Three days of militia training had turned the young boys quieter and the older villagers more serious. Sore muscles and bruised shins had replaced the early excitement. Even Tomas and Jarek swung their practice weapons with tighter focus instead of wild flourishes.
On the fourth day, the attack came in broad daylight.
The two suns hung high overhead when the first scream ripped through the village square. People froze mid-step. Garret, who had been hauling a sack of grain toward Bram's tavern, dropped it and turned toward the sound.
A single figure walked down the main street.
It was tall, easily seven feet, with gray-black skin stretched tight over corded muscle. Twisted horns curved back from its skull, and its eyes burned a dull amber-red. It carried a massive, jagged blade that looked like it had been forged from blackened bone. Blood already dripped from the edge.
The thing stopped in the center of the square and spoke in a voice like grinding stones.
"I am Korrak, servant of the Hollow Congregation. This village has grown soft under false peace. I will kill every soul here as an offering to the true strength. Begin your prayers."
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then chaos erupted.
Mayor Elias shouted, "Militia! To arms!"
Young Tomas grabbed his wooden practice sword and charged with a yell. "For Cragmore!"
Korrak barely glanced at him. The bone blade swung in a lazy arc. It caught Tomas across the chest and opened him from shoulder to hip. Blood sprayed in a bright arc across the dirt. The boy dropped without a sound, guts spilling onto the ground in a wet pile.
Screams rose everywhere.
Jarek froze for half a second, then ran at the demon with tears in his eyes. "You bastard!" His stick cracked harmlessly against Korrak's arm. The demon backhanded him. Jarek's head snapped sideways with a sickening crunch. He flew ten feet and slammed into a market stall, neck bent at the wrong angle.
Garret's stomach turned. "Shit."
He grabbed the nearest thing — a heavy wooden pole from a broken cart — and ran forward. Sable was already moving, drawing her sword despite the fresh strain on her healing wound. Pip limped behind them, wooden sword in hand, face pale but determined.
"Stay back, kid!" Garret barked.
"I'm not leaving!" Pip shouted.
Korrak laughed, a low, wet sound. "Come then. Show me your strength."
Three villagers charged together — two older farmers with pitchforks and one retired guard with a real blade. Korrak stepped into them like they were children. The bone sword cleaved through the first farmer's shoulder, severing arm and collarbone in one blow. Blood fountained. The second farmer drove his pitchfork into the demon's side. It barely penetrated. Korrak grabbed the man's head and squeezed. The skull cracked like an egg, brains and blood leaking between thick fingers.
The retired guard managed one good cut across Korrak's thigh before the demon's free hand punched through his chest and ripped out his heart. The man stared down at the gaping hole for a second before collapsing.
The square had turned into a slaughterhouse. Bodies lay twisted in the dirt. Blood soaked the ground in dark patches. A woman screamed as she tried to drag her wounded husband away. Korrak kicked her aside and stomped on the husband's head, crushing it flat with a wet pop.
Garret reached the demon first. He swung the heavy pole with everything he had, aiming for the knee. The wood cracked against bone with a loud snap. Korrak staggered half a step.
Sable came in low and fast, sword flashing. She sliced across the demon's hamstring. Black blood sprayed. Korrak roared and backswung. Sable barely ducked in time — the blade whistled over her head and took a chunk out of a nearby wall.
"Flank him!" Sable shouted.
Pip darted in from the side, moving faster than her injured leg should allow. She jammed her wooden sword into the wound Sable had opened, twisting hard. Korrak bellowed and swiped at her. Pip threw herself backward, but the tip of the bone blade caught her across the ribs, opening a long, shallow gash. She hit the ground hard, blood soaking her tunic.
Garret's vision narrowed. Rage and fear mixed into something ugly. He dropped the broken pole, snatched up a fallen pitchfork, and charged. He drove the tines straight into Korrak's gut with a wet crunch. The demon grabbed the shaft and yanked Garret forward. A massive fist slammed into his side. Ribs cracked. Pain flared white-hot.
Garret didn't let go. He twisted the pitchfork viciously, tearing muscle and organs. Black blood poured over his hands.
Sable attacked again, sword stabbing upward into Korrak's armpit. The demon roared and swung wildly. The flat of the blade caught Sable across the back and sent her sprawling.
Pip crawled forward despite the bleeding cut on her side. She grabbed a discarded knife from one of the dead villagers and drove it into the back of Korrak's knee with both hands. The blade sank deep.
Korrak staggered.
Garret saw the opening. He released the pitchfork, snatched up the fallen bone sword — heavier than it looked — and heaved it upward with both hands. The jagged edge bit into Korrak's throat. Garret put every ounce of strength into the cut, sawing through thick muscle and tendon. Hot black blood sprayed across his face and chest.
The demon gurgled, eyes wide with surprise. It tried to swing one last time, but its arm only twitched.
Sable pushed herself up, grabbed her sword, and drove it straight through Korrak's eye socket with a wet crunch. The blade sank deep into the brain.
Korrak shuddered once, twice, then toppled backward like a felled tree. The ground shook when he hit.
Silence fell over the square, broken only by ragged breathing and the soft drip of blood.
Garret stood there covered in black and red, chest heaving, ribs screaming with every breath. Sable leaned on her sword, face pale, a fresh cut bleeding down her arm. Pip sat in the dirt, pressing a hand to her side, tears cutting tracks through the blood on her cheeks.
Around them lay the bodies. Tomas split open. Jarek with his neck broken. The farmers and the guard in pieces. At least seven dead in under two minutes. Blood pooled in the dirt and soaked into the wooden walls of nearby buildings. The smell was thick — iron, shit, and something foul from the demon's wounds.
Mayor Elias stumbled forward, face ashen. "Gods… what was that thing?"
"A scout," Sable said hoarsely. "A strong one. They're testing us harder now."
Garret dropped the bone sword. It landed with a heavy thud. He looked at the carnage, then at Pip and Sable.
His voice came out rough and tired.
"Training's over for today."
He turned and walked away before anyone could say anything else, leaving bloody footprints in the dirt.
The two suns continued to shine brightly overhead, indifferent to the slaughter that had happened in their light.
Cragmore had just learned how little time it had left.
End of Chapter 13