Against Devil

20 - Fight till Death

I should've stayed in bed. Or better yet, locked myself in a closet with a bottle of whiskey and a broken walkie-talkie. Anything but this.

The rain had just started tapping against the windows when Lizzy marched out like she was about to burn the world down with nothing but her stare. I followed her, of course, because what else does one do when your best friend is hellbent on confronting god-knows-what in the woods?

Jasmine and I exchanged a glance before trailing behind her. There was something off about the air. Too quiet. Like the forest was holding its breath.

We reached the edge of the crowd just in time for Marcus to try and grab Lizzy like that was going to work. Spoiler: it didn't. She shook him off like a leaf and marched forward. Jasmine moved to stop her. I did too, voice half-formed in my throat, but then Lizzy brushed Jasmine's hand and suddenly Jasmine froze, blinking like she saw the fucking Moon Goddess herself.

"Lizzy, get back inside, damn it—" I started, but Jasmine clamped her fingers around my wrist. Her grip was... strange. Tight. Not just protective—paralyzed. She didn't say a word. Just held me there. My instincts prickled.

Marcus stepped beside me, his eyes scanning the treeline. "This isn't how it's supposed to go. We should get her back inside."

"No shit," I muttered, yanking my wrist free. "She just got out of a battle, Marcus. She's half-bleeding, half-mad, and all fire. She needs rest, not another death match."

His jaw tightened. "Try telling her that."

"I did. You saw how that worked out."

We both looked toward Lizzy, who kept moving forward like she couldn't hear the entire damn world yelling at her.

"We protect her," I said, more to myself than him. "Even if it means tackling her stubborn ass to the ground."

He let out a sharp exhale. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

And then Lizzy kept walking. Right toward the psycho.

Anastasia.

She emerged like a ghost from a nightmare, naked and dripping blood like she'd bathed in it. Two severed heads hung from her hands. I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees just looking at her.

Those were our patrols, and one of them, someone I had just seen last week during the patrol of the graveyard we had to witness.

As Lizzy and Anastasia started their verbal tango, I stayed still. My legs wouldn't move, and not from fear—from calculation. The people around us started shifting. Too quiet. Too tense. My eyes flicked to the edges of the crowd. Something wasn't right.

I caught sight of a few strangers I didn't recognize. Hooded. Broad-shouldered. Faces half-shadowed. Soldiers? Guests? Or something else?

Jasmine leaned closer to me. Her voice was barely a whisper, her breath ghosting past my ear. "Something's not right. She wasn't alone when she came."

I gave her a sideways glance. "You mean this isn't just your average, psychotic ex routine?"

Jasmine didn't laugh. She just nodded toward the woods. I followed her gaze and spotted a flash of movement—too fast, then gone.

"You felt it too," I said quietly.

"Like knives in my spine," Jasmine muttered. "I saw someone hiding behind the cart earlier. Too tall to be pack. They vanished before I could reach."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "And you waited until now to say something?"

She frowned. "I wasn't sure. But now—now I'm certain."