The stillness of the night shattered as the man in the middle raised his hand, his middle and index fingers lifted and pressed together in a motion that felt both deliberate and ominous. He pointed toward the direction where Ugle had disappeared over the small hill, his posture radiating an unnatural confidence.
Bjorn's breath caught as the man separated his fingers. In an instant, he vanished, the space where he had stood now empty. A moment later, the silence exploded into a sound like an avalanche, a deafening roar that reverberated through the cold air. The ground seemed to tremble beneath Bjorn's feet.
Then came the screeching.
A high-pitched, ear-splitting wail cut through the night, more animal than human. It emanated from behind the hill, where Ugle had fled, a sound so primal it froze the blood in Bjorn's veins. His instincts screamed at him to move, to act. He spun toward the hulking giant, his spear raised.
But before he could act, his focus was interrupted.
The smaller figure, the one wrapped entirely in bandages, closed the distance between himself and Mikkel with terrifying speed. He moved like a shadow, his motions fluid yet eerily precise.
Mikkel reacted instinctively, his handgun snapping up in one practiced motion. Two quick shots echoed through the night, aimed directly at the bandaged man's head.
The stranger dodged effortlessly. The first bullet missed as he tilted his head sharply to the left, and the second as he folded his body forward in a motion that defied human reflexes.
Mikkel cursed under his breath, his hands working frantically to reload. His fingers trembled slightly, the icy air biting at his skin as he shoved a fresh magazine into the gun. He snapped it into place, raising the weapon again.
But it was too late.
The bandaged man was already upon him, his movements a blur. Dropping into a low crouch, he slipped under Mikkel's guard, closing the gap between them in an instant. His right leg shot forward, sliding between Mikkel's feet and breaking his stance. The sudden shift left Mikkel off-balance, his posture compromised.
The stranger pressed in further, planting his left leg beside Mikkel's right. His crouched position allowed him to drive his chest into Mikkel's midsection, using his momentum to force the older man backward.
Mikkel made a desperate attempt to jump back, his instincts screaming at him to create distance. But the stranger's grip was unyielding, his arms locked around Mikkel's waist with inhuman strength.
In one fluid motion, the bandaged man bent his knees and lifted, his legs acting like coiled springs. Mikkel's feet left the ground, his body hoisted into the air. Before he could react, he was flipped over the stranger's head and slammed into the icy ground with bone-crunching force.
Bjorn's heart thundered in his chest as he watched Mikkel crumple to the ground, a sharp gasp escaping his lips. The icy terrain cracked beneath the impact, sending a fine mist of frost into the air.
Bjorn refused to stand idle. With a roar, he swung his spear in a wide arc, aiming for the bandaged man's exposed back. The weapon cut through the air, its blade gleaming in the faint light.
But as it descended, something unexpected happened.
The bag on the stranger's back suddenly zipped open with a loud, unnatural sound. Two long, bandaged limbs shot out from within, moving like serpents. They intercepted the spear mid-swing, their grip like steel clamps that halted the weapon mere inches from its target.
Bjorn gritted his teeth, his muscles straining as he tried to force the spear forward. But the limbs held firm, their grip unyielding. The force of the collision reverberated up Bjorn's arms, a jarring reminder of the impossible strength he faced.
The bandaged man turned his head slightly, his faceless mask tilting toward Bjorn. Though no eyes were visible, Bjorn felt the weight of his gaze, cold and invasive.
Bjorn roared in frustration, yanking the spear back to prepare for another strike. But the bandaged limbs twisted sharply, ripping the weapon from his grasp. The spear spun through the air, embedding itself in the icy ground several meters away.
Bjorn stumbled, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his footing. His hands clenched into fists, his mind racing for a new plan. He wasn't just fighting a man—he was facing something far beyond human.
A loud swoosh broke through the chaos, followed by the sickening crunch of steel meeting flesh. The spring-loaded spear pierced through the tilted head of the bandaged man with deadly precision, the force of the throw snapping his body backward. It was Arne who had launched the spear, his fury unmistakable. His steps thundered as he charged toward his fallen comrades, the sheer force of his anger propelling him forward.
But as he neared, his momentum was abruptly stopped. An invisible force slammed into him, halting him in his tracks like an unseen wall. Arne staggered back, his hands outstretched, striking at the barrier with wild punches and kicks, but it was impenetrable. He roared in frustration, his breath forming angry plumes in the cold air.
Bjorn barely registered Arne's plight. His attention snapped to the bandaged man's bag, which had fallen open completely. From its dark depths stepped another figure, identical in appearance—wrapped head-to-toe in tightly wound bandages. The first figure, impaled by Arne's spear, slumped lifelessly to the ground.
Bjorn didn't wait. With a roar, he lunged forward, engaging the newly emerged figure. His punches were brutal and relentless, fueled by desperation, but the figure moved with uncanny speed and grace, evading or deflecting each blow.
The fight devolved into a savage wrestle, their bodies colliding with animalistic ferocity. Bjorn's moves lacked the elegance of his opponent's; his attacks were wild and unrefined, but they carried raw, unmatched strength. He bit, scratched, and clawed, drawing blood—or something like it—from the figure.
But then sharp, searing pain tore through Bjorn's lower back. His body arched involuntarily, and he twisted his head to see another bandaged figure standing behind him, a jagged blade of some kind protruding from its hand. From the bag, yet another figure was emerging, pulling itself free like something birthed from a nightmare.
Bjorn roared in defiance, adrenaline surging through him as he shoved the figure in front of him away. Desperation fueled his strength, and he lunged toward the fallen spear Arne had thrown. The two bandaged figures clawed and grabbed at him, but Bjorn pushed through their attacks, his body battered but unyielding.
His fingers wrapped around the spear's cold handle, and with a guttural cry, he spun around, slashing at the figures. The blade cut deep, severing limbs and tearing through their wrappings. One figure fell, its body crumpling unnaturally as it hit the ground.
The second figure, undeterred, launched itself at Bjorn. It moved recklessly, impaling itself on the spear in an attempt to overpower him. The impact drove Bjorn back a step, but he gritted his teeth and twisted the spear, ensuring the figure couldn't pull itself free.
Before he could react further, the third figure leaped over his head with startling agility. It landed behind him, its bandaged limbs wrapping around him like iron chains. Its grip was vice-like, pinning Bjorn's arms and legs as it began to lift him off the ground.
Bjorn realized what was coming. With no other option, he let go of the spear still lodged in the second figure's chest. As his feet left the ground, he brought his hands up, pressing them against his head to brace for the inevitable impact.
The throw came swiftly. Bjorn's body slammed into the icy ground with bone-rattling force, the breath leaving his lungs in a painful gasp. But he had prepared. Twisting his body mid-fall, he rotated 180 degrees, locking the figure's arm against the ground and pinning it beneath him.
Bjorn's vision blurred from the impact, but his hands moved on instinct. Grabbing a jagged rock from the ground, he began smashing it into the figure's face. Each strike sent shudders through his arm, the sound of stone meeting flesh-like material reverberating in the cold night.
The figure writhed and thrashed beneath him, but Bjorn didn't stop. He brought the rock down again and again, until the movements ceased, and the figure lay still.
His chest heaved as he knelt over the lifeless body. Blood—if it could be called that—coated his hands and face, mingling with the frost and sweat. But before he could catch his breath, the bag emitted a deep, guttural groan.
From its depths emerged a new figure, unlike the others. It wasn't wrapped in bandages but was instead a stone-like statue of a man, its surface rough and unyielding. It moved slowly, each step deliberate and heavy, its size and presence dwarfing even the other bandaged figures.
Bjorn stood shakily, his vision catching the flickering firelight of their group behind him. He saw Arvid standing at the center of the chaos, his mechanical spear held defensively. He shielded the women and children, his broad frame a wall between them and the approaching threat. Anna clutched Elin tightly, her face pale and her eyes wide with terror.
Bjorn turned back to the battlefield, his gaze shifting to the giant, who still stood eerily still. The massive figure remained at the edge of the chaos, its palms covering its eyes. Bjorn couldn't understand why, but a wave of relief washed over him.
"For now," he muttered to himself, tightening his grip on his weapon. "Just stay like that."
The stone figure swung its massive fist toward him. Bjorn raised his arms to block, but the blow smashed through his defenses, sending him flying through the air. He landed hard on his back, the icy ground driving the air from his lungs.
As he gasped for breath, the stone figure loomed closer, each step a harbinger of inevitable destruction.