By the time my shift came up, darkness had already fallen. We were stationed in Romulus—a former village that the otherworlders had transformed into their logistics hub. Our duty that night was straightforward: inspect cargo and vet incoming merchants. The swamps and forest skirting the outskirts made this zone particularly dangerous after dark.

  I saluted sharply.

  “Victor Crawford reporting for duty at officer headquarters as ordered!”

  The duty officer barely looked up from his paperwork.

  “At ease. You're paired with Marcus tonight. Standard gear. Sector six. Move out.”

  “Understood.”

  Marcus and I weren't exactly close. During night shifts, smuggling risks spike. That's why they pair us with unfamiliar soldiers. Can't have us making deals under the table. He was already geared up when I grabbed my kit.

  The equipment was standard issue: leather body armor reinforced with metal plates, helmet with night vision goggles. A Krezen M09 pistol lay on the table alongside a hefty rifle with a stock darkened by years of use.

  Marcus was already geared up when I grabbed my kit.

  “Ready to roll, Vic?”

  “Yeah, give me a sec, heading out.”

  Our patrol zone stretched west from the center. Terrible terrain. Swamps nearby, and our sector bordered a small forest. That place always gave me the creeps.

  Sometimes we'd run into wild animals, occasionally even minor demons. The local wildlife wasn't much of a threat, but demons? Every season, they'd drag someone off. At least we were far from the breach point, so no evolved ones around here.

  He broke the silence as we walked.

  “How've you been anyway? Been ages since we patrolled together. What, maybe twice in five years?”

  “Tell me about it, they don't let us catch up properly. I'd been thinking about early retirement, but just had my second son. Gotta feed the family somehow. What about you? Little Marcus growing up well?”

  “Whoa, congrats on the new addition! Though calling him 'little' is a stretch. Named him after grandpa—Rashid's his name. Just turned six. Things are good, we're saving up for the academy. Maybe he'll be one of the last mages.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Hope it works out for him. You hear what happened at the river outpost?”

  He waved dismissively.

  “Those tales about a whole squad getting wiped out? Just idle gossip from bored folks. Probably demons snatched another rookie or a pack of animals attacked. You know they cleared this area of anything serious.”

  Come to think of it, the whole thing did sound odd. The states have contracts with the foreigners for demon extermination. They supposedly cleared out even more than agreed upon. Only the small fry in hiding remained.

  We kept killing time with chatter when Marcus suddenly dropped. Doesn't happen often with this terrain, so I reached down casually.

  I reached down casually.

  “Mark, gimme your hand. Just don't scratch that rifle of yours.”

  The last words came out drawn, since he never offered his hand. He lay with his back to me. So I grabbed his shoulder to check if he was alright.

  My hand touched his shoulder. No response. Turning him onto his back, I saw nothing. A massive hole gaped in his chest, like someone had pressed down and cracked part of an eggshell. His head wasn't where it should have been.

  Shock paralyzed me: the man I'd just been talking to simply died in an instant. Thoughts flooded in, and I lost all bearings.

  At some point, training kicked in and I pulled myself together, clearing my mind of excess thoughts. My hands automatically reached for my weapon and radio to report the incident.

  When I turned, something soft brushed my face. Fur? Made no sense how it got here. The smell of damp wool hit my nostrils. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming or losing my mind.

  Before me stood a powerfully built figure. Broad shoulders and an imposing frame hidden beneath a heavy fur coat of dark pelt.

  He wore a formal deep blue vest that hugged his massive chest, and a perfectly pressed shirt with a high collar. Trousers fit snugly against his legs, with black shoes completing the ensemble. He looked almost human, but...

  I couldn't see a face, just emptiness. Maybe because it was dark? But no: I'd already put on my NVGs, and still nothing. There was a helmet, its contours following the shape of cheekbones, with a flat top like a hat.

  One shot, then another. Both hit the figure's chest. But he didn't even flinch. Not a single mark on his body—no blood, no bullet holes.

  Body armor? No, this is something else.

  I aimed higher. My finger trembled on the trigger, and the shot went wide. The stranger deflected the rifle barrel with a single hand motion...

  Immediately after, he grabbed me so I couldn't move. From the faceless being came a voice like poison:

  From the faceless being came a voice like poison:

  "S'kharis zhol'kathor, ankar ven miraf.”

  His intonations shifted as if weaving a spell.

  His intonations shifted as if weaving a spell.

  “Thal Karim, need a face. Kor'ath sha, need knowledge. Give them to me. Need blood for restoration.”

  As he spoke, searing pain erupted in my chest. My heart seemed to pull downward, beating even faster.

  The world before my eyes began to blur. Each breath came with difficulty, as if the air had turned to thick sludge. A howl rang in my ears, drowning out everything except that terrible voice. It penetrated my mind like venom, poisoning every thought.

  Strength drained quickly, legs buckling, and consciousness began slipping away like sand through fingers. Pain gave way to an icy void that consumed everything inside.

  In the final surge of awareness, shadows and unclear shapes flickered before my eyes, then darkness swallowed everything.