Chapter 15 - The Frozen Choir

Pain.

It radiated through Caleb's body in thick, searing waves. His shoulder screamed from where he'd landed after being hurled across the church floor, and his ribs felt like shattered glass beneath his skin. His breath came in ragged gasps, forming white plumes in the frigid air.

Above him, the monster loomed—massive and obscene. The frozen female corpse had emerged from the snow like a specter of rot and rage. Her upper body was cracked and stiff with frostbite, yet still terribly human. Her face split down the middle, stretching her skull apart with each shriek. And below the waist, there was no humanity—only an array of pale, slick tentacles that writhed and burrowed through the ice like feeding worms.

He tried to stand.

The ground shook as the creature lunged forward.

Tentacles snapped around his legs. Then his arms. Then his chest.

"No—!"

They squeezed, coiling tighter with every second, lifting him effortlessly into the air. Caleb struggled, his limbs bound. The monster drew him close to its warped torso. Its chest began to split down the middle—along with the top of its head—revealing gaping jaws where none should exist. Jagged teeth lined the interior of both wounds, twitching as they prepared to consume him whole.

Caleb froze. The maw widened.

And suddenly, for the first time in days, he was afraid. Not the cold, distant fear of the world outside. This was intimate. Personal. He'd been winning. He'd hunted, traded, buried his enemies. He'd survived. He had believed, foolishly, that he was adapting.

But this?

This was something else. This was death grinning down at him.

The beast dragged him closer. The jagged edges of its chest-mouth glistened with frost and black ichor. He saw his reflection in its glassy eyes, already fading.

His hand twitched. The kukri—it was still strapped to his thigh.

A scream tore from his lungs—not of fear, but of defiance.

With a desperate twist, he jerked his leg upward, grinding the blade's hilt into his palm. He yanked it free, twisted his torso with everything he had, and drove the kukri upward—clean into the creature's face. The blade carved through the right side of its head, severing icy flesh, shattering frozen bone.

A high-pitched shriek exploded from the monster.

The tentacles writhed in sudden chaos, convulsing as the beast flung Caleb away like a rag doll. He crashed into the broken altar, his back scraping stone and ice. The breath was knocked from him. He wheezed, his vision swimming, the pain unbearable.

But he moved.

He forced himself up—bleeding, stumbling, teeth clenched. The monster staggered, now twitching wildly, one side of its face half-missing, the split chest gaping in confusion. Its tentacles lashed erratically, striking columns and benches in blind fury.

Caleb didn't wait. He ducked under one, then rolled past another. Ice cracked beneath his boots. His fingers gripped the kukri so tight his knuckles went white.

As he closed the distance, a tentacle whipped toward him. He pivoted, letting it graze past his back. Another tried to trip him—he leapt, barely clearing it.

And then—he was in range.

He lunged, slamming the kukri into the open wound at the center of its chest, deep into the core where its unnatural life pulsed.

The corpse shuddered violently.

Then silence.

It slumped, collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut. The tentacles froze mid-motion, lifeless. The jaws stopped twitching. The light in its eyes dimmed to nothing.

Caleb stood there, swaying slightly, chest heaving. Blood leaked down his arm. He tasted iron in his mouth. The pain hadn't faded—but the silence, the stillness—it brought a twisted sort of peace.

He'd won.

Barely.

But he was still alive.

And in this world, that mattered more than anything.

End of the 15th chapter.