11 – The Cost of Survival

The Cost of Survival

The manor's foyer creaked under the weight of silence, dust settling like ash after the operatives' retreat. Liam leaned against the splintered doors, bat in one hand, the empty pistol tucked in his waistband, his mom trembling beside him. The sigils on their skin had faded, the burning anchors severed, but the lullaby lingered—faint, insidious, a promise unfulfilled. Maya sat on the floor, sketchbook open, blood drying on her rune-stained hands. Sofia gripped her wrench, eyes hollow, the fight drained from her. Ethan paced, crowbar dented, his anger a live wire. Noah clutched the journal, glasses askew, his quiet mind churning.

The Watcher was wounded—its scream still echoed in their bones—but not gone. The manor's walls groaned, portraits staring down with warped, accusing eyes. Liam's leg throbbed, the claw wound seeping through his bandage, but he ignored it, scanning the group. They'd survived, barely, and the cost was carved into their faces.

"We cut it off," Maya said, voice raspy, tracing her faded mark. "No pain now."

"For how long?" Ethan snapped, kicking a chair. It skidded, splintering against the wall. "It's still out there—Protocol too. We're sitting ducks."

"Operatives ran," Sofia said, wrench steady despite her shake. "Something spooked them."

"The Watcher," Noah replied, flipping the journal. "Elias says it's tied to the manor's ley line—energy spikes during an eclipse. We disrupted it, but it's not dead."

"Then what?" Liam asked, helping his mom to a dusty couch. Her eyes were glassy, guilt and fear warring. "We wait for round two?"

"We dig deeper," Noah said, tapping a torn page. "The vessel—Elias hints it's human. If it finds one…"

"Us," Maya finished, grim. "We were marked. Maybe still are."

Liam's mom flinched, whispering, "It wanted me… in '98. I ran, but it never left."

Ethan spun, crowbar raised. "You're why we're here! You and your husband—"

"Enough!" Liam barked, stepping between them, bat up. "She's not the Watcher. Back off."

Ethan's jaw tightened, but he lowered the crowbar, turning away. "Fine. Keep your baggage."

Sofia touched Liam's arm, soft but firm. "He's scared, Liam. We all are."

"Scared doesn't mean we turn on each other," he said, voice breaking. "We're all we've got."

A thud echoed—upstairs, heavy, deliberate. The chandelier swayed, crystals clinking, and the lullaby swelled, voices weaving in—Carter's now, raw and pleading. They grabbed weapons, hearts pounding, as footsteps creaked down the stairs—slow, uneven.

"Stay behind me," Liam said, bat raised, his mom clutching his sleeve. The group fanned out, tense, as a figure emerged—not the Watcher, but Carter, bloodied, chest torn, eyes glowing like the possessed.

"Help… me…" he rasped, staggering, then smiled—too wide, wrong. "You can't…"

Liam swung, bat cracking his skull, ichor spraying. The body collapsed, dissolving into shadow, the glow fading. The lullaby laughed, sharp and cold.

"It's using them," Sofia whispered, wrench trembling. "Carter, my abuela…"

"To break us," Maya said, picking up her sketchbook. "Fear's its fuel."

"Then we don't give it any," Liam said, voice steel, though his hands shook. "We need a plan—Protocol's out there, and this thing's not quitting."

Ethan snorted, bitter. "Plan? We're marked, hunted, and your mom's a liability."

"She knows '98," Noah cut in, calm but firm. "She's a lead—Eclipse's weak spot."

Liam's mom looked up, voice small. "They… had a lab. Under the town hall. Your dad found it—said they were testing it."

"Testing?" Liam asked, dread pooling.

"On people," she said, tears falling. "To control it. He broke in, got the others out. That's why he died."

The group stared, the mystery cracking wider. Ethan's anger faltered, replaced by unease. "A lab? That's what the radio meant—containment."

"We need to see it," Maya said, standing, sketchbook tucked under her arm. "Answers—maybe a weapon."

"Operatives will be watching," Sofia warned, wrench steady now. "They ran, but they'll regroup."

"Then we move fast," Liam said, helping his mom up. "Town hall, lab, now."

A growl rumbled—outside, close. The windows rattled, fog pressing, and claw marks scored the glass, slow and deliberate. The lullaby roared, a chorus of their dead—Carter, Liam's dad, Maya's aunt. Creatures skittered in the mist, eyes glinting, waiting.

"Out the back," Liam ordered, bat up. "Car's too loud—woods again."

They slipped through the rear, fog swallowing them, the manor's groan fading. The woods were a maze, branches snapping, the pack stalking. Liam led, his mom stumbling, Maya's knife flashing at shadows, Sofia's wrench ready, Ethan's crowbar swinging, Noah clutching the journal.

A creature lunged—Maya's aunt's face, twisted—claws raking. Liam bashed it, ichor splattering, but more closed in, herding them. Sofia's wrench crushed a skull, Ethan's crowbar thudded, Maya slashed, Noah ducked, breathless. The town hall loomed through the trees—brick, dark, a lifeline.

They burst into the alley, operatives' SUVs gone, but tire tracks fresh. The back door hung ajar, glass shattered from their last break-in. They piled in, barricading with a desk, panting, the pack's growls fading outside.

The basement stairs beckoned, dripping with damp, the hum louder now. Liam's flashlight cut the gloom—cabinets, the radio, a steel door in the corner, sealed tight, marked E.P. Restricted. Ethan pried it with his crowbar, hinges screaming, revealing a tunnel—claustrophobic, concrete, lights flickering.

"Lab's down there," Liam said, voice low, pistol club in hand. "Stay close."

They descended, walls slick, air pulsing with unnatural energy. The tunnel stretched, bending, until it opened into a chamber—sterile, white, machines humming, glass tubes lining the walls, empty but stained with old blood. A console blinked, screens dark, papers scattered—Subject W… containment trials… failure rate 87%.

"Holy hell," Ethan breathed, crowbar slack. "They weaponized it?"

Noah scanned a log, glasses fogging. "Tried to. Elias's ritual—Protocol hijacked it, used people to bind it tighter."

"My dad stopped them," Liam said, voice hollow, clutching the badge. "Died for it."

Sofia's hand shook, wrench up. "Then why's it awake?"

A screen flared—static, then a face: the Watcher, eyeless, smiling. "Because you called…" it rasped, the room shaking. The tubes rattled, shadows pooling, and the lullaby roared—inside them now, inescapable.

"It's here," Maya gasped, sketchbook slipping, blood dripping anew.

Liam spun, bat raised, as the shadows birthed creatures—Carter, their dead, claws gleaming. "Fight!"....