Fourteen: IT guy and the Gunslinger. 

Next chapter update will be on Friday 28th March.

***********

Mark was a giant even among giants, built like an ancient oak—broad, towering, and seemingly immovable. Even among the True and Half-Bloods, his size was unmatched. Yet, in that moment, he felt small. Not in the physical sense, but in a way that gnawed at the edges of his confidence, a sensation he hadn't experienced since childhood: utter diminishment. 

It wasn't fear. It wasn't even self-doubt. It was the sheer, overwhelming awareness of his inadequacy. He, the self-proclaimed protector of the Enforcer, was meant to be Sawyer's shield. And yet, here they were—Sawyer, a human who, mere hours ago, had no concept of magic, was proving himself far less helpless than Mark had anticipated. Even now, the younger man struggled to grasp the intricacies of "magic frequency," a concept Mark had learned to navigate with surprising ease. But deep down, Mark knew the truth: Sawyer didn't need his protection nearly as much as he had assumed. 

Another deafening gunshot tore through the cavernous space, reverberating off the jagged walls. A Kamalian, its grotesque, sinewy form lunging toward them, crumpled mid-air, collapsing to the ground in a lifeless heap. Its long, black tongue lolled from its maw, twitching once before falling still. 

The stench in the tunnels was unbearable—thick, cloying, and heavy with the sickeningly sweet yet putrid scent of Kamalian corpses. It clung to Mark's skin, worming its way into his lungs. He hated that he was growing accustomed to it. 

"Sawyer!" he called out, voice strained. 

From the darkness ahead, two more Kamalians rounded the corner, their glowing eyes locking onto their prey. Their movements were slow at first, deliberate, relishing the chase. Then, in a burst of raw speed, they charged. 

Sawyer, unflinching, lifted his firearm with an unsettling calm. A sharp crack split the air. The first Kamalian's head snapped back, a clean hole between its hollow eyes. The second creature snarled, lunging with razor-sharp claws extended. Sawyer ducked, the air whistling as the talons missed him by inches. In a fluid motion, he twisted, raised his weapon, and fired upwards. The bullet tore through the Kamalian's jaw, silencing it instantly. 

Mark stood frozen for a beat, his mind racing to catch up. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?" he asked, disbelief lacing his voice. 

Sawyer barely spared him a glance as he ejected the empty magazine, checked his remaining rounds, and slid in a fresh clip. "My mom used to take me to the shooting range when I was a kid," he replied matter-of-factly. 

Mark blinked. "Your mom?" 

"Yeah. She believed in being prepared." 

Mark opened his mouth to respond but stopped short as a new sound reached his ears. A low, guttural growl echoed from behind them, a dark promise of what was to come. 

Sawyer met his gaze. "So… what's next?" 

Mark barely had time to process the question before the answer came in the form of clawed feet pounding against the stone. More Kamalians. Dozens of them. 

"We run," Mark said. 

They turned and bolted down the narrow tunnel, their boots kicking up sand as the beasts shrieked and thundered behind them. The walls trembled, dust spilling from cracks in the ceiling. 

"I have an idea," Sawyer said between breaths, his hand trailing along the rough stone wall as if searching for something. 

Mark shot him a wary glance. "I'm not going to like your idea, am I?" 

Sawyer exhaled sharply. "No, not really." 

Mark barely had time to react before a Kamalian, larger than the others, burst through the tunnel wall in a violent explosion of dust and debris. The creature materialized right beside him, its grotesque face twisted in a snarl. 

Mark screamed, instincts overriding reason as he threw up his arms to shield himself. But before the Kamalian could sink its claws into him, a gunshot rang out. 

The beast jerked violently, a single bullet lodged deep in its chest. Its glowing eyes dimmed, its snarl frozen in place before it collapsed in a lifeless heap. 

Mark, still breathing hard, turned to see Sawyer lowering his gun. The younger man's expression was unreadable, but his steady grip on the weapon spoke volumes. 

Mark swallowed hard. "I owe you one." 

Sawyer smirked slightly. "You'll probably owe me a few more before this is over." 

From the depths of the tunnel, the Kamalians screamed. 

They weren't done yet.

"Don't tell anyone that happened," Mark managed to stammer, his chest heaving from adrenaline and fear. 

Sawyer, his expression deadly serious, gave a single, firm nod. "Got it." His eyes darted around, scanning the rough cavern walls as if calculating something. "Now, do you have any… exploding devices?" 

Mark blinked, his face twisting with disbelief. "Exploding devices?" 

"Yes, something that goes boom," Sawyer replied quickly, his voice tight with urgency. "I need to blow something up." 

Mark's brows shot up. "Blow something—what for?" His voice carried both confusion and alarm. 

Sawyer's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on a section of the rock wall. "To block that off," he said flatly. 

Mark followed his line of sight, and his face drained of color. "Hell no, Sawyer! If you blow that, you'll trap us inside! We don't even know how stable this tunnel is—" 

Before he could finish, the wall to their right exploded inward with a deafening crack. A Kamalian, its jagged limbs thrashing, burst through the debris. Both men dove to the ground, the sting of flying sand and sharp rock biting at their skin. 

Mark scrambled to his feet, his boots slipping slightly on the sandy floor. His voice was sharp, urgent. "Do you have to blow something up right now?" 

"Yes!" Sawyer barked, his eyes wide with determination. "So, do you have one or not?" 

Mark's lips pressed into a thin line, his hesitation palpable. "I… I actually have two spare light grenades in my vest," he admitted, his voice tight with reluctance. 

Sawyer's head snapped toward him. "A glow stick earlier, and now a grenade? What the hell are you, Mark?" His voice teetered between exasperation and disbelief. 

"A well-planned, slightly haphazard IT guy," Mark shot back, his breath ragged as they sprinted down the corridor. 

His trembling fingers fumbled inside his tactical vest, producing a grenade that looked nothing like what Sawyer had expected. The matte black sphere was angular, covered in tiny buttons, glowing symbols, and a digital display that pulsed faintly with blue numbers. 

"The red button is the IDB, the green one is the DDB, and the yellow is the VADB," Mark rattled off quickly, his voice strained with tension as they ran. 

Sawyer shot him a sideways glance. "What?" 

"Immediate Denegation Button, Delayed Denegation Button, and Voice Activated Denegation Button!" Mark clarified in a single breath. "Your pick, Enforcer boy!" 

Sawyer's eyes flicked back to the snarling Kamalians, whose claws scraped and cracked against the stone floor, rapidly closing the gap. "How long's the delay?" 

Mark's voice came out a little too high-pitched. "Twenty to thirty seconds—depends on the, uh… mood of the grenade." 

Sawyer nearly stumbled. "Mood of the grenade?!" His voice was laced with disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you SCM guys? Who the hell programs a grenade to have moods?" 

Mark threw his arms up. "I don't know! Something about international regulations or safety protocols!" 

Sawyer's voice hit a near-shout, panic meeting frustration. "Who makes these bullshit regulations?" 

"You did!" Mark yelled, his voice cracking under pressure. "Now are you throwing it or what? We're about to be—" 

A piercing shriek from behind cut him off. The Kamalians had spread out, attempting to flank them. The tunnel ahead narrowed into a choke point. 

Without another word, Sawyer slammed his thumb onto the green button and hurled the grenade ahead of them. It clattered against the rocky floor and began to pulse with a low, ominous hum. 

Sawyer's arm shot out toward Mark, his palm up in silent demand. "Second one. Now!" 

Mark's hands, shaking with nerves, fumbled to pull out the other grenade. "What are you—" 

"Creating a path for us," Sawyer cut in sharply. "First one blows them back, second one seals them off." 

Mark hesitated, his fingers clenching around the sphere. His instincts screamed against it—trapping themselves could be suicide. 

But the look in Sawyer's eyes was cold and certain. 

With a shaky exhale, Mark dropped the second grenade into Sawyer's hand. 

Sawyer didn't waste a second. His thumb pressed the yellow button. The grenade's surface flickered, and a crisp, synthetic voice spoke from within: 

"Please register a denegation keyword." 

Sawyer's lips curled into a grim smile. "Boom." 

The grenade pulsed once—registering the command. 

The Kamalians shrieked. 

"Successful. Please ensure to be within hearable distance—" the synthetic voice began. 

Sawyer, however, didn't wait for the full instructions. His focus had already shifted, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as the grenade's internal hum reached a critical pitch. 

The first grenade detonated. 

The explosion tore through the sandy corridor with a deafening BOOM, the shockwave slamming into them like a wall of force. The ground quaked violently beneath their feet, and cracks splintered across the cavern walls, sending chunks of rock cascading down. 

A gaping hole burst open ahead, the force carving a jagged opening through the unstable stone. Without hesitation, Sawyer grabbed Mark's arm and plunged forward, dragging him into the yawning breach. 

Mid-air, Sawyer's hand flung back, hurling the second grenade. 

"Boom!" he shouted again, his voice barely cutting through the roar of destruction. 

The second explosion followed instantly, a powerful shockwave chasing them as they fell. The air burned with the metallic tang of shattered stone and the sickening, high-pitched screams of the Kamalians caught in the blast. Their inhuman screeches—full of agony and rage—echoed chaotically in the cavern, then fell disturbingly silent. 

The floor beneath Sawyer and Mark crumbled completely, giving way into a deeper cavern below. Their bodies spun uncontrollably through the air, the world reduced to a disorienting blur of darkness and dust. 

Then—PFFFFT!—Mark's tactical vest triggered, deploying a small, bright-orange emergency airbag with a sharp hiss. The balloon, no larger than a beach ball, slowed their descent just enough to save their bones. They hit the sandy ground hard but intact, the impact softened by the cushion. 

They lay sprawled on the cool, gritty floor, both men gasping for air, their chests heaving from exertion. The acrid scent of scorched rock and Kamalian flesh filled the cavern, and thin streams of sand rained down from the shattered ceiling above. 

"So…" Mark wheezed, his voice cracking from the dust clogging his throat. "What now?" 

Sawyer rolled onto his back, his eyes staring blankly at the crumbling ceiling. "I have no idea," he replied flatly, his tone deadpan with exhaustion. 

**********

Elsewhere…

Sarah was thriving. 

Perhaps "enjoying" wasn't the right word, but the raw, primal satisfaction coursing through her veins was undeniable. It had been years since she'd let loose like this. For far too long, she had fought with restraint, holding back the parts of herself that were dangerous, unrelenting, and merciless. 

But not today. 

Her twin daggers—once pristine—were now slick with thick, viscous green blood. The sharp metallic scent, mixed with the Kamalians' foul musk, filled the air. She stood amidst a macabre tapestry of carnage: Kamalian corpses lay dismembered at her feet—some missing heads, others cleaved entirely in half. 

Her chest rose and fell steadily, her breath measured despite the battle. She was not tired—no, she was alive. 

A few surviving Kamalians remained, their monstrous eyes wide, flickering with something alien yet unmistakable: fear. They had stopped their advance, forming a loose, uncertain perimeter around her, their movements wary and slow. 

Sarah's grip on her daggers loosened slightly, the hilts warm from her palms. A slow, satisfied smirk curled her lips. Her tail, long and sleek, swayed lazily behind her—almost playful. 

The daggers in her hands, glinting with a cold, ethereal light, were deadly works of art. The long, curved blades, forged from a shimmering metal that seemed both silver and moonlight, reflected the cavern's dim glow. Their edges, honed to a wicked sharpness, seemed capable of slicing through reality itself. 

The hilts—dark, polished wood inlaid with intricate, ancient runes—spoke of craftsmanship from an era long forgotten. Wing-shaped guards, delicate and regal, flared from each hilt, as though the weapons themselves were predatory creatures with their own souls. 

Her stance—fluid, powerful, and unshakable—exuded an aura that made the creatures hesitate. She was not prey. She was the predator. 

A voice, guttural and dripping with venom, shattered the tense silence. 

"Why are you doing this, female warriorssss?" 

The creature that spoke emerged from the cluster—a Kamalian, larger than the others. Its body was a grotesque fusion of muscle and spiked chitin, but its eyes... its eyes burned with intelligence. Male, from the tone and bearing, his voice carried a thick, sibilant hiss, like air escaping from a punctured tire. 

Sarah's eyes narrowed, but her smirk remained. "You tried to eat me firstssss," she replied mockingly, her voice curling into the same serpentine hiss, throwing their speech patterns back at them with a taunting edge. 

The Kamalian's dark lips curled slightly, revealing jagged, yellowed fangs. "No…" it hissed, its head tilting, the motion oddly predatory. "We hunted the flesh-walkerssss. You were to be kept… for other purposessss…" 

Its eyes flicked over her form, lingering in a way that made her skin crawl—not with fear, but with disgust. 

Her fingers tightened on her daggers, and her tail lashed once behind her—a sharp, warning snap. 

Her voice dropped, cold and sharp. "What purposessss?" 

The question was more of a challenge than a request for information. 

The surrounding Kamalians flinched at the venom in her tone, their primal instincts screaming at them to retreat. The tips of her blades dipped, the ethereal silver glowing faintly, but the promise they held was unmistakable: they would taste blood again—soon. 

The male Kamalian did not answer immediately. 

Instead, his thin lips stretched into something that could almost—almost—be called a smile. 

And he hissed softly: 

"Wouldn't you like to know…?" 

"It wasn't my idea! You were supposed to be captured for breeding strong warriorssss onlyssss. Please forgive ussss and leavesss," the male Kamalian blurted out, his wide, unblinking eyes filled with desperation. His thick, forked tongue flicked nervously, tasting the tension in the air. His claws twitched as though he was ready to bolt, but his trembling legs kept him rooted in place. 

"Me? A breeding farm?!" Sarah's voice dripped with incredulity, her pupils narrowing to sharp slits. The suggestion alone made her blood boil. Her tail thrashed once against the ground, a sharp thud reverberating through the cavern.

"Please," the Kamalian hissed, lowering his body submissively, "you can take the flesh walkerssss and go. No more bloodsss needsss to be ssshed."

A deafening boom suddenly shook the cavern, cutting off the creature's plea mid-sentence. The blast sent a shockwave through the air, dislodging dust and fragments of rock from the ceiling above. The earth trembled beneath Sarah's feet. 

Her body tensed instantly. Instinct took over as her scales rippled in warning. She spun toward the source of the explosion, eyes flashing with alarm. "Sawyer?!" she hissed, her voice sharp and filled with urgency.

Before she could gather her bearings, something massive and unyielding struck her side. The impact was brutal—like being hit by a sledgehammer. She was flung across the cavern, her armored body crashing against the jagged rock wall with a sickening *crack*. Pain exploded through her ribs, and a strained gasp escaped her lips. 

The world around her blurred briefly, her vision swimming as she struggled to shake off the impact. 

Blinking rapidly, she lifted her head, her gaze locking onto her attacker—a hulking Kamalian wielding a twisted metal bar, its jagged edges glinting ominously in the dim cavern light. The creature hissed, its lips curling back to reveal rows of needle-like teeth, its forked tongue flicking hungrily. 

Sarah's gaze dropped, and her stomach clenched at the sight—warm blood, *her blood,* slicked her side, oozing from a deep gash that cut between her ribs. The scent of her own coppery lifeblood filled her nostrils, and something primal—ancient—ignited within her. 

The pain was secondary now. What mattered was they had made her bleed.

A slow, vicious smile curled across her lips as she tightened her grip around her daggers. Her voice was a low, guttural growl as her eyes burned with seething fury. 

"You're all dead."

The surrounding Kamalians erupted into guttural laughter—a cruel, mocking chorus that echoed through the cavern. Their confidence oozed from every hiss and click.

"You are bleedingsss," one jeered, its yellow eyes narrowing with twisted glee. "And our great warrior, Lord Tail-Sssswinger, has arrived. You are assss good assss dea—"

Shlkk!

The Kamalian's words ended with a wet, gurgling choke as its severed head thudded to the cavern floor. A heartbeat later, its body collapsed beside it, twitching in the dirt. 

The surrounding creatures froze, their laughter dying instantly. Their wide, bulbous eyes flicked toward Sarah in collective disbelief. 

Her daggers still hissed with fresh blood, and her grin had widened into something feral. 

"I was going easy on you before." Her voice, cold and edged with venom, echoed through the cavern. She slammed her tail hard against the earth with a reverberating thump. Dust scattered upward like a warning. 

"But now…" Her eyes narrowed, her body coiled like a predator ready to strike. 

"I'm pissed."

The cavern erupted into chaos as the Kamalians lunged forward, driven by panic and desperation. 

Sarah met them head-on, her movements a deadly symphony. She was fluid and unstoppable—a whirlwind of silver blades and snapping fangs. Her daggers flashed like lightning, carving through limbs and slicing through torsos with impossible precision. Kamalian shrieks and the wet splatter of ichor painted the air around her. 

One lashed at her side with razor-sharp claws, but they scraped harmlessly off her scales, leaving only a dull scratch. 

She laughed, her voice carrying over the slaughter. "Is that all?" she taunted, twisting, her tail whipping into another attacker and sending it crashing into the cavern wall with a bone-crunching crack. 

"You can't even pierce my scales. Just lay down and die," she sneered, her words venom-laced as she severed another Kamalian's throat in a spray of green ichor. 

A sudden shriek pierced the carnage. 

"She—She's a monster!" a Kamalian wailed, terror contorting its voice. It turned to flee, scrambling wildly toward the tunnel. "A monster!" it screamed, warning others, its claws scrabbling against the stone floor.

Sarah's dagger whistled through the air, a silver streak of death. It embedded itself with a wet thunk between the creature's shoulder blades, pinning it to the ground mid-sprint. The Kamalian convulsed, claws twitching feebly as life fled from its body. 

"Where do you think you're going, lad?" Sarah purred, her voice smooth and dripping with cruelty as she stalked forward. 

"The fun's just begun."

The few remaining Kamalians hesitated, their primal instincts warring with their will to survive. Their eyes flicked between each other, their bodies tense, trembling on the edge of fight or flight. 

Sarah's tail lashed out suddenly, coiling around a Kamalian's waist and yanking it into her grasp. Before it could scream, she sank her venomous fangs into its neck. 

The creature's body jerked violently, its muscles spasming uncontrollably as her venom worked through its system—paralysis, then death. She let its lifeless form drop to the blood-soaked ground with a dull thud. 

Another Kamalian lunged from behind, claws aiming for her face. 

Sarah whipped around, catching the creature's arm mid-strike and twisting. The snap of breaking bone was like music to her ears. The creature screeched in agony, but its cry was swiftly silenced as she drove her dagger deep into its spine, feeling the shudder of its body as life drained away. 

Pausing, she flicked her hair back, a smear of green blood streaking her cheek. 

The cavern had fallen into an eerie silence, broken only by the soft drip of ichor and the rasp of her breath. 

Sarah's lips curled once more as she surveyed the carnage—piles of broken bodies, severed limbs, and the acrid stench of death. 

Her chest heaved, her ribs throbbing, and her hair was slightly disheveled—but her eyes… 

Her eyes blazed with primal satisfaction. 

Her voice, a soft and silken threat, echoed into the terrified emptiness: 

"Who's next?"

**********

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Mark demanded, his voice rising, cracking under the strain of panic. His breathing was fast and shallow, his eyes darting to the shifting, sandy wall behind them. The groaning, gurgling sounds from the other side had grown louder—a chorus of hunger and fury. 

The Kamalians were relentless. Their claws scraped and pounded at the makeshift barricade, grains of sand cascading from its surface with each impact. The thin wall wouldn't hold for long. 

"I'm trying to think," Sawyer replied evenly, his voice unsettlingly calm, almost meditative. He sat cross-legged in the corner of the cavern, eyes closed, his hands resting loosely on his knees. His breathing was slow, controlled, and deep, as if he were in a yoga class instead of facing certain death. 

Mark's frustration boiled over. He waved the dim green glow stick wildly in front of Sawyer's face, its pale, sickly light casting strange, flickering shadows on the sandy walls. His voice was tight with disbelief as he snapped, "What are you doing?" 

Without opening his eyes, Sawyer answered, his voice distant, almost airy: "Trying to connect with my past lives… or something." 

Mark's brow furrowed deeply, his lips pulling back in a sneer. "Your past lives?" he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. 

Sawyer gave a slight, serene nod. "Yeah. Maybe one of them knows how to get out of this mess." 

Mark's face twisted with incredulity. His voice was heavy with sarcasm as he shot back, "You mean… one of those same dudes who sent you here to die in the first place?" 

Sawyer's eyes fluttered open, and he tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. "You know, when you put it like that…" he muttered, pushing himself to his feet and dusting sand from his pants. "Maybe that's a bad idea." 

The cavern trembled slightly under another impact, grains of sand trickling down like a mocking hourglass counting their doom. Sawyer's lips pressed into a thin line. His pulse quickened, but he forced his mind to focus. There had to be another way. 

Magic. 

The word rang through his thoughts like a whisper from somewhere buried in his soul. He was supposed to be able to do something, right? Teleportation, maybe? He had heard the stories—people like him always figured out something insane at the last second. It was practically a rule. 

He clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut. His jaw tightened, and his body grew rigid with concentration. He pictured an escape—anywhere but here. 

Jasson. Basco. Riverdale. Familiar places flashed through his mind—safe places. He felt the pulse of his heartbeat in his ears. If he could just— 

"You look like you're taking a dump. A really big one."

Mark's voice broke through, laced with humor despite their impending doom. 

Sawyer's eyes snapped open, his concentration fracturing into a thousand useless pieces. 

"Shut up!" he barked, his cheeks burning with frustration. 

Mark raised his hands, mock innocence on his face. "Hey, relax, I'm just saying—" 

"Just shut up," Sawyer growled, his voice tight with irritation and fear. 

Something in his tone struck Mark, and the amusement faded from his face. He fell silent, swallowing hard as the oppressive tension of the cavern closed around them. 

The only sounds were their own breaths—Mark's shallow and quick, Sawyer's slow and measured—and the unnerving chorus of Kamalian claws on sand, growing more frenzied with each passing second. 

A sudden silence. 

The scraping stopped. 

Mark's chest heaved as he whispered, "What's happening?" His voice was barely audible, trembling with the dread of the unknown. 

Sawyer's voice was low, his body taut with anticipation. "I have no idea." 

A thunderous BOOM shattered the stillness. 

The cavern shook violently as if something massive had struck the wall with all its might. Dust rained from above, and cracks spiderwebbed through the ceiling. 

Mark stumbled back, his voice cracking as he yelled, "What was that?" 

Sawyer's arm shot out, steadying himself against the wall as he pulled his firearm free from its holster in one smooth motion. His eyes were sharp, tracking the source of the sound. 

"I have no idea," he repeated, his voice tense, his gaze locked ahead, finger resting just outside the trigger guard. 

A second BOOM! 

The wall buckled inward, the sand caving in like a dam about to burst. 

A third. 

The impacts came in rapid succession now—BOOM! BOOM!—like a monstrous battering ram slamming closer and closer, shaking the earth beneath their feet. 

The wall exploded. 

A blur of scales and sinew burst through the collapsing barrier, and before Sawyer could fire a shot, it was on him. 

The impact was devastating. His body was sent flying backward, his firearm spinning from his grasp and clattering uselessly against the cavern floor. He hit the ground hard, the air driven from his lungs in a gasping whoosh. His vision sparked, his ribs screaming in agony. 

"Sawyer!" Mark's scream was raw, primal, and filled with terror. 

Without thinking, Mark charged at the creature, his massive frame lunging forward. But the beast was impossibly fast. A scaly appendage lashed out, catching Mark's leg mid-kick. 

A sickening snap and he was yanked off his feet. His large body slammed to the ground with a punishing thud that rattled his bones. The breath was knocked clean from his chest, and pain exploded through his spine. 

The creature loomed over them both, the dust settling enough to reveal a familiar, predatory figure. 

A voice, cold and laced with satisfaction, cut through the chaos: 

"And you… are dead." 

Sawyer's ears were still ringing from the impact, but he recognized that voice immediately. A low growl, a hint of amusement. 

His lips pressed together in a pained smirk. 

"Sarah." 

From his place on the ground, Mark gasped in disbelief, his voice barely more than a croak. "S-Sarah?" 

The figure crouched low, her serpentine tail flicking the air lazily. Glinting eyes, sharp and cold, met Mark's wide, terrified ones. 

Her lips pulled into a wicked smile, and her voice was velvet laced with venom: 

"That's Commander to you, puny giant." 

Her claws dug lightly into Mark's armor as she leaned in, her grin widening. "You had one job. Protect Sawyer. And how's that going for you?" 

Mark winced, his face contorting in pain as he stammered, "I—I was trying—" 

Sarah's voice dripped with mockery as she tilted her head, her grin sharp and predatory. "Oh, you were doing such a stellar job," she purred, her sarcasm like a blade. 

Her tail tightened around his ankle, pulling him close effortlessly. She brought his face closer, her slit-pupiled eyes burning into his. "So proud of you," she added, her voice thick with condescension. 

A muffled voice broke their exchange. 

"Um… Can you get off me now?"

Both Mark and Sarah turned toward the source. 

Sawyer, still pinned beneath her knee, his voice strained and muffled under her weight. 

A flicker of amusement danced across Sarah's eyes. 

"Oh," she mused, her voice sweet with faux surprise. "Forgot you were down there." 

Her grin widened. 

"My bad." 

"Okay, so can you get off me then?" 

Sarah looked down at him, her lips curling into a wicked grin. 

"No," she replied, her voice dripping with playful malice. The amusement in her tone was unmistakable, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it—a reminder of who she was. 

Sawyer groaned in frustration, his head falling back against the rough, sandy ground with a dull thump. He let his eyes drift shut, ignoring the faint sting of grit beneath his lashes. For a fleeting moment, he sought solace in the darkness behind his eyelids, hoping to drown out the chaos around him. He told himself it was just to clear his head, but the truth was far simpler—he was exhausted, and sleep was calling him like a siren's song. 

A voice pierced the fog of his slipping consciousness. 

"Sawyer." 

He heard Sarah say his name, but he didn't answer. His body felt heavy, his limbs leaden from the strain of battle, and he let the sound of her voice fade into the distance as his awareness began to unravel. 

Then— 

Left.

The word came suddenly, a faint whisper, brushing through his thoughts like a breath of wind. His eyelids fluttered, his brows twitching in confusion. 

Look to your left. The answer is there. 

The voice was clearer this time, and something about it struck a chord deep within him—familiar yet unfamiliar, like a forgotten memory stirring to life. 

His eyes snapped open, his chest rising sharply as he pulled in a quick breath. 

"Do you guys hear anything?" Sawyer asked, his voice slightly hoarse, his gaze flicking around the cavern, searching for something unseen. 

Mark's head jerked toward him, his brow deeply furrowed. "Hear what?" he asked, confusion and concern thick in his voice. 

Sarah, crouched beside Sawyer, tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "I don't hear anything," she said flatly, her tone edged with dismissal but her expression wary. 

As if his sudden shift in behavior had set her on edge. 

Sawyer barely heard them. With a grunt, he rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up with his forearms. The rough grit of the sandy floor bit into his skin, but he ignored it, his focus drawn elsewhere— 

—Left. 

His gaze landed on the cavern wall. Just a wall. Featureless. Cracked stone and sand like every other damn surface in this forsaken place. Yet… something tugged at him. A pull, subtle and intangible, gnawed at his senses. 

Without fully knowing why, he crawled toward it, his palms scraping over coarse rock until his fingers pressed against the wall's cold, rough surface. 

It felt solid. Real. Impenetrable. 

But instinct—or something deeper—whispered that there was more. 

His lips parted as a half-formed thought bubbled up from his subconscious, unbidden but certain. He had read about this somewhere—an old trick for finding hollow spaces behind walls. 

Knock. 

His knuckles met stone with a dull, flat thud. He paused, listening. Nothing. 

A little bit lower, dumbass. 

Sawyer's breath hitched. The voice—clear, sharp, and dripping with impatience—was right there, close, like someone standing directly behind his shoulder. His skin prickled with cold. 

Slowly, he turned his head to glance over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto Mark and Sarah. 

They were both staring at him. 

Mark's face was drawn tight with confusion, his mouth slightly open as if about to speak. Sarah's eyes had narrowed, her sharp gaze scanning him as if searching for signs that he'd finally cracked under the pressure. 

Their silence screamed a single question: 

Had he lost his damn mind?

Sawyer felt a flicker of doubt crawl under his skin. The red desert had been playing tricks on them all—its heat, its isolation—warping time, bending the edges of reality until dreams felt real and reality felt like a nightmare. 

"Lower," the voice snapped, urgent now. "And hurry. They're coming." 

Sawyer stiffened, his pulse quickening. His throat felt dry as he croaked out loud, "Who's coming?" 

No answer. Only the hush of the cavern and the faint crackling of disturbed dust settling around them. 

But something was coming. His instincts screamed it. 

With a muttered curse, Sawyer lowered his hand, his fingertips brushing the sandy base of the wall. The grains were loose and dry, cascading away with each pass of his hand. He knocked again— 

Thump. 

A hollow note. Muffled, but distinct. 

His heart leapt. 

Sarah's voice, edged with concern, broke through his focus. "Sawyer… are you okay?" She was closer now, her cautious movements pressing the sand beneath her boots. 

"Shhh," Sawyer hissed, holding up a hand to silence her. His head tilted slightly, his ear almost to the wall. "Can you hear that?" 

Sarah's eyes narrowed further, a flicker of confusion flashing across her face. "Hear what?" 

Sawyer's voice was low and tight. "There's something—behind the wall. A voice. An echo. Something is there." 

Mark's voice, rich with skepticism and a shaky attempt at humor, broke in. "Well, there you have it. It's officially official—dude's lost it." 

He laughed, but it was a nervous, uncertain sound. The kind of laugh people make when they don't want to admit they're afraid. 

Sawyer didn't waver. His voice sharpened with urgency as he turned to Sarah, locking eyes with her. 

"Sarah. I need you to break through it. That spot." 

Her gaze flicked to the wall, then back to him. Doubt lingered, her jaw tightening. 

But something—maybe his certainty, maybe desperation—made her pause. And in that pause… 

…came trust. 

Sawyer's voice dropped, firm, certain. "Trust me."

The hesitation in her eyes flickered. And then, it was gone. 

With a sharp nod, Sarah's muscles coiled. "Step back." 

Sawyer scrambled clear just as her leg whipped forward, her heel connecting with the wall with a shattering THUD. The impact was thunderous, sending cracks racing like lightning through the surface. 

A cloud of dust exploded outward, filling the air with a choking haze. 

She didn't stop. She struck again—THUD!—a second blow, deeper, the cracks widening, fragments of rock breaking free and clattering to the ground. 

THUD! 

Another. The wall shuddered, groaning under her assault. Sand and debris poured from the fractures like bleeding wounds. 

Then— 

A final, bone-jarring THUD! 

The cavern trembled. 

Sawyer's voice rang out, muffled through the cloud of dust. "Sarah, that's enough!" 

But her answer froze him. 

"That… wasn't me."

Her voice was tight, strained. 

A guttural, wet growl seeped from the darkness beyond the crumbling wall. 

The sound slithered through the thick air—low, primal, and hungry. 

And it was coming closer. 

**********

"I don't like the sound of that," Mark muttered, his voice low and tight with fear. His eyes, wide and unblinking, locked onto the source of the guttural growl. Slowly, he turned, his breath quickening. 

From the shadows, they emerged—Kamalians. 

But these… these were different. 

Larger. Their scales, once deep crimson, now seemed darker, almost blackened, glistening wetly under the cavern's dim light. Their claws—longer, sharper, hooked like scythes—scraped against the stone floor with a nerve-grating screech. 

Their fangs, stained and jagged, flashed as they bared their mouths in a predatory snarl, a sound that was half-growl, half-warning. 

Mark's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. A cold, clammy sweat slicked his face, and his lips parted, but the words came out cracked and trembling. 

"We have to get out of here." His voice wavered, his body stiff with terror. 

Sawyer's eyes flicked across the cavern, his sharp gaze scanning for an exit—any exit. His pulse pounded, and his breaths came short and fast. 

"How?" he shot back, his voice tense. His eyes darted from the Kamalians to the jagged walls around them. "They're blocking the only way out." 

Mark's lips quivered. He stumbled a half-step backward, his voice breaking into a panicked mantra. 

"I don't want to die. I don't want to die." 

The tremor in his voice was raw, primal—the sound of someone too close to the edge. 

"Guys! Look at this!" 

Sarah's voice, sharp and urgent, cut through their rising panic. There was something different in her tone—not fear, but surprise. 

A soft, blue glow illuminated the cavern, casting their surroundings in an otherworldly hue. Shadows danced across the rocky walls, their jagged edges shifting like silent watchers. 

They turned—and froze. 

A Box. 

It stood roughly twenty inches high, a perfect cube, its edges outlined with thin, glowing neon-blue lines. The metallic surface of the box pulsed faintly, as if it were alive, breathing in a steady rhythm. 

Mark's eyes widened in disbelief. Recognition sparked behind them as he rushed forward, his boots scraping against loose stones. He halted just short of touching it, his chest heaving. 

His voice, when it came, was filled with awe. 

"It's… a supply box." 

"A supply box?" Sawyer and Sarah echoed in unison, their disbelief palpable. 

Mark's gaze remained fixed on the box, his voice tight with urgency. "Yeah. I can't explain it, but we need to leave. Now." 

Without another word, he bent and lifted the box— 

—and it came up as if it weighed nothing. 

Sawyer blinked, startled. "What the hell—" 

Mark didn't answer. His eyes were sharp now, his fear battling against something else—instinct. 

"I'll clear a path," Sarah declared, her voice cutting through the tension, cold and certain. 

Her daggers flashed as she drew them, their edges catching the eerie blue light. Her muscles tensed, and her eyes blazed with determination. 

"Close your eyes!" she barked. 

Before they could question her, she struck— 

Her fist smashed into the cavern floor. 

The impact cracked stone and earth, sending a violent cloud of dust surging into the air. The explosion roared through the chamber, disorienting and blinding. 

The Kamalians shrieked, their snarls turning into pained groans. Their reptilian eyes, sensitive and exposed, burned from the thick, choking dust. They thrashed, their claws sweeping wildly through the air in desperate, blind arcs. 

The ground trembled beneath them. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from where Sarah's blow had landed, and with a thunderous crunch—the earth gave way. 

They fell. 

**********

Notes: Crazy chapter but it going well I think ;⁠)

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