"What do you want from me? Speak clearly." I threaten, my club leveled with his face. He continues towards me as he speaks. "Want....." He pauses his stride. ".....Follower of the Black Iron... I take only what you offer." He spreads his arms wide, as though welcoming me into a hug.

  "Oh you of branded flesh, have you not seen them? Our dreams? Our memories? Did you not offer yourself to our sacred chain?"

  Dreams? Memories? He couldn't be talking about my nightmares... could he?

  No, that's not possible, how would he....

  "Yes... I can see it within you. Embrace us. COME!!!"

  Impatient, the smiling man lunges at me with blinding speed, too fast for my eyes to follow. I'm thrown against the far wall, the wooden panels splintering under the impact. Pain lances through my back in a white-hot flash as the air is violently driven from my lungs. I collapse to the floor, coughing and wheezing, disoriented and gasping, struggling desperately to regain my bearings.

  He comes again, his long fingers now claws.

  "Fucker-"

  My club crashes into his elbow with a sickening crack, mangling the joint and leaving the limb useless. Yet he swings it anyway, like a grotesque whip, a clawed finger grazing my cheek with a sting that burns. I drive a kick into his chest, forcing him back, then charge in again. His one good arm lashes toward me, fingers curling like hooked talons. but my club smashes into his wrist with a bone-snapping crack. Before he can recoil, I whip the club back, slamming it into his skull.

  "Do not deny me!"

  His teeth come next, lunging at me like a dog. I dodge aside and strike at his ankle, shattering the bone as I roll away.

  "Hmm?"

  He stumbles forward and then falls, the shattered ankle twisting beneath him. Yet, almost immediately, he begins to rise again, hauling his broken body forward with an unnatural determination that sends a cold shiver down my spine...

  But smothering the fear is a growing confidence, my grip tightening around my club.

  It's like I thought, injury inflicts no pain, and will not cause him death. But cripple the limbs and his movement suffers.

  Luckily, I have a weapon suited to just that.

  "Hrrmm!!!"

  Wielding it with all the ferocity Zaenith drilled into me, my club becomes an extension of my fear and rage, battering and smashing the horrifying man’s body with bone-shattering force. Each swing is deliberate, each blow targeting another joint. I crush his arms, shatter his knees, breaking them until they’re useless.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  His neck and skull suffer too, splintering under the relentless assault. He makes no sound of pain, nor does he look any closer to death. But when I'm finished with him he's left immobile, his body can do nothing.

  "Had enough you damned-"

  The squirming meat continues to wriggle towards me. But a swift kick sends it tumbling to the other side of the room. I bash it several more times for good measure, before finally backing away.

  "Time to get the fuck out of here."

  I leave the dining room, striding quickly through the hall, my every step shadowed by uneasy glances over my shoulder. I reach the entrance, praying the wolves have finally dispersed. But as I round the corner, my breath freezes in my throat.

  What I see is worse than any wolf.

  The smiling man stands there, utterly intact, his pale face alight with the same grotesque grin. His unnaturally long fingers are steepled together, their tips tapping in anticipation. "Kindred," he says, his voice dripping with dark amusement, "a fine performance." The words elicit terror unlike any I've ever felt.

  For they do not come from his mouth or throat.

  But from behind me.

  The sickening dread grows as I slowly turn my head. There he is... again... standing over the chest I delivered to him earlier.

  I turn again, and there he is, still standing by the door.

  I look right, and the man I mutilated earlier still writhes on the floor.

  "Wonderful... simply wonderful...." The man by the chest speaks, his fingers curling over its edge as he leans down, reaching inside with deliberate slowness.

  I ready my club, but what he pulls out stops my heart and freezes my blood. An object of unspeakable horror....

  Lucien Draegmoore’s severed head.

  The lifeless eyes stare back at me, accusing and empty.

  "No.... that's not possible."

  Lucien... dead? No, it was he who gave me this chest. It was he....

  I can put no words to my thoughts. The sight is so surreal, Lucien's head, the three identical men.... it feels like the world itself is twisting around me, pressing down with suffocating terror.

  This.... this can't be right. I must be dreaming....

  "Dear Lucien...."

  The smiling man lifts the head high, tilting it slightly as though admiring a trophy....

  And then he brings it to his face, rubbing its cheek against his own.

  Slowly.

  Lovingly.

  "Do not fear, dear kindred. We shall share in this bounty together. Come, let me embrace you..."

  The voice whispers from behind me, from the man guarding the door. He approaches, his footsteps loud against the floor. "Stay back!!" I yell, swinging my club behind me in a desperate arc. But this time, the weapon is caught mid-swing, a peculiar two-pronged dagger locking onto the shaft, halting my strike effortlessly.

  "Arrghh!!" With a swift motion, he wrenches the club away and plunges the blade into my side. Agonizing pain explodes through me, cold steel twisting deep into my flesh. I gasp, tasting blood in my throat.

  "Hnngh- No!"

  Desperation surges through me, my will to live igniting a raw, overwhelming strength. I tear Joss's knife from my belt and with a vicious slash sever Vael's hand clean at the wrist. The dismembered hand drops lifelessly, releasing the cold two-pronged dagger buried in my side.

  I stagger back, blood gushing freely as each breath rasps ragged and shallow. My trembling fingers grip the dagger’s hilt and wrench it from my side. A raw, guttural scream tears from my throat as the pain sharpens unbearably, blurring my vision.

  "Lucien, do you see? He fights." The smiling man whispers to the head in his hands, still stroking it.

  My hands snatches up the fallen club as I look between the two identical men and then to Lucien's head. His eyes are open, and in them.... I see a faint green light.

  "The Godflayer weeps at this conflict kindred. Lend us your strength."

  Both approach, the one handed man has retrieved his dagger. And the other holds Lucien's head out in front of him like a lantern, the light in his eyes glowing bright enough for it to fulfil that role.

  I look to both, my heart beating so hard it might burst from my chest. I don't want to fight them. i really don't.

  And I won't.

  I run.

  Deeper into this haunting manor.