Woven Shadows

Chapter 8

The night shattered around us in an explosion of sound. A shriek pierced the air, high and guttural, sending a chill racing down my spine. Shapes moved in the darkness, twisting and flickering like wraiths made of smoke. Their forms were barely visible, shifting shadows with glowing eyes that cut through the night like twin moons.

Instinct kicked in, and I pulled my dagger free, gripping it tight enough that my knuckles ached. My pulse roared in my ears as the shadow creatures closed in, their presence like a cold weight pressing on my chest. I could feel their hunger, their malice, and the air seemed to thicken with the taste of it, sharp and metallic.

"Stay sharp," Lottie hissed beside me, her voice a thread of calm in the chaos. Her dagger gleamed in the faint light, steady and sure despite the tremor in her hands. "These aren't your average highway thieves."

"No fucking shit," I muttered, my voice strained as I tried to keep my breathing even. "What are they?"

"Shadow wraiths," she said, her voice tight. "Hunters of the night. They feed on fear and despair. They can sense weakness like a bloodhound on a trail."

Great. Just great. The last thing I needed was a creature that could literally smell my doubt. My hands trembled slightly. I clenched my jaw, forcing it back, shoving it down as far as I could. There could be no hesitation right now.

The first wraith lunged, its form unraveling into tendrils of darkness that shot toward me like spears. I ducked to the side, slashing out with my dagger, and felt the blade pass through empty air. The creature reformed in a swirl of smoke, its eyes locking onto me with a chilling focus.

It was like fighting a nightmare, my strikes passing through nothing but vapor, my frustration building with each failed attempt to land a hit. The wraiths were relentless, their movements unpredictable, twisting and bending in ways that made my stomach churn. Each time they reformed, they seemed to grow larger, their glowing eyes drilling into me with a hunger that made my skin crawl.

A cold, sinking realization hit me—these creatures weren't just attacking us. They were playing with us, testing our resolve, savoring our fear like a fine wine. My breath came in ragged gasps, the metallic taste of terror thick on my tongue. I could feel something inside me stir, a dark pressure that pressed against my ribs, whispering that I could end this if I just—

No. Not now. Not here.

Lottie's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts like a blade. "Hold your ground, Brighton!" she yelled, her hands moving in a blur as she wove a net of shimmering air between us and the creatures. Her eyes narrowed with fierce concentration, and I could see the wind itself bending to her will, twisting and warping around us.

As the illusionary forms Lottie conjured took shape, I noticed for the first time how her posse worked in tandem with the wind. Her connection wasn't just superficial; it was intrinsic. The wind twisted and danced, carrying her creations into the shadows, making them move like living beings. The gusts distorted the edges of reality, blending her illusions with the night in such a way that even I was momentarily tricked.

Her illusions weren't just tricks of the eye; they were like the wind itself—elusive, intangible, bending and shifting to confuse the senses. The shadow wraiths hissed in frustration as they slashed at the false images, their claws swiping through air and striking nothing. Lottie's illusions danced just out of reach, flickering and changing like shapes in a fog.

"Smart," I whispered to myself, realizing that her illusions were more than just distractions—they were bait, decoys that manipulated the wind to create sensory confusion. The wraiths were blinded, snarling in rage as they tried to lock onto us, their prey. Lottie's posse twisted their senses, leading them on a chase that spiraled into chaos.