Chapter 18: Evil’s Welcome
Nothing followed but silence. One of shock and utter disbelief.
No one moved. No one even dared breathe.
Had they really just seen Songred die? He was a promising talent, one who survived the hellscape of Sector Fifteen; and he had just been dissected gruesomely before their very eyes.
His Lotus Direwolf, dismayed and terrified, began to wail, limping around the two halves of Songred’s body on the ground. It nudged one half with its muzzle, then the other, whimpering piteously. The rest of the squad were yet to do anything but watch.
Because even amidst the horror of Songred’s death, they could still feel it.
There was a presence. Beyond the darkness that Songred had been running into, something waited. And it was not a mere Darcbeast.
The escort, still impaled on the Howler’s tusk and skewered like a meat upon a stake, twitched once — then stiffened. The blood from his lips dripped down in thick streams, and even as pain twisted his face, it was not agony that formed in his gaze.
It was fear.
In all his years of working for Beastcorp, he had never experienced such bone-chilling fear. But he’d heard of it. From Divers and high ranking Riftwalkers who’d gone into the deepest zones of Darcworld.
This was that fear— the kind that froze your marrow and stole your breath.
Staring into that darkness, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple, slow as molasses. It fell— drip —and hit the earth like a whisper.