Lucas stared at the bodies, unbelieving. These two were the last people he'd spoken to the night before. He inspected their corpses—at least, the top halves. The bottom halves were obscured by the body bags covering them. He reached out to lower the covers further, but Austin caught his hand.
"That's enough," Austin said, the faintest quiver barely audible in his voice.
Lucas knew Austin's reaction was justified. He'd caught the slightest glimpse beneath Jonah's cover—just enough to know there were no details to make out. The killer had left them utterly dismembered, no features intact.
They already had two monsters hunting them. Now there was a nameless killer among the group, adding yet another layer of horror.
"Who…" Lucas began, his voice hard and heavy, knowing what was coming.
"This bastard," Austin growled, landing a punch squarely on Jude's jaw.
"It asn ie!"(It wasn't me), Jude sobbed, making no effort to hide his tears. His face was badly swollen, making clear speech nearly impossible.
"He was the last to speak to them. He told everyone to leave, said he wanted 'family time' with his brothers. We found the bodies by the river surrounding the base. Jude had several injuries, clear signs of a struggle. I don't see who else fits the picture—it was obviously him," a red-haired woman said, confidence radiating from her voice.
Lucas approached Jude, pity evident in his eyes. As he drew closer, Jude's eyes widened. He began shaking violently, like an antelope cornered by a lion.
"et aw omi!"(Get away from me!), he screamed repeatedly, the words mangled by fear and injury.
Lucas placed a finger on Jude's face and narrowed his eyes. Jude shook harder, foam beginning to form at the corners of his mouth. He watched the finger from the corner of his eye, his whole body trembling like his soul had been plunged into freezing water. He looked to the others—then to Austin—his eyes pleading for help.
His gaze drifted into the distance, and his convulsions became violent spasms.
"He's having an episode," Lucas said as a younger soldier rushed forward and confirmed it.
"What do we do with him?" the redhead asked.
"Administer first aid. Once he's stable enough to talk, we question him. Greg, Amber—cremate the bodies. Now," Austin ordered.
The crowd began to disperse, leaving only the three he'd addressed. Lucas followed Austin, hoping to talk sense into him.
"What are you planning to do?" Lucas asked, watching Austin pick up his pace.
Austin didn't respond—he just walked faster.
"We need to escape this!" Lucas shouted, gesturing to the sky.
Austin slowed, clenching his fists almost enought to draw blood. Lucas reached out and grabbed his shoulder, but Austin shrugged him off.
"Escape yourself," he said flatly. His tone as hollow as his eyes.
Lucas looked at him, irritated. "I've tried. It's not possible. I think that bastard wants us to work together." He stared up at the sky as he said this—he knew it was listening.
"That's not happening," Austin replied coldly.
Lucas stopped, staring at him in disbelief. "You're a fool," he said, just loud enough for Austin to hear.
"You're wrong. A soldier. A protector. A leader. I'm all of those and more. If that makes me a fool, then I'll die here a fool."
He turned and headed toward the lodge, where most of the soldiers had already gathered.
"There's no convincing that guy," Lucas muttered. He knew Austin's case was hopeless. As long as he lived, he would protect his men—even here, in hell.
Lucas sat on a massive rock and watched them. Some whispered among themselves. Others shot Austin surreptitious glares—presumably members of Jude's group. Austin was speaking to them, addressing them directly. Their current situation was dire, but—excluding the great divide between Austin and Jude—the soldiers had remained surprisingly stoic about their supernatural predicament.
Now that Lucas thought about it, something didn't add up.
No matter how well-trained they were, this kind of madness—monsters, cycling loops—should have broken someone by now. Yet they were all still functioning.
He, a puppet aware of his puppeteer, retained his sanity because of that awareness.
But them—puppets unaware of their fleeting existence—were just as sane. That didn't make sense.
If Austin were thinking clearly, he might have noticed it. But he was letting his past dictate his actions. As long as he lived, he would protect his men. Lucas repeated the thought, then rephrased it: as long as his men lived, he would protect them.
The solution was simple.
If the soldiers were all dead, Austin would have no one left to protect.
These people weren't real. There was a time they had been—but that time had passed. Lucas wondered what memories Austin had made with them before they died. The look on his face when they found Sergeant Alex had said it all.
Lucas knew that strong bonds were forged in the military. He also knew a good leader cared deeply for his men. He didn't know exactly what happened five years ago, but it was clear Austin had survived something he shouldn't have.
Survivor's guilt—that was it. He had led a mission that went wrong. His men died. He, the leader, lived.
Lucas could only imagine the guilt, the regret.
Nyxshade knew all of this—and that's why it used Austin's memories against him.
Lucas, by contrast, didn't have any traumatic memories as an adult. And as for his childhood… he couldn't remember.
But that didn't matter.
He and Austin had to survive this.
Lucas wondered what was happening outside Nyxshade's construct.
How long had they been here?
How was Lily doing?
What had Eve told the others?
He hoped no one had attempted a rescue. If more people came to this floor, what would happen?
The bones he and Austin saw upon entering this hell were warning enough.
Then Lucas tried to ask himself a question—but he didn't finish it. More accurately, he never asked it. It was a thought wasn't thought. That was the best way to describe it.
He held back because his life was now a book—one being read by Nyxshade. Every word, every thought—past or present—Nyxshade saw it all. That was only possible if it operated on a higher level. Or more precisely… a higher dimension.
Lucas was a huge fan of the action-mystery-thriller genre, he also read a lot of light novels. He only watched sci-fi with Harry—his late partner—from time to time.
"These producers did their homework," Harry used to say. He only watched the accurate sci-fi films, as he called them.
Lucas scratched the surface of the rock absentmindedly as he remembered him.
If those films were accurate, then Nyxshade was a being beyond them—a fourth-dimensional entity.
He shivered at the thought.
Beings like that could see everything about you from the moment they looked at you—from their higher plane. They could split your body in twos, threes… and you wouldn't even know.
That was the majesty of the existence they currently faced.
Escape? Impossible.
Defeat? A distant dream.
Lucas likened it to a drawing that somehow escaped the paper—and killed its artist.
He looked around. There were few trees within the base. Small buildings dotted the open space, making the garage seem massive. Birds chirped softly, some fluttering through the sky. The early morning sun bathed him in its gentle rays, almost liberating his trembling soul.
Wind carried his jet-black, shoulder-length hair, cooling his scalp and easing his thoughts. The air was filled with the scent of lush greenery, touched by the faintest fruity note.
Was this truly fake? Lucas asked himself.
He knocked the rock beneath him. The sound returned hollow.
The detail was… was…
He couldn't find a word to encompass all his thoughts. It was like trying to describe every detail of the world—from Mount Everest to Kodiak bears, down to the smallest prion—in a single word.
His mind wandered to the monolithic creature and its master in the distance.
How long would it take for them to reach here?
He didn't know.
He and Austin could have worked together, rubbed their minds together to come up with a plan—no. It was better he found the solution himself. They could die at any time. From the moment they met Nyxshade, it had always been just a matter of when. It wouldn't take anything for it to kill them.
But that was the issue.
What could such a creature gain from doing all this? A higher being should operate with higher methodology—but this wasn't the case with Nyxshade.
What was it hoping to achieve?
Lucas thought for a moment, then asked himself another question:
What did it want to see?
That led him back to his plan.
Death—or rather, the process of dying.
Nyxshade didn't simply want them dead. It wanted to trap them in hell and make them suffer. It wasn't enough to end their lives. The process needed to be slow, messy, painful.
That would be difficult with all the trained personnel surrounding him.
He turned his gaze toward Austin's lodge. Soldiers were gathered, speaking in hushed tones. Some left the building carrying bags.
Lucas stood and approached, curious.
Why bags? Were they planning to leave?
"...Needs space…"
"What's he saying…"
"Our lieutenant is going crazy…"
"You can't blame him…"
"Who's Judah…"
"...John?…"
The last questions didn't make sense. What did they mean?
Lucas entered the lodge, searching for Austin's room. The building was mostly empty now. The other rooms were bare—belongings gone. At the very end, he found the largest room. Austin's.
He stood by the window, fists clenched, eyes fixed on the soldiers sparring in what looked like a training ground.
"Hey…" Lucas said.
Austin turned. His expression was hard—gritted teeth and raw emotion.
"Bastard!" he shouted into the air.
"He messed with their minds! He made them forget!"
Lucas watched him, expression neutral.
"What do you…" he started, then paused.
The soldiers had forgotten the murder.
That changed everything.
This made his plan easier—far easier. Nyxshade had done this right as Lucas had started to reach the same realization. It confirmed that he was on the right track.
Or… Nyxshade was still toying with them.
He looked Austin in the eye and said, "I don't understand what the bastard wants… Why would he possibly…"
He trailed off, lowering his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
He controlled everything—his breath, posture, the twitch of his fingers.
No mistakes, he reminded himself.
Every movement had to appear authentic.
Austin was still inside the bubble, blind to the reality around them. Lucas, however, was outside it—and soon, he would burst it.
He would make Austin believe he wasn't alone in this—that they were both trapped together.
It was a lie, of course.
Austin slammed his fist into the wall. Anger—or sadness? Lucas wasn't sure. His world had become silent, the only voice left being his own thoughts.
There's no time. You have to hurry, he told himself.
The voice was his—but it also wasn't. There was something foreign in its tone. Worry? Fear?
No…
Excitement.
It chilled him.
Was it Nyxshade's voice wearing his own as a mask? Was this thrill truly his—or was it a planted fantasy?
The idea was worse than he'd thought before.
If Nyxshade could inject emotions, it could distort his choices.
How many of his thoughts, his actions… were really his?
"I… I need to think," he muttered, stepping out of Austin's room.
The air smelled of dust—likely from the personnel's sudden exit.
Had he acted convincingly enough? Hopefully Austin, caught in emotional fog, had overlooked any oddities.
Outside, Lucas watched the soldiers.
How was he going to execute his plan?
He needed to escape this place—and if he succeeded, he believed Nyxshade would take notice. Would listen.
He could lure someone into the forest and kill them now, but… that method was flawed.
"If they don't forget again, I'll be in trouble," he whispered to himself.
There were too many unknown variables. And the biggest was Nyxshade.
He didn't mind waiting.
After all, marinated meat always tasted better.
But there were complications. The creature in the distance. The soldiers. The very fabric of this place.
Most murders happened at night. His wouldn't be an exception.
And he couldn't kill just anyone.
Nyxshade didn't want random violence—it wanted a show.
It wanted suffering.
Austin's suffering.
To strike where it hurt, Lucas would have to kill those closest to him.
Right now, Austin was hanging on by a thread—adrift in a fragile, detached state. He was barely holding on to what remained of his sanity. And Lucas... Lucas had taken it upon himself to restore it.
To gently mend the damage, to patch up Austin's cracked psyche.
But at the zenith of that restoration—when Austin was whole again—Lucas would break him. Shatter him almost completely.
He could only hope Austin wouldn't lose himself entirely in the process.
Many hours had passed. The full moon now stood tall in the sky, casting its pale light over the clearing. A cool night breeze flowed through the camp, brushing against Austin's skin and weaving through his clothes, barely finding space between his densely packed muscles.
Hours ago, he would have thought the very idea of what he was now witnessing to be impossible.
Nyxshade's actions had been devoid of joy—soulless and cruel—yet the men and women before him were smiling.
Laughing.
Dancing.
Lucas had told him to find his own joy. A reason to move forward.
Now, the same man who once pestered him endlessly about escape stood at the very center of the celebration.
Men drank. Women danced. Lights flickered like fireflies. It was a sight to behold—unreal, even.
"They didn't forget everything," Lucas had said earlier. "The beast is still out there—they know this. We need to act accordingly if we want to escape. I believe a small event to motivate the men is all we need."
Austin remembered the words perfectly.
He found himself wondering—When had the man he once viewed as troublesome… changed? When had that insistent voice become something more?
Lucas had orchestrated the entire gathering. He'd found and rationed the liquor evenly among the troops, managed food, and lifted spirits. Almost everyone was drunk out of their minds.
Even Lucas himself—now swaying and laughing—danced drunk alongside a bevy of female personnel.
Turns out, he was a ladies' man at heart.
Austin watched from a nearby table, a quiet observer in the margins of a loud celebration. He sat in conversation with Greg and Amber—the two soldiers who had cremated the brothers John and Jonah.
He hadn't forgotten.
The pain.
The fury.
The hollow ache that came from seeing his favorite soldiers turned into grotesque art pieces.
Their deaths had broken something in him. And when Nyxshade had wiped those events from the minds of the others, it had only made things worse.
How could he right his wrongs, he wondered, when those wrongs never happened?
But he remembered.
He still remembered John and Jonah.
The two soldiers who had once saved his life five years ago.
Their lives hadn't been erased—not to him.
Their courage, their loyalty, their friendship… it stayed with him, even now.
And in some strange way, that memory carried him through the storm.
And he was grateful.
Grateful to Lucas Ross.
The man who, for all his flaws, had made this strange peace possible.
Austin looked down at the mug in his hand.
It would be the first time in a long while that he drank like this.
Come to think of it…
He hadn't attended a gathering like this in years—five, to be exact.
Back then, the celebration had been joyous.
But afterward…
Tragedy struck.
Still, this time felt different.
This time, he believed… it wouldn't end the same.