A semicircle of robed figures waited in silence between Xander's team and the barn exit. Each one marked by stitched hoods, armor glimpsed beneath ceremonial cloth.

  Jo eased up beside him, her sword still lowered but clearly at the ready enough that no one would mistake her for relaxed. Kane followed, shield half-forward, moving like a man who knew how quickly silence could shift to violence. Zoey stepped wide to the left, expression unreadable, her bow dangling by her side in a way that promised it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

  Xander let his eyes settle on the one who’d spoken first. They were tall, clean-shaven, maybe mid-thirties, with intense focus in his gaze that suggested he’d already played this conversation out a dozen times in their heads and were curious to see how close reality would stick to the script. Xander was sure that the man he was dealing with was a genuine believer of whatever ideology was at the actual root of the cult.

  "You shouldn’t have come here," the man said, voice calm in a way that made it worse.

  Xander stepped forward without hurry and came to a stop just inside the boundary of the cult’s formation, not close enough to trigger a response but close enough to show he wasn’t playing defense.

  "We’ve walked into worse places," he said.

  The cultist gave a slow tilt of the head, not quite a nod. "We know you. As I said, we know you carry what was taken from the train vault. Hand it over, and you may leave."

  Xander didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he let the quiet stretch just a little longer than it should have before responding. It was a power move he'd learned in his days as a project manager. He who controlled the pace of the conversation was the one in charge. This wasn't about Thalindra or the admin key, it was about Xander finding out where Victor was located.

  "And again, you’re going to have to be a lot more specific," he said finally.

  Behind him, Jo shifted two steps to the left and stopped near a support beam, her eyes still fixed on the group ahead but her body angled now for a flanking attack. Kane mirrored her on the opposite side, casual in a way that made it easier to close the distance quickly. Zoey didn’t move her feet, but her weight had shifted onto the balls of her toes, and her fingers had drifted close to the edge of her bowstring.

  Ford was already slipping toward the back of the group, one hand resting on his staff, the other near taking on the subtle glow of a healing spell.

  Blake was the only one still standing center, brows drawn in confusion, jaw half-open like he was trying to puzzle through a conversation that had started long before he entered the room.

  "What’s he talking about?" he asked, looking from Xander to the cultist and back again in confusion. "Did you take something from these people that caused all of this?"

  Xander didn’t answer the leader of the cultists or Blake.

  The cult leader didn’t react. Instead, he gave a small, thoughtful nod, like a teacher confirming something just read off a test sheet.

  "You were always going to say no," he said.

  "I like to keep people guessing," Xander replied. "It’s part of my charm."

  The man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "No. It’s part of your pattern."

  To the man's left, one of the robed figures lowered their hood and stepped forward. She was a woman with a buzzed scalp, a scarred cheek, and a rusted pauldron that looked like it had seen actual trench warfare. Without saying a word, she adjusted a device on her belt and then… nothing. Just a click and a smirk on her face.

  Xander saw the movement. He didn’t recognize the device, but it was certainly magitech, but what was its purpose?

  "We knew the scouts would come," he said, as if explaining something obvious. "Once the food situation became dire, we knew they'd send scouts out toward the grain elevator."

  Blake blinked. "That’s… that’s not public. Only a few people know about the food situation."

  "No," Xander said, gaze still locked on the leader. "You think only a few people within Prairiehold know."

  The cultist didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. One of the others crouched without a word and rolled something across the floor with the slow, casual grace of someone flicking a coin to decide a bet.

  It bounced once. Then spun. Then stopped in front of Xander’s boots.

  A small wooden token clattered across the floor and came to rest just in front of Xander’s boots. It was no bigger than a silver dollar, round and slightly uneven, the surface worn smooth from handling. A pattern of concentric circles had been carved into one side, the lines shallow and hand-cut, with a few darker patches where oil or sweat had soaked into the grain over time.

  Blake saw it too.

  "That’s Elam's," he said quietly. "He carved that before the cataclysm. Kept it on his belt."

  Ford stepped in without comment, just enough to block Blake’s line of sight.

  "You’ve been watching the routes," Xander said. "You weren’t guessing."

  The leader’s voice remained calm, almost instructional. "Everyone watches the routes."

  "Not from the outside."

  "Who said we’re outside?"

  Xander let the words hang just long enough for meaning to settle before he asked the question that had already formed the second he saw the token.

  "Where are the other two?"

  The cultist raised his hand and gestured lazily toward the barn doors behind him, like a man pointing out the restroom in a quiet café.

  Outside, something struck metal with enough force to echo.

  A scream followed. It was brief, panicked, and cut short halfway through the breath.

  Then silence.

  Then a sound like a sack of wet cement dropped from a height.

  One cultist snorted.

  "They just stopped being useful," he said, voice light and disinterested. "You’ll do fine instead."

  Blake surged forward half a step before Ford caught his arm.

  "Don’t," the cleric said, quiet but firm. "Not yet."

  "They killed them!"

  "I know. I heard it too."

  "They…"

  "They want a reaction," Ford said, tightening his grip. "Don’t give them one."

  The tone of the room had changed. Xander didn’t need to say it. Everyone felt it. The temperature hadn’t shifted, but the stillness inside the barn had. Everyone knew what came next, but everyone was waiting to see who would cause the penny to drop.

  He met the cultist’s eyes again and held the gaze with the steadiness of someone who’d been through worse days than this and didn’t trust this one to be over yet.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Yeah," Xander said. "This is going to be a problem."

  The leader of the cultists smiled like a man who’d just heard the punchline he’d been waiting for. He stepped forward another pace, just enough to shorten the space between them to half a dozen steps, and gestured with a loose flick of the fingers that didn’t quite match the mood.

  "We expected your resistance," he said. "You’ve already used the key, haven’t you? No one could have released the woman without it."

  Xander didn’t take the bait. He neither confirmed nor denied it.

  "I have no idea what you’re talking about," he said. "The only things we found in that dungeon were a standard dungeon, a bunch of golems, and Thalindra. Pretty sure Victor was able to find that since it is common knowledge."

  He caught the brief flicker across the leader’s face. Just a quick tightening at the corners of the mouth.

  "No? Then Victor must be slipping," Xander added. "Hate to see a guy like that losing his grip. Maybe if you let me know where he’s holed up, I can help take the weight of disappointment off your shoulders. One terrible manager can really ruin morale."

  Jo made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. Kane adjusted his footing without comment.

  The cult leader’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You’re not what he said."

  "That’s a common mistake."

  From the back of the cult formation, another figure stepped forward. Taller than the rest, sleeves torn off, arms crisscrossed with old ritual scarring and fresh burn marks. He stopped just behind the front line and muttered something in a dialect Xander didn’t recognize. Whatever it was, it wasn’t prayer or polite hello.

  The air shifted.

  Pressure rolled across the barn like steam from a broken pipe. Then, a sound built. It was soft at first, then rising like a kettle until the spell detonated in silence and drowned the space in fog.

  It didn’t roll or spread naturally. It surged outward from the cultists in a perfect radius and swallowed everything in gray. In a heartbeat, visibility dropped to two arms’ length. Even footsteps rang out in strange directions, echoing as if someone had opened a dozen doors into nowhere at once.

  Xander took a half-step back and readied his spear.

  "Ford, call positions!"

  "I can’t see anyone!"

  Xander caught a glimpse of movement ahead and to his left.

  Jo’s voice confirmed moments later. "Left flank!"

  Steel met flesh. A short, brutal sound of impact, followed by the collapse of a body. It wasn't clear, but Xander assumed one of the cultists had attempted to ambush Jo and found out the hard way that was not a good idea.

  Zoey’s bowstring snapped once, then twice, and a cry of pain followed. Ragged breaths and shuffling retreats were the only answer to her attack. A wound, not a kill.

  From somewhere to the right, a blade scraped metal. Kane grunted and stepped into the path of something fast enough to leave a blur in the fog. His shield caught it full-force. The blow shuddered against the steel, redirected at the last second. From that angle, the strike had been meant for Xander.

  Xander didn’t pause. He pivoted on instinct and drove his spear forward into the gray.

  Nothing connected.

  Another shadow moved across the edge of his vision, too faint to track. The fog bent it, dragging it wide.

  "Blake, stay tight!"

  But Blake didn’t answer. He was already moving and screaming with fury.

  A flash of divine light struck near the center of the barn, visible only for a blink. The edge of a spear swept through it. A cultist staggered sideways, blade raised high to parry, but the motion was wrong. Blake’s attack hadn’t followed through.

  The cultist countered with a quick jab to the ribs, the hilt used like a hammer. Blake dropped to one knee, coughing, still conscious but winded.

  Then the cultist vanished back into the fog.

  Ford’s voice rose behind them. "I lost him! He slipped free!"

  "We hold formation," Xander said. "Back to back, eyes out. Don’t break!"

  He could feel the shift even without seeing it. His team collapsing inward, tightening their spread. The fog worked both ways. The cult had surprise, but not superiority.

  Jo’s voice came from his right. "One down. One bleeding."

  Another shape moved at the edge of vision. Zoey fired blindly but scored no hits this time.

  "Draw them in," Xander said. "Don’t chase."

  He adjusted his grip, let the spear balance against the point of his shoulder, and waited.

  No orders from the cult side.

  They’re not trying to win. They’re delaying, Xander thought.

  From behind the veil of fog, a voice rose. Familiar tone. The same cult leader, unhurried.

  "Victor sends his regards," said the leader of the cultists.

  Before Xander could answer, the wall behind the cult’s formation erupted inward.

  A mechanical scream tore through the barn as metal buckled and sheet paneling folded like paper. A golem larger than either of the previous two burst into the space, trailing concrete dust and splinters, its shoulder catching the steel beam above and wrenching the frame sideways. Debris hammered the floor as the fog twisted from the sudden airflow change.

  Jo didn’t hesitate. "Incoming construct!"

  [Analyze] Vindicator Warframe Construct | Level: 15 Elite | Status: Hostile | Class: Battle Master

  None of the cultists appeared surprised by the construct's entrance. If anything, it appeared they had expected it as they moved away from Xander and his team to give the golem room.

  The cultists withdrew.

  Xander didn’t need anyone to say it. That device from the cultist’s belt had been the signal. They hadn’t just shown up at random. They’d summoned it earlier to cover their exit.

  Two cultists fell back first, weapons still half-drawn, the others pivoting behind them. The line shifted like chess pieces returning to the far side of the board after forcing a draw.

  Ford stepped closer to Xander, staff raised, the fading fog still clinging to his sleeves.

  "We chasing?" he asked.

  "No," Xander said. "We can't risk putting that construct at our backs. Plus, I think it might have other ideas about what we're going to be doing."

  The golem cleared the breach fully. Its left shoulder plate was torn halfway off, the armor beneath bent and blackened by a recent blast. Thick cabling pulsed along the exposed joint, flickering red with every partial cycle. The thing wasn’t whole. It was wounded. But still very much standing and dangerous.

  As the last of the cultists reached the door, the leader turned.

  "Prairiehold will fall from within," he said. "You’re already out of time."

  He stepped through the open barn doors, the fog parting like a curtain as it continued to dissipate, and turned just enough to meet Jo’s gaze as she started forward.

  "Tell Victor," she called, "that I’ll be paying him a visit real soon. We’ve got a lot to talk about."

  The cultist smiled and raised two fingers in a loose salute.

  Then he was gone.

  The fog thinned further, leaving behind only wreckage, one cultist corpse, and the golem.

  Ford helped Blake to his feet, the younger paladin still clutching his side. He nodded once to show he could stand, but didn’t reach for his weapon again.

  It stepped forward once.

  The impact rattled the floor.

  Xander felt the weight settle deep in his spine. It wasn't just the threat, but the sheer mechanical presence of it. Unlike the others, this one was larger. Where the previous two golems looked like security, this one looked as if it was built for war. If Xander had to guess, he would have said that all the constructs had put up a fight against the cult in defense of the warehouse and lost only to be repurposed for their own needs.

  The golem’s sword arm lifted slowly. A thick, brutal length of metal with a flat, cleaver-like profile. Electricity crawled along the surface in stuttering arcs. Not in a steady charge, but the power flickered, surged, and then sputtered again in a repeating but unpredictable cycle.

  Light from the blade danced across the walls in broken flashes.

  The golem stepped again, but Jo moved first.

  The golem's sword came down in a wide horizontal sweep. She rolled sideways beneath it, boots skidding across the concrete, the blade missing her by less than a breath. It struck the floor and split a shallow furrow in the concrete, sparks coughing outward as metal screeched against stone.

  "Jo, back!" Xander shouted.

  Kane was moving to intercept and take up his tanking position.

  He took position center, shield forward, stance wide.

  Ford’s shield spell hit a moment later. Golden light snapped into place around Kane’s form like a dome collapsing into his armor.

  The golem adjusted. Sword raised again.

  This time the blow came straight down toward Kane in an overhead chop.

  Kane met it head-on.

  The shield rang as the blade struck, but Kane didn’t drop. He braced, pivoted, and angled the shield enough to let the impact slide along the shield before stopping rather than land full-force.

  Then he struck back.

  The edge of his blade slammed into the golem’s hip joint with a reverberating clang. The armor dented slightly, not enough to cripple, but enough to make the machine turn toward him fully.

  Electricity bled from the sword down into Kane’s shield. Sparks poured down the length of the blade into Kane’s gauntlet. His arm jolted backward, and the shield flew wide.

  He stumbled two steps back, jaw clenched.

  Ford reached toward him again with a healing spell this time, while Kane raised his blade in defiance.

  "I’m still here," he said.

  Smoke curled off the rim of his shield. His fingers didn’t move.

  Jo rejoined Xander, eyes moving between the golem’s arm and the ragged shield.

  "That charge wasn’t normal," she said.

  "No," Xander said. "It’s cycling. Random output cycles. Makes it worse."

  "Why?"

  "Because it means it could overload and explode just as much as it could cook its own internals. This thing is more dangerous in the crappy condition than it would have been undamaged."

  "Not sure I buy that last part."

  The golem’s sword lifted again. Its movements were slightly staggered now, like one actuator in the leg was half a second late to the command. The shoulder cable flickered again. Unstable, but still functioning.

  Behind Xander, Zoey muttered, "If anyone has a bright idea, now’s the time."

  The construct’s blade surged with chaotic light, arcs snapping along its edge like lightning through frayed wire.

  Xander shifted forward, spear low.

  "Hold your ground," he said. "Let it swing first."

  The construct took another step.

  The lights on its sword flared white.

  Xander readied his stance with Kane and Jo right beside him.

  "We’re not the ones running."

  evil genius monologue thing, but he’s definitely hovering in the same neighborhood. Villains in stories always talk too much, and honestly… that’s half the fun. If the bad guys just attacked immediately, we’d miss out on all the tension, the probing questions, and the little moments where both sides are trying to figure out what the other one actually knows.

  should have attacked sooner.