jets of searing flame incinerated rats mid-leap after her quatars passed. Another layer was added to the nauseating atmosphere as the smell of burning flesh and singed fur lingered in their passing. The heat from her weapons was intense, comforting in the face of the overwhelming dread.

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  Back-to-back, they fought with a perfect synchronicity born of desperation and shared purpose. David was the hammer, shattering the rat horde, while Isabell was the fire, burning away the edges of the swarm.

  Chittering noises akin to a language barely out of range assaulted their ears as rats began to climb their fallen brethren. A new relentless wave of rats started their assault.

  “We can’t hold them here,” Isabell's voice reached David's ears, a slight clink against the horde but spoken with urgency and haste. “We need to move!”

  David's head bobbed in agreement. He felt the strain on his systems, the constant exertion of silvery white force pushing his path to its limit. His frame, while overwhelming in size, was built for precision strikes. But even then, he could not withstand an endless tide.

  "We need to reach the main exit," David announced, heat filling his voice. He knew the gym layout. He had calculated the best path of retreat the moment the survivors had exited the side doors.

  With his claymore being a whirlwind of death, he stepped along the edge, and Isabell followed. The flaming quatars painted the walls with streaks of fire as they moved slowly and deliberately, forced to yield ground inch by agonizing inch.

  The cold shiver that tightened his back told David everything he needed to know. An eerie and insidious thing whispered doubts in his ear. He had faced other things beyond his comprehension, but the number of rats held something profoundly unsettling with their unwavering ferocity.

  They crept along the walls and soon reached the massive double glass doors. The duo almost breathed a sigh of relief, but that was when the horde struck. A wave of teeth and claws was unleashed from the horde, seeking their flesh and wanting to drink their blood.

  David watched a rat slip by his defenses, and Isabell's cry told him where it landed. With a reflex born of pain, she stabbed towards the source. A charred streak of flesh remained after her quatars passing but it was too late. Faint droplets of blood welled from the wound onto her leather trousers. A searing agony threatened to overwhelm her from within. She stumbled, disoriented by the intensity of the pain.

  With a roar born of primal fury, David swung his claymore. The silver glow from his pseudo-core flashed to the steel in his hand. A wave of crescent-shaped energy traveled back into the gym, keeping the rats at bay. He quickly knelt beside her, his massive hand gently probing her wound.

  “Poison,” he stated grimly, his voice laced with concern. “The rats… they changed the people.”

  Isabell gritted her teeth, fighting back the rising tide of panic. “I know,” she gasped. “Just… get me out of here.”

  David scooped her up in his arms, his stone-like muscles barely registering the effort. Tightly, he pressed her into his chest. He knew the poison would act fast, but they had to get to safety. The cold feeling in his stomach urged him on.

  He charged towards the exit, his claymore back in its sheath, using his body as a shield to prevent Isabell from taking errant bites or stray claws. With more hisses and growls, the rats threw themselves at him. Their bodies bounced harmlessly off the silvery white light he emitted. He lowered his shoulders and charged forward, breaking through the stray rats that blocked his path.

  With momentum, they arrived at the parking lot. The air was marginally better outside than the stench that penetrated the gym. Both drew in a deep breath, but their respite was short-lived.

  As David ran past the aged cars, he saw that the streets were not empty. More rats, hundreds of them, were pouring from the shadows of buildings. Their beady red eyes gleamed with malevolent intelligence. They had anticipated their escape and waited for them here.

  "Impossible," David growled, his voice tight with frustration.

  Isabell, pale and slick with sweat, managed a weak smile. "Looks like… they've got us cornered."

  As one the rats squealed, the force of the sound drove David back a step. His brain quickly calculated the odds of their survival. The chances were slim.

  "Better without her." The eerie voice echoed in his head.

  David furrowed his brow. The voice was right, he thought to himself. What did he owe her? They had never met before. Not to mention that she was of the dagger-eared folk. Something that Brahan had told him to stay away from. They were never to be trusted.

  But could David live with himself after he abandoned her? He felt the searing emerald blob of energy close to his skin; it was more than half gone. Even if he healed her, his reserves would run dry sooner rather than later. Was it even worth rescuing her again?