Letcham’s buildings grew far more haunting as the sky dimmed. Darkness bathed the streets in hues of purple and blue, washing away the artful architecture and replacing it with shadows. The pointed roofs racked at the sky like high reaching claws. Dim, flickering candlelight through the odd window looked like the glowing eyes of animals stalking those who still wandered the streets. Wisps of smoke from the incense emanated from each and every house like breath on a cold night. The streets were alive— besides the massive block of missing space in the distance. Obscuring part of the moon stood the monolith that was the church. Just a black rectangle that looked more void than structure. An inhuman, lifeless form compared to the other buildings. Yet it towered above all the rest of the town with an all encompassing might.

Mayme could not look at it. The church scared her, even at this distance. With each step it grew more and more, slowly but surely threatening to eat away everything around her. Visions of that big, open maw that had nearly devoured her earlier that day tormented her if she dared look at it.

Percival, however, could not look away from the monster. His eyes were filled with disdain. He gnashed his teeth knowing he could do little else. He was tormented too, not by the church existing but questions surrounding it. That void that ate up half the moon stood silently, unbothered by Percival’s queries. It mocked him by simply existing.

Suddenly screams echoed throughout the streets and broke the sky’s stillness. Human or inhuman, neither Mayme nor Percival could tell. The cries bounced off the buildings and made it sound like an entire symphony— a whole choir horrifically out of tune with each other.

“Percy,” Mayme quietly whimpered behind him, her voice shaking nearly as violently as her body. He barely heard her over the cacophony, by design. She wanted nothing more than to be quiet, to not be noticed. She had no desire to figure out where that God awful sound came from, nor how close it was. Though she had a sinking feeling she didn’t have much of a choice.

“Hush. We’ll be fine.” He glanced back at her. “Guess you’ll learn not to go out at night from now on, huh darling?” He tried to sound calm, almost jovial, but distress remained painted on his sour face. He could deal with a few beasts if it came to it, but those beasts shouldn’t have even been within this district at all. Just how many could he handle at once, that was the question that bothered him most. That vision of the open gate into the heart of Letcham had a stranglehold on his thoughts.

Mayme frowned, not registering what he said as something meant to be light hearted. She couldn't even grasp the concept of light heartedness in her frazzled state. A ball of bile formed in the back of her throat— she swallowed it and promised herself she could throw up when she got home. Her stomach tightened in protest of her resolve.

“Come.”

They did not have to travel far before they rounded a street corner and came face to face with the origins of the now silenced screams. There, in the middle of the road framed by the houses on either side and the looming figure of the church in the distance was a horde of beasts. They were grey, bar the tatters of garments that still clung to their gaunt frames and the splatters of vibrant fresh blood. They snipped and growled at each other. Wet gnawing sounds came from the centre of the huddle, the stray glimpse of a disembodied limb made it abundantly clear what was being eaten. They were gathered in front of a resident’s house— the door had been ripped off its hinges and windows thoroughly smashed through. The ashes of the incense that burned to keep these monstrosities away laid on the cobblestone path with the snuffed out stick that once stood guard outside the door. They had not burned enough to deter an entire hoard. No one could blame them, gates and walls were supposed to keep these things out and the incense was merely an extra precaution. But alas, for their folly they paid the ultimate price. In heaps of viscera on the filthy ground laid whatever the beasts had not yet devoured, still partially dressed up in shredded nightwear. Half a large boxy torso laid haphazardly across a smaller one still wearing a tiny pink nightgown. There were no limbs left attached to anything in the pile, Most of it was indistinguishable from animal guts, besides the heads that all sat within their own gore— the hair plastered to their lifeless faces with blood and bits of guts. Luckily the smeared gore and hair hide away their mortified expressions— though that hardly made the mess more palatable.

Mayme stood frozen. Her lungs burned, she had not realised she had forgotten to breathe until she tried and failed to scream. It was a blessing, her empty lungs gave her time to grasp the dire straits she was in. She forced herself to take in a breath, as slow and controlled as she could manage. It felt and sounded almost mechanical. She glanced at Percival for some kind of guidance, but he looked just as bewildered. He gave a silent nod backwards. Mayme did not hesitate to begin backing away. She kept her weight on her toes, not allowing her heels to click against the road even once. Still, she could not get around the bend before an emaciated face in the crowd turned the pair’s way. Hissing and spitting followed as it bared its sharp teeth and charged. A few, notably the ones who had managed to get fed from their recent home invasion, fled the scene with the remains of the deceased shoved into their dripping gobs. The rest, however, joined the charge towards Percival.

“Shit,” Percival growled as he grabbed the firearm slung over his shoulder and shot into the mob. “Mayme, run!”

His shot managed to kill one, but completely by chance. Their movements were uncanny and impossible to track— not to mention he was simply a bad shot. He had only managed to pull the trigger once before he was forced to discard the slow-to-reload weapon and resort to swinging wildly with his axe.

Mayme had not run like she was told, but she kept backing up. Her eyes stayed on the scene as this man, her so-called protector, struggled. Sure, the blows he delivered were devastating, plenty of the beasts fell by his hand, but there were too many. He was utterly outnumbered. All she could do was watch when, to her horror, one swing landed his axe square in one of those monster’s chests. It got stuck within the shattered ribs of the beast. She knew she was about to watch him die, but what about the aftermath? Surely once they dispatched him she was next. She couldn't outrun them, not even if she managed to kick off her heels. And she only had five bullets left. Even if she escaped this group by some miracle, what about the next? She needed him, no matter how dangerous he was. He could be reasoned with, he was human. Those things? No. They did not speak. They did not reason. It was a choice between possibly dying or absolutely dying. Her throat felt so dry she had almost missed the bile she felt building not so long ago. Her quivering fingers inched their way back to her hidden firearm.

Suddenly, another beast snagged Percival's free arm. It dug its nails in deep. Blood pooled and stained the glove it had pierced and Percival choked back a yell. It reached out for his throat with its other hand, but Percival dropped his trapped weapon and grabbed its wrist. In response it tried to snap at him with its gnarled yellow teeth. Percival leaned away, a grimace on his face and his eyes wide with terror, but he knew it was over. More hands and claw-like nails grabbed at him, and the one he was staring down grew closer. Hot spittle splattered on Percival's cheek as it growled, its chin was drenched with a river of saliva from its gaping, snapping maw. Its rotten breath washed over him, he would have gagged if not for the panic in his bloodstream. He closed his eyes and held his breath and braced for the worst.

“Get away!” Mayme shrieked.

A gunshot rang through the streets like thunder and the creature fell limp. The rest yelped and scampered off in a flurry of flailing limbs and fluttering fabrics. Percival slowly opened his eyes. The beast's head was blown off, a red mist still hung in the air. It released its gurgled death rattle from bloody bubbles at the back of its throat. Its lower jaw remained, along with its tongue that lolled to the side. A few of its teeth had been forced back, making new homes in its open throat. The rest was a hot mush splattered over Percival and the streets. The smell of iron and singed hair assaulted his nostrils. He could not help but gag and cough a little at the display.

Percival threw the corpse off him. It fell to the ground with a wet, meaty thud and it began to spasm. He took a moment to catch his breath and control the urge to vomit before he glanced behind him. He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to see, but whatever wild tale his head tried to spin would not match the devastating reality.

Mayme.

Only Mayme.

She stood there, an ornate gun in her hands. She slowly lowered the firearm so it pointed at the ground. Her finger was frozen on the trigger. Her chest heaved and tears began to well in her unblinking eyes. She choked on her own words, only repeating “I” over and over again. She wasn't even sure what she wanted to say, she hadn't expected her shot to be quite so explosive. The last one wasn’t, but that one had hit the target centre mass. 

Percival’s eyes narrowed on the gun. A sickening wave of rage and disgust flooded through him. The bitter taste of betrayal lingered on his tongue like a poison— or perhaps that was brain matter disguised as betrayal. He knew that gun. Not that specific gun, but its make. From the power it had and the elegant sleek look— he knew. It was a make only the leeches of Sangmont, his prey, would possess. In the moonlight he could finally see this pale girl for who, no… Not who, for what she truly was.