Brody crouched low in the frost-damp grass, the fallen branch heavy in his hands, its rough bark biting into his palms. His breath fogged in the cold, shallow and quick, matching the frantic thud of his heart. The Stalkvine's green eyes glowed ahead, twin pinpricks cutting through the dark, locked onto him as it slunk closer, its whip-like tail lashing the air with a faint whistle. The System hummed in his skull—[Level 3 Hostile: Stalkvine. Agility +6.]—a cold reminder of what he was up against. He tightened his grip, the weight of his newfound strength settling into his arms, a strange, alien gift from the Skitterfangs he'd killed. It didn't feel like enough—not against this thing, not with Sarah trapped inside the house, oblivious to the monsters circling her.
The Stalkvine paused, ten feet away, its sleek body coiling like a spring, limbs bending at unnatural angles. Its head tilted, a predator sizing up prey, and Brody's stomach twisted, fear clawing at his insides. He glanced left—Mia was gone, vanished into the shadows near the garage, her knife a fleeting glint as she moved to flank the other two. The plan was simple: split them, kill them one by one. Simple didn't mean easy.
A rustle from the house snapped his focus back—faint, barely audible, but enough to make his blood run cold. The front door swayed wider, creaking on its hinges, and Sarah's silhouette flickered in the doorway, a broom in her hands, bristles worn and sagging. "Brody?" her voice called, sharp with worry, cutting through the stillness. "You out there, baby?"
The Stalkvine's head whipped toward the sound, its tail flicking high, and Brody's heart lurched. "No—Mom, get back!" he shouted, his voice cracking, raw with panic. He lunged forward, branch raised, not thinking—just moving, desperate to draw its attention.
It worked. The Stalkvine spun back to him, a blur of motion, and pounced, its claws glinting as they slashed through the air. Brody swung the branch, hard and wild, putting every ounce of his System-boosted strength into it. Wood met flesh with a dull thunk, the impact jarring his wrists, sending a shockwave up his arms. The Stalkvine's head snapped sideways, a high-pitched screech tearing from its throat, shrill and grating. It staggered, one leg buckling, but didn't fall—its tail lashed out, whip-fast, cracking against his shin.
Pain flared, hot and bright, a searing line that buckled his knee. He stumbled, catching himself on the frost-slick ground, the branch slipping from his grip. The Stalkvine recovered, circling now, its movements smoother, more deliberate, like it was toying with him. Brody scrambled back, hands fumbling for the branch, his fingers brushing it just as the creature lunged again.
"Brody!" Sarah's voice rang out, closer now—she was on the porch, broom raised like a weapon, her hazel eyes wide with terror and fury. The Stalkvine hesitated, its head twitching toward her, and Brody seized the moment. He grabbed the branch, rolled to his feet, and charged, a primal yell ripping from his chest. The wood slammed into its skull, a wet crunch echoing as the bark splintered, driving deep into the soft spot behind its glowing eyes. Green ichor sprayed, warm and sticky, coating his hands, his face, stinging where it touched. The Stalkvine convulsed, legs thrashing, then collapsed, its tail twitching once before stilling.
The System pinged—[Monster Soul Absorbed. Strength +2. Agility +1. Souls: 3/10 to Level 2.]—and a rush hit him, cold and electric, threads of light spiraling from the corpse into his chest. He staggered, gagging as the Stalkvine's essence flooded his mind—quick, darting impulses, the thrill of the hunt, a hunger sharper than the Skitterfang's. It slithered through him, alien and wrong, and he doubled over, dry-heaving into the grass, his stomach clenching painfully.
"Brody!" Sarah was beside him now, dropping the broom, her hands grabbing his shoulders, pulling him up. Her dark hair was wild, gray streaks glinting in the streetlight, her apron still dusted with flour from breakfast hours ago—hours that felt like years. "What's happening? What was that thing? Where's Jake?"
He straightened, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand, the taste of bile sharp on his tongue. "Jake's… he's gone, Mom," he said, his voice breaking, barely above a whisper. "That thing—there's more. We have to go. Now."
Her eyes widened, searching his face, then flickered to the house, the open door, the shadows beyond. "Gone? What do you mean—?"
A screech cut her off, high and piercing, from the garage. Two Stalkvines burst into view, tails lashing, claws skittering on the pavement. Mia was between them, her knife flashing as she ducked and slashed, a blur of motion. One lunged, and she rolled, driving the blade into its side—ichor sprayed, but the second caught her arm with its tail, a whip-crack that sent her spinning, her knife clattering across the driveway.
"Stay here!" Brody shouted, shoving Sarah back toward the porch. He snatched the broom—better than nothing—and ran, his legs unsteady but moving, driven by a surge of adrenaline and desperation. The broom's handle felt flimsy, useless, but he gripped it tight, his hands steadier now, the System's strength humming through his muscles.
Mia was on her knees, blood trickling from a gash on her forearm, her braid unraveling as she scrambled for her knife. The Stalkvines circled, their green eyes glinting, tails poised to strike. Brody swung the broom, aiming for the nearest one's head, but it dodged, fluid and fast, its claws raking the air an inch from his chest. He stumbled back, heart pounding, and swung again—wild, reckless, a scream tearing from his throat. The handle cracked against its shoulder, a dull snap, and the Stalkvine hissed, rearing back.
Mia lunged, grabbing her knife, and drove it into the second Stalkvine's throat, twisting hard. Ichor gushed, steaming in the cold, and the creature crumpled, thrashing briefly before going still. She yanked the blade free, panting, and turned to Brody. "Finish it!" she barked, nodding at the one he'd hit.
He nodded, breathless, and charged, broom raised like a spear. The Stalkvine pounced, but he was ready—sidestepping, he rammed the splintered end into its side, piercing the sleek hide. It screeched, flailing, and he pushed harder, driving it to the ground, pinning it until its struggles faded. The System pinged again—[Monster Soul Absorbed. Strength +2. Agility +1. Souls: 5/10 to Level 2.]—and the rush came, sharper this time, a flood of darting, predatory instincts that made his head spin. He dropped the broom, staggering, clutching his chest as the sensation settled, heavy and unwelcome.
Mia was beside him, wiping her knife on her jeans, her arm still bleeding but her grip steady. "Not bad, kid," she said, her voice rough but approving. "You're learning."
"Brody!" Sarah's cry snapped him back—she was off the porch, running toward them, her face pale, eyes darting between the dead Stalkvines and the blood on his hands. She grabbed him, pulling him into a fierce hug, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "What's going on? What are these things? Where's Jake?"
He hugged her back, his arms trembling, her familiar scent—flour, lavender, a hint of bacon grease—grounding him for a moment. "He's… dead, Mom," he said, the words cutting deep, fresh tears burning his eyes. "Something came through the window—killed Rusty, then Jake outside. These… monsters, they're everywhere. We can't stay."
Sarah pulled back, her hands framing his face, searching his eyes. "Dead?" Her voice cracked, a sob catching in her throat. "Rusty too? Oh, baby…" She glanced at Mia, then the house, the open door a dark maw behind her. "What do we do?"
"We move," Mia said, stepping closer, her tone clipped but firm. "More will come—Stalkvines hunt in packs, and that Bonecrusher's still out there. Grab what you need, fast. We're not safe here."
Sarah nodded, shaky but resolute, and turned toward the house. "Five minutes," she said, already moving, her wiry frame disappearing inside. Brody followed, Mia at his heels, her knife still drawn, her eyes scanning every shadow.
The living room was a mess—glass from the shattered window glinted on the floor, Rusty's blood stained the rug, a dark, spreading pool that made Brody's chest ache. Sarah grabbed a duffel from the closet, stuffing it with clothes, a flashlight, a battered first-aid kit. Brody went for his room, snagging his spiral notebook—stars and spaceships doodled on every page—and the dented baseball bat, its aluminum scratched but solid. The Metallica poster sagged above his bed, a silent witness to the carnage below, and he hesitated, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut. Rusty's body was still there, crumpled against the bedframe, one ear flopped over, eyes glassy. He knelt, brushing the coarse fur, tears dripping onto the blood-matted coat. "I'm sorry, bud," he whispered, voice breaking. "I couldn't…"
"Brody, now!" Mia's voice cut through, sharp and urgent, from the hall. He stood, wiping his face, and grabbed a hoodie from the floor, pulling it over his blood-streaked shirt. Downstairs, Sarah was zipping the duffel, her hands trembling but quick, and Mia stood by the door, peering out into the night.
"Got everything?" Mia asked, her gray eyes flicking between them.
"Yeah," Sarah said, slinging the bag over her shoulder, her jaw set. "Let's go."
They stepped outside, the cold biting deeper now, the street eerily silent except for the faint rustle of wind through the pines. The Stalkvine corpses lay sprawled, ichor pooling beneath them, steaming faintly. Brody's shin throbbed where the tail had struck, a dull ache spreading up his leg, but he ignored it, gripping the bat tighter.
Mia led the way, heading west along the street, away from the forest where the Bonecrusher had vanished. "There's a gas station a mile out," she said, her voice low, steady. "Abandoned last I checked. Good spot to regroup, figure out next steps."
Sarah nodded, keeping pace, her broom traded for a kitchen knife she'd grabbed from the counter—small, but sharp, clutched in her hand like a lifeline. Brody stayed close, his eyes darting to every shadow, every flicker of movement, the System's hum a constant drone in his skull. The weight of the absorbed souls—five now—settled into his bones, making his steps heavier, his swings stronger, but it didn't ease the hollow ache in his chest, the grief gnawing at him with every breath.
The street stretched ahead, lined with dark houses, windows blank and lifeless. Willow Creek felt like a ghost town, its quiet broken only by the crunch of frost under their shoes. A dog barked in the distance, sharp and frantic, then cut off abruptly—a silence that made Brody's skin prickle. "You think everyone's… gone?" he asked, his voice small, barely cutting through the stillness.
"Some are," Mia said, not turning, her braid swaying as she walked. "Some hiding. Some dead. Rifts hit random—small towns like this, they don't stand much chance."
Sarah's hand tightened on the knife, her knuckles white. "And the cities? The news said—"
"Cities are worse," Mia cut in, her tone flat. "More people, more rifts, more monsters. Saw footage before the signals died—Chicago looked like a war zone. We're better off out here, for now."
They walked in silence after that, the weight of her words sinking in. Brody's mind churned—images of Rusty's last whine, Jake's fading eyes, the Stalkvine's screeching collapse looping endlessly, a reel he couldn't stop. The bat felt heavy in his hand, a cold comfort, its dents a reminder of fights he'd never wanted to win.
Half a mile in, the gas station loomed ahead—a squat, weathered building, its neon sign dark, windows cracked but intact. The pumps stood like sentinels, hoses dangling, and a faded "Closed" sign hung crooked on the door. Mia slowed, raising a hand, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the lot. "Quiet," she murmured, knife ready. "Too quiet."
Brody's pulse quickened, the System humming louder, a faint warning in his skull. He gripped the bat, stepping closer to Sarah, who clutched her knife tighter, her breath shallow. Mia edged forward, boots silent on the cracked pavement, and peered through the window. "Empty," she said, relaxing slightly. "Let's check inside."
The door creaked as she pushed it open, a bell jingling faintly, startling Brody. The interior was dim, lit only by slivers of moonlight through the broken blinds—shelves tipped over, candy bars and chip bags scattered across the floor, a stale smell of grease and dust hanging in the air. The counter was abandoned, a cash register yawning open, coins glinting inside. Mia moved to the back, checking the storeroom, while Sarah set the duffel down, her eyes darting to every corner.
"Looks clear," Mia called, emerging with a water bottle she'd found, tossing it to Brody. He caught it, his hands still shaky, and took a sip, the lukewarm liquid soothing his raw throat.
Sarah sank onto a overturned crate, running a hand through her hair, her face etched with exhaustion. "What now?" she asked, her voice steady but thin, like she was holding herself together by threads. "We can't keep running forever."
"We don't," Mia said, leaning against the counter, her knife resting on her knee. "We rest here tonight, figure out where the Awakened are—others like me and Brody. They're out there, grouping up, fighting back. We find them, we've got a shot."
"Awakened?" Sarah's brow furrowed, her gaze shifting to Brody. "What's that mean?"
Brody swallowed, the water bottle crinkling in his grip. "It's… this thing in my head, Mom," he said, tapping his temple. "The System. I kill those monsters, it—it takes their souls, makes me stronger. Started when that thing came through my window."
Her eyes widened, a mix of fear and disbelief flickering across her face. "Stronger? You mean… you're changing?"
"Yeah," he said, looking at his hands, still smeared with ichor and blood, heavier than they should be. "I don't like it, but it's keeping me alive."
Sarah reached out, taking his hand, her calloused fingers cool against his skin. "You're still my boy," she said, her voice firm, though it trembled at the edges. "Whatever this is, we'll figure it out together."
He nodded, throat tight, clinging to her words like a lifeline. Mia watched, her expression unreadable, then turned away, peering out the window. "Get some rest," she said, her tone softening just a fraction. "I'll keep watch."
Brody sank onto the floor beside Sarah, the duffel as a makeshift pillow, the bat across his lap. His eyes burned, exhaustion pulling at him, but sleep wouldn't come easy—not with Rusty's whine echoing in his ears, Jake's last words—*"You're tougher than they think…"*—looping endlessly, the System's hum a cold thread stitching it all together.
Hours later, a sharp crack jolted him awake—wood splintering, glass shattering. He bolted upright, bat in hand, heart racing. Sarah was on her feet, knife raised, her eyes wide. Mia stood by the door, her silhouette tense against the faint dawn light seeping through the cracks. "They found us," she said, her voice low, steady. "Bonecrusher's back—and it brought friends."
Outside, the ground trembled, a low growl rumbling through the pavement, and the System flared—[Level 4 Threat Detected. Multiple Hostiles.]—its cold blue light painting a target on their fragile sanctuary.