Edinburgh, Southern Base Camp;
Perspective Dr. Langston Perry.
"We need a plan!" Langston sneered, tossing the sergeant's words back like a punch. More like you need a freakin' clue, he thought, posted up by a smashed barricade that looked like a truck ran it over. His eyes sliced through the mess. Cu Sith tore soldiers up like they were nothing. Kelpies sucked guys into slimy pits, loving the panic. It was a total shitshow. The soldiers, with all their big talk, were just meat. They were yelling, bleeding, dying in ways anybody with half a brain saw coming. He flexed his hand. The gauntlet growled low. Its golden wires jumped like busted cables ready to spark and torch something.
"Idiots," Langston muttered, voice tight and snappy, mostly for himself. He fiddled with the gauntlet, amping it up. "Kids playing war, crying when the wolves bite. Lame as hell."
Smoke and blood stunk up the air. Langston didn't care. His brain was ripping the scene apart. Enemy moves, weak spots, the soldiers' half-assed plan was crashing and burning. He grinned as a squad ran right into a kelpie's trap. Morons. No tears from him. They blew off his advice, so this was their fault.
"Langston! Breach on the west side," Scotty hollered, voice cutting through the noise. Langston didn't respect many folks. Scotty's fire magic and battle smarts got a pass. For now.
Langston spun. Wires flicked out with a mean buzz. "A breach? Or your guys just sucking at their jobs?" he snapped, words sharp, but he was already moving. Not 'cause he gave a damn about the dead. Messes like this pissed him off, like nails on a chalkboard.
Euphrates jogged up. Water magic bubbled around some retreating grunts. "Langston, quit the bitching. Fix it," she said, straight-up pro. He gave her a glare that could melt steel but kept quiet. She got shit done. That's what counted.
The breach was a disaster. Cu Sith poured through the fog like ghost-dogs from hell. Some were incorporeal, slipping through bullets like smoke. They shredded a barricade some idiot slapped together. Langston raised his gauntlet. Wires shot out with a hard crack, lashing like they were out for blood. Four caught a Cu Sith's neck, wrapping tight. The fifth got chomped by another mutt. No biggie. He squinted. Lightning blasted through the wires, bright as a flash in the sludge. The juice fried the dogs' hides. Wires squeezed harder. He yanked. Four heads popped off, splatting in the mud like a cheap horror flick. The last wire zapped its mutt stiff, then cut it into chunks. Burnt hair and meat stank up the place.
"Next," Langston said, cold as ice. He nodded at Euphrates. "Flood that gap. Let 'em drown if they're dumb enough." He stepped back, messing with his gauntlet, brain already on the next move. Precision. Control. That's it. Not the bodies or the crying. Just noise.
Langston wiped sweat off his brow, the stink of burnt hair and meat still clogging his nose. The breach was sealed, but the fight wasn't over. Beyond the barricade, Cu Sith howled like a pack of demons, their green eyes glowing through the fog. Dozens of 'em, maybe more, clawing at the wood and wire, ready to tear through. Soldiers lined the edge, rifles cracking, bullets ripping into the horde. Most shots missed. Those ghost-dogs moved too damn fast, dodging like they knew where the lead was going. Some were incorporeal, and the ammo just went right through them. A few went down, yelping, but the rest kept coming, snapping jaws and claws shredding the outer defenses.
"Keep firing, you idiots!" Langston yelled, his gauntlet sparking as he climbed a broken crate for a better look. The soldiers were shaky, faces pale, but they held the line, pouring rounds into the swarm. Langston flicked his wrist. Wires snaked through the air like pissed-off vipers. Three hit a Cu Sith mid-leap, wrapping its legs. He sent a jolt through, frying it till it twitched and dropped, smoking. Another wire caught a second mutt's throat, yanking it down. The beast thrashed, but Langston twisted his hand, slicing it clean in half. Guts spilled, black and steaming in the cold.
"Nice trick, but we're still screwed!" Scotty shouted, flames bursting from his hands. He torched a Cu Sith that got too close, its fur blazing as it screamed. The fire lit up the fog, showing more dogs circling, waiting for a gap.
Langston snorted. "Then do something useful, fireboy." He scanned the chaos, spotting Euphrates by the tanks. She was knee-deep in kelpie sludge, black and sticky, the stuff that burned skin and stank like death. The tanks were stuck, half-sunk, their crews cursing inside. Euphrates raised her hands, face tight with focus. Water magic swirled, pulling the toxic muck away from the tanks like peeling skin off a rotten fruit. The sludge fought back, bubbling and hissing, but she twisted her fingers, forcing it to slide downhill. It left a crater, but the tanks started moving, tracks grinding.
"Get those guns up!" Euphrates yelled, her voice cutting through the noise. The tank crews didn't waste time. Barrels swung toward the forest, where kelpies lurked, their slimy forms slinking between trees. The first tank fired, a deafening boom that shook the ground. A kelpie exploded into chunks. Toxic blood, mud, and flesh sprayed like a busted pipe. The mess rained into the forest, splattering trees and sizzling where it hit. Another tank fired, then a third. Kelpie parts flew, huge globs of black goo and meat landing with wet slaps. The air stank worse now, like a sewer mixed with roadkill.
"Hell yeah!" a soldier shouted, pumping his fist. But the Cu Sith didn't quit. They surged, using the kelpie carnage as cover, leaping over the barricade. Langston's wires whipped out, catching two mid-air. He zapped 'em, bodies jerking like broken toys before they hit the dirt. Soldiers fired, bullets tearing into the pack, but some dogs broke through, tackling a grunt. His scream cut off as jaws crunched bone.
Euphrates wasn't done. She spotted the kelpie sludge creeping back, poisoning the ground where soldiers stood. Her hands glowed blue. She pulled clean water from the air, shaping it into a spinning wall. It slammed into the sludge, washing it away like a fire hose on paint. The toxic crap bubbled, then scattered, turning into harmless mud. She didn't stop. She threw out her arms, sending water sprays into the Cu Sith. One dog got blasted, pinned to a tree, howling till it collapsed. Another took a spray to the face, dropping dead.
"Keep it up, water girl!" Langston shouted, half-mocking, but he was impressed. He sent his wires after a kelpie crawling from the woods, its body half-blown but still moving. The wires wrapped its neck, lightning cooking it until it burst, more toxic chunks flying. Soldiers grinned, but Langston shook his head. "Don't get cocky. More's coming."
Scotty blasted another Cu Sith, flames eating its hide. "We can't sit here forever!" he yelled. The barricade creaked, more dogs clawing at it. Bullets and magic kept 'em back, but the pack wasn't shrinking. Euphrates shaped a water shield, blocking a kelpie's lunge, then crushed it with a wave that smashed it into goo. The tanks kept firing, kelpie guts raining down, the forest turning into a slaughter pit.
The forest went dead quiet. Too damn quiet. Just like the cliché always says. Langston never got why people used clichés, but now he did. Everyone froze, ears straining, hearing only far-off fighting from other camps. Scotty started barking orders. Patch barricades, beef up buildings. Radio was silent, no reply, just static. "Fuck! Thought we'd cleaned this place out before we left. Sergeant, what went wrong? Euphrates, check those tanks, keep 'em ready!" Scotty's head was spinning, juggling too much.
Euphrates nodded, stomping to check the tanks. She cleared more sludge creeping back around their tracks, keeping 'em ready to roll.
The sergeant answered, voice thick with Scottish grit. "Aye, Captain. After ye left, England sent backup. A whole company, 'bout 140 grunts and a major, on American Chinooks. Cu Sith and kelpies smashed 'em hard when they landed. Yanks pulled a .50 cal, ripped some beasts to bits, but the major got his skull bit right off before he could scream."
His jaw tightened. "Second-in-command stepped up quick, got here a couple hours after ye left with the refugees. They figured they'd march to Edinburgh, 'clear the way.' Been fighting since." He nodded toward the far-off noise. "That's likely what's left o' them, sir."
Scotty's blood boiled. "They'd no bloody clue what they were marchin' into, aye?" he growled, not asking. "Fine. We cleared this spot for now. Make it hold, heal up, then we move. Keep hittin' Dreghorn Barracks on the radio. This silence is bad." The sergeant saluted, yelling, "Clean them tank guns! I want 'em ready to blast!"
Sasha was the camp's main healer now. The other medics were out cold or dead. Private Pete, her tagalong, was a clumsy Glasgow kid with more heart than brains. Blond hair, hazel eyes, goofy grin, maybe 19, 20 tops. He stuck to her like a shadow, eating up every word.
"Here, Miss Sasha, got the clean rags!" Pete yelled, nearly face-planting with a pile of supplies. His voice cracked, hyped and loud. Didn't see the chaos, just gawked at Sasha like she was everything.
Sasha, cool as ever, nodded. "Nice work, Pete," she said, steady. "Now grab more antiseptic from the med tent. Don't spill it this time, yeah?"
Pete nodded so hard he almost fell. "Yes, ma'am! Right away!" he squeaked, tripping off. Sasha shook her head, half-smiling, and went back to stitching a soldier.
Langston watched, scoffing. "Private Suck-up," he muttered. Kid was lucky he hadn't stumbled into a kelpie's jaws.
Pete's heart was bigger than his smarts. Sasha liked him for it, even in this hell. He flashed her a dorky grin before bolting. She sighed, focusing on the soldier. No time for that.
Langston paced like a caged mutt. "We gotta move, now. That Nuckelavee, I can scan it from here." His gauntlet beeped, a hologram popping up:
System Scan: Nuckelavee
Description:
Height: 10 meters.
Appearance: Skinless body with visible black veins and muscle. Horse-like form with an eyeless skull head. Emits a rotting smell. Hooves produce a plague-like substance.
Statistics:
Strength: 76. High physical power.
Constitution: 63. Strong endurance.
Dexterity: 39. Moderate agility.
Intelligence: 28. Low problem-solving ability.
Wisdom: 19. Limited awareness.
Fortune: 14. Low luck factor.
Skills:
Plague Breath: Releases toxic mist. Causes boils and blisters on skin. Prolonged exposure may damage internal organs and brain, leading to death.
Back Kick: Strong kick with rear legs. Can break bones.
Horrifying Aura: Creates fear effect. May cause weaker beings to panic, freeze, or faint.
"Ain't supposed to reach this far," Langston said, "but it's kicking out so much aura it's drowning everything else." He jabbed a finger at Euphrates. "We need to cut the source of its reinforcements. That means…"
Euphrates blinked. "Uh, that means…" She stared north, then shrugged. Langston groaned. "For fuck's sake, it means we gotta hit that portal while the Nuck's stuck in Robert's moat."
Scotty frowned. "That's miles off. And it's spitting out more of these bastards every second. We move now, or this camp's done." Sasha walked up, wiping sweat. Pete trailed, yapping. "You're so awesome, Sasha, thanks a ton. The stuff you do is wild. Can you teach me? I'd love to just touch someone and make 'em feel good." Pete froze, red as hell, catching his dumb slip.
Sasha shot Scotty a stiff smile. Scotty barked, "Private Pete, sort the med supplies, bring the useful stuff up front." Pete glanced at Sasha. She ignored him. "NOW!" Pete jumped, saluted, and bolted. Sasha eased up. "Nice kid, but damn, he's got it bad. When we leaving?"
Langston answered, "Now. Let's move, before we waste all our protection on this choke point. We absolutely are going for that Portal. There's no point fighting here if they just keep pouring out of that portal to hell."