The hairs on the back of my neck pricked up at Lazaros' parting words. 'Since the ground ain't steady enough for those high-rankers yet, there's only one soul I can think of. They call her the trickster, shifts between 'he' and 'she' as quick as you can blink.'
'Trickster? What's that supposed to mean?'
'Another high-ranker, but banished like a rogue spirit. Feeds off the life force of those with rank, like a succubus.'
A trickster. This wasn't going to be-
"Land on Earth, Roman," A chuckle broke the tension, coming from a brown-haired bloke beside me. "Head gone walkabout again? We've got work to do." With that, he hopped off the wooden bench and disappeared into the gloom of the old church.
The sky was a canvas splashed with stars, the clouds scuttling beneath the half-moon like scared mice. 9:16 pm, to be precise.
My backside reluctantly peeled itself off the bench as my feet dragged me after the brown-haired guy. His torch cut a narrow beam ahead, his pistol tucked snugly beneath it as he navigated the shadowed halls.
My fingers brushed against the gun nestled in its bag, the bulge reassuring. I took a deep breath and pulled it free, the familiar weight settling comfortably in my grip.
The agency had received information an infected soul had been spotted lurking within these hallowed walls of the church ten minutes ago. Agents were already on the hunt for the personality bender, the IT boys back at headquarters feeding us intel on potential locations. That left the rest of us to tidy up the loose ends.
"Flick your torch on, Roman, we need a bit more light," The brown hair guy whispered, craning his neck to catch my eye. I dug my own torch out of my back pocket, its beam joining his to pierce the darkness. We were two silent shadows creeping through the echoing emptiness.
A fork in the path loomed before us. A double path.
"You take that, I'll handle the right," he said, already striding off before I could even blink.
Always listen to your seniors, I muttered under my breath, a hint of annoyance gnawing at me. We weren't supposed to separate. But orders were orders, and tonight, obedience was the only compass in this maze of shadows.
The old church, with its dusty pews and towering crucifix, felt like a tomb, the silence thick and suffocating. Every creak of floorboard, every rustle of cobwebs sent shivers down my spine. My senses were on high alert, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of the lurking danger.
The air hung heavy with the smell of incense and damp stone, a cloying aroma that seemed to cling to the back of my throat. The flickering torches cast grotesque shadows on the walls, dancing figures that threatened to morph into something sinister at every turn.
I pressed on, my heart a drum solo in my chest, each step a gamble in this game of shadows. The trickster, Lazaros called her. A rogue spirit, a life-drainer. The thought sent chills down my spine, but I couldn't afford to falter. Not with innocent lives potentially hanging in the balance. I just hope those agents catch her soon.
A sliver of moonlight carved through the gaping hole in the church roof, illuminating the dust motes swirling in the stale air. I raised my torch, its beam painting fleeting shadows on the crumbling plaster. My heart hammered a frantic tattoo against my ribs, a counterpoint to the unsettling silence that hung heavy in the air.
My thoughts peeled off to what Lazaros said again yesterday.
'And the server, it's been quiet and not responding.' I had said.
'It needs your blood to function, the infection of your blood was the power fueling the system,' He responded. 'And phase two is like cleansing of the infection from the blood, making you more human. It's like giving you a last feel of the word 'human'. That's why it's annoying, it makes you very vulnerable and weak minded-'
A whisper, a scrabble of claws against stone, broke through my thoughts. My head whipped towards the sound, the gun instinctively finding its mark. The noise died, swallowed by the oppressive silence. Lazaros' words echoed in my skull, a grim warning: "Fear is their fuel, Roman. Don't give them a drop."
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I choked back the rising panic. My gun, loaded with silver rounds, felt reassuringly heavy in my grip. Three shots, three chances to send these creatures back to the hell they crawled from.
But the distant crack of gunfire, followed by a guttural scream, shattered my resolve. Julian, the brown-haired senior, was in trouble. Disobeying orders was a cardinal sin, yet the instincts honed by months of bloodshed roared louder than protocol.
"Ahhh fuck it, Roman!" Julian's voice, hoarse and laced with fear, cut through the fog of my indecision.
My feet moved before my brain could catch up. I burst into the nave, the stench of blood and decay assaulting my senses. Two figures, twisted parodies of humanity, lunged at Julian, their eyes burning with a feral hunger.
My gun roared, a silver bullet tearing through the air to find its mark. The infected stumbled, howling in fury, but the others pressed on. My aim, thrown off by the chaos, missed its mark. Adrenaline surged, drowning out the whispers of doubt. This was it, kill or be killed.
I dove for cover behind a fallen pew, my mind racing. I had to flank them, split their attention. A desperate plan formed, fueled by the raw need to survive. With a roll and a scramble, I slipped through a side door, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
The shadows of the church cloaked me, adrenaline sharpening my senses. I could hear the snarls of the infected, the frantic thud of their feet. Then, a crack of gunfire, followed by a surprised yelp. Julian, his back against a wall, had bought me precious time.
I rounded a corner, gun held tight, and saw my opportunity. One infected, separated from the others, its back to me. A silent prayer escaped my lips as I squeezed the trigger, the silver bullet finding its mark with a sickening thud. The creature crumpled, its lifeless form a testament to the cold efficiency of my weapon.
One down, one to go. My gaze darted around, searching for the remaining infected. A low growl sent shivers down my spine. He was close, too close.
"Fuck," I hissed, my voice barely a whisper. The infected, drawn by the sound, peeked around a pillar, its eyes glinting with malevolent hunger.
Moonlight streamed through the shattered roof, casting an eerie glow on the dust-shrouded church interior. The air thrummed with a desperate silence, broken only by the ragged rasp of my breath. Fear, acrid and metallic, clung to my tongue, a taste of the terror that stalked the shadows.
The remaining infected, his face gaunt and eyes hollowed by hunger, lurched from behind a shattered pew. His guttural screeches echoed through the vaulted hall, a chilling symphony of bloodlust. My heart pounded against my ribs, a frantic drum against the silence.
A curse escaped my lips as I raised my gun, the silver bullet gleaming like a beacon of hope in the gloom. My aim was steady, fueled by adrenaline and the desperate need for survival. The shot rang out, sharp and final, sending the creature reeling back, its lifeless eyes staring vacantly at the moonlit ceiling.
But victory tasted like ashes in my mouth. Another infected, its movements predatory and swift, lunged at me, pinning me against the rough stone wall. My reflexes, honed by months of training, kicked in. I fired again, the bullet tearing through the creature's chest, silencing its rasping breaths.
Three down, and 0- wait two more? A cold dread washed over me, heavier than the cloying scent of blood that hung thick in the air. This wasn't the one infected person operation we'd been promised. This was a nightmare. These remaining two didn't seem like the three dead newbies.
"We're in deep, Julian," I rasped, my voice hoarse with fear. My gaze darted towards my partner, his face grim and resolute in the moonlight. "I thought it was just one."
Julian's lips twisted in a humourless smile. "Infected don't follow plans, Roman." He patted the empty chamber of his gun, his eyes locked on the remaining monsters. "So, we adapt."
The next few moments were a blur of adrenaline and desperation. We fought like cornered animals, silver flashing in the moonlight, the air thick with the stench of gunpowder and blood. Julian, his arm bleeding from a deep claw mark, managed to take down one of the creatures with a well-placed shot.
But the last one, a hulking figure with eyes like burning embers, proved too much. It moved with an uncanny speed, its claws ripping through Julian's defences with ease. My own bullet fired in a desperate attempt to save him, found its mark brushed on the creature's shoulder, a mere annoyance in the face of its rage.
The world spun as its claws pierced through my stomach to my spine. I felt nothing for a duo of seconds as my body plummeted to the ground, then pain emerged, a white-hot agony. I watched in horror as the monster, its hunger raw and primal, then sank its fangs into Julian's throat. My own cry, a strangled sob of grief and despair, was lost in the echoing silence of the church.
Death is one way out of misery, but death is a mystery. A humourless smile tugged at my inside as I remembered these words.
I couldn't process air through my lungs anymore, it was getting very hard to breathe. My eyes finally shut, but I could still hear my surroundings.
As I felt myself finally slipping away, I heard a voice, which was very audible inside my head.
"[Congratulations! You've completed phase two!]"