Chapter 34


    Nowhere to Hide


    I follow behind Raven Five, keeping my distance. The metallic trees have settled into an unsettling rhythm, their branches weaving patterns overhead that make my eyes hurt if I stare too long. The geometry feels wrong—alive but artificial, like a machine pretending to be nature.


    Stagger practically glues himself to Ash''s side, head swiveling at every creak and groan from the forest. The huge boy does not seem to mind, his shield ready to protect them both. Up front, Flint moves with practiced ease, each step measured and careful.


    "You''re breathing too loud," Edge hisses at Wren.


    "And you''re being paranoid again," Wren shoots back, though his voice stays low. "At least I''m not jumping at shadows."


    "Both of you, quiet," Flint commands without looking back.


    The forest''s hum grows deeper, vibrating through my bones. The Skathrith responds, its edge pulsing with a matching frequency that makes my teeth ache. Binah drifts beside me like a ghost, her presence both familiar and alien.


    We round a twisted corpse of metal trees, and I freeze. Rising before us is a collection of structures that seem to defy reality—obsidian spires that curve and twist like frozen smoke, their surfaces both rough as bark and smooth as glass. Half-organic shapes bulge from the walls like tumors, while geometric patterns cut precise lines through the chaos.


    Flint raises his fist, and everyone drops into defensive positions. My eyes trace the Xal''rith markings etched into the surrounding trees - they pulse with a faint, sickly light that matches the rhythm of the forest''s hum.


    The village appears deserted, but the air feels thick and heavy, pressing against my skin like an invisible current. The Skathrith''s hunger stirs, responding to the latent energy that saturates this place.


    Flint signals us forward with careful hand motions. We advance slowly, weapons ready, moving between the alien structures that loom overhead like the ribs of some ancient, mechanical beast.


    The village''s architecture hurts my eyes. Nothing follows natural laws here—walkways spiral at impossible angles, doorways twist into themselves, and what might be windows look more like wounds torn in reality. These spaces were not made for human bodies.


    "It''s like this place was built to trap anything not... them." Wren''s voice quivers slightly as he runs his hand along a wall that seems to pulse beneath his touch.


    Edge lets out a derisive snort, but I notice his fingers have not left the hilt of his blade. "Everything looks like a trap to you."


    The Skathrith''s hum intensifies, resonating with the village''s strange energy. Its hunger bleeds into my thoughts, recognizing something familiar in these alien structures.


    "Split up. Search pattern alpha." Flint''s command cuts through my unease. "Ash, take Stagger. Wren with Edge." His eyes fix on me. "You''re with me, Optimate."


    Binah melts into the shadows as the pairs disperse. Ash leads Stagger toward what appears to be a gathering space, their footsteps echoing strangely on the metallic ground. They pause at scattered objects—tools perhaps, but shaped like fragments of bone.


    "Look at these markings," Stagger calls out softly, pointing to intricate patterns carved into the walls.


    Across the village, Wren and Edge investigate a jagged structure that can only be an altar. Deep channels run down its sides, stained with ancient purpose.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    "Just a nice place for a picnic, right?" Edge''s attempt at humor falls flat.


    Wren traces the grooves with trembling fingers. "This wasn''t just a home. It was a temple."


    Flint follows close behind as I approach the central spire. The Skathrith pulses stronger here, drawing me toward the twisted monument. As I place my hand against its surface, echoes of alien thoughts wash over me—cold, calculating intelligence mixed with an endless, consuming hunger.


    The others drift back toward the central spire, drawn by some unspoken need to regroup. Their footsteps echo against the metallic ground, creating discordant harmonies with the village''s endless hum.


    Stagger runs his fingers over a series of interlocking symbols carved into a curved wall. "Look at how precise these are. They wanted to leave something behind." His voice drops to barely a whisper. "Maybe they knew they wouldn''t survive."


    "The marks tell stories," Ash says, his deep voice startling everyone. "Like the old poem— ''Duty carved in blood and bone, memories sealed in sacred stone.''"


    "Since when are you a scholar, you giant rock?"


    "Someone has to balance out your stupidity," Ash replies, but there''s no bite to his words. Even Flint''s stern expression softens for a moment.


    The brief levity fades as Flint turns to face me. His eyes narrow, calculating. "You seem to know more about these things than we do. What are we dealing with here?"


    I feel the Skathrith pulse against my consciousness, its knowledge mixing with my observations. The words come reluctantly. "They were organized. Intelligent. This was their sacred ground." My hand traces the air near one of the twisted spires, feeling the residual energy. "But they were consumed by their hunger."


    "Let''s hope that doesn''t happen to us," Flint says. His tone carries skepticism, but I catch the undercurrent of caution in his voice.


    Binah watches from the shadows, her presence a silent reminder of all I am not saying about what the Skathrith truly knows of this place.


    Wren''s voice cuts through the eerie silence. "Talon... you need to see this."


    I follow Flint to where Wren crouches near the village perimeter. Fresh gouges mar the metallic ground, deep enough to expose the writhing circuitry beneath. The cuts are precise, methodical—not the wild slashing of mindless beasts.


    The Skathrith pulses against my consciousness.


    They are watching. Waiting.


    Its whispers feel like ice in my veins, sharp and cutting. These marks are a message, a promise of violence to come.


    "Everyone, weapons ready." Flint''s voice is steel. "Form a defensive circle. If they''re here, we''re not giving them the advantage."


    Edge draws his blade with shaking hands. "Could be nothing. Could be-"


    Lightning splits the sky, illuminating the glass ceiling in a web of purple-white. The flash burns away shadows, revealing what lurks at the village edges - Xal''rith warriors, their bone-blades raised in silent salute. Their bodies are wrong angles and twisted joints, chitinous armor gleaming wet in the stark light.


    Then darkness returns, swallowing them whole.


    Stagger''s gasp sounds like a wounded animal. His spear trembles as he grips it tight enough to whiten his knuckles.


    "What the hell was that?" Edge''s bravado cracks. "Tell me I didn''t just see-"


    "Shut it," Wren hisses, but fear threads through his voice.


    "Janus." Flint''s eyes lock onto mine. "What do you see?"


    I taste copper on my tongue as the Skathrith resonates with the hunters'' presence. They are still there, hidden but near. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.


    "They''re here," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "They''re waiting."


    Another flash tears through the sky, and my heart stops. The Xal''rith have closed half the distance, their bone-white forms crouched low against the metallic ground. Each movement is precise, calculated—a hunter''s grace that makes my skin crawl.


    The largest of them rises, towering above its brethren. Runes pulse across its chitinous armor like veins of molten metal. It raises its bone-blade toward me in what feels less like a threat and more like recognition. The Skathrith responds, its hunger mixing with something else—memory, perhaps, or ancient programming I do not yet understand.


    Darkness crashes back over us like a wave. The forest''s hum swells until it fills my skull, drowning out everything but the rapid beating of my heart. Beside me, Raven Five stands ready, their weapons raised against the void.


    "Why aren''t they attacking?" Stagger''s voice cracks. His spear shakes in his white-knuckled grip.


    I feel Binah before I see her, emerging from the shadows like smoke given form. Her eyes hold that familiar, distant coldness—the look she gets when she sees something I cannot yet understand. She moves to stand between me and the darkness where the Xal''rith wait, her posture both protective and warning.


    "Well, they won''t find us lacking." Flint''s words carry the weight of command, but I hear the tension beneath them. His spear does not waver as he adjusts his stance, ready for whatever comes next.


    Lightning splits the sky one final time. The village stretches empty before us, the twisted spires casting long shadows across abandoned ground. No sign of the Xal''rith remains, but the air feels charged with potential violence.


    None of us lower our weapons. The Skathrith thrums against my consciousness, its eagerness bleeding into my thoughts. "They''ll be back," I say softly. "And next time, they won''t just watch."