No Escape

  The portcullis slammed shut with a resounding boom, the echo of metal on stone reverberating through the fortress courtyard like a thunderclap.

  Nolan whipped his head in all directions, heart pounding as his eyes scanned to find whatever had just closed off their path of escape. But there was nothing. Just the ever-present rain tapping rhythmically against cobblestone and pooling in the uneven mud.

  Then the silence was broken.

  A shriek tore through the air, ear-splitting and guttural—like the death cry of a beast that had never known peace. It wasn’t the sound of a man, nor any animal Nolan had ever heard. It was rage, hunger, and madness made audible.

  This cry was answered by three more equally inhuman sounds coming from all directions.

  It was then that Nolan observed the source of the first howl. Bounding down from ramparts above the gatehouse on all four limbs, something approached the group, hunched down close to the ground.

  The creature was a grotesque imitation of a man, with pallid white skin seemingly stretched across a bone thin frame. If it had ever possessed a head of hair, it had now long fallen out leaving only short narrow patches. Most horrifying of all were its deep scarlet iris’ that radiated a hunger beyond that which any living thing could ever suffer.

  This deep red fell down its figure, to its mouth and chest which were covered in brown-black blood and viscera, that even the pouring rain could not wash away. Covered in similar filth up to the elbow, the creature’s arms ended in long curved claws clearly meant to slash its prey apart.

  Stalking forward the fiend opened its maw to reveal a row of jagged, pointed teeth and let out a bestial growl.

  Three more fiends emerged from the shadows—one slithering down a broken tower, another creeping from the stable ruins, and a third padding from behind a toppled statue. While all bore that same wrongness, they were younger, more human in shape. Their filthy clothing hung in tatters, and patches of hair still clung to their scalps.

  Nolan looked to Reginald as the fiends closed in on their group. The great man was visibly startled, though not panicked, reaching for an axe out of the back of the wagon. The axe was that of a woodcutter's but much, much larger. Clearly a gargantuan tool, custom made to fit an equally gargantuan man.

  “They’re circling us,” Nolan said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What do we do? Do you have anything else I can fight with?”

  Not daring to look away from ancient fiend, Reginald gestured to the wagon.

  “I don’t carry much in the way of weapons, kid. Grab the frying pan from the back. Better a skillet than your fists.”

  Nolan nearly scoffed, but turned anyway and rifled through the supplies. He retrieved the iron pan they’d used to cook every meal on their journey—still slick with bacon grease from that morning. Its weight was comforting, solid in his grip. But fear returned as quickly as hope left.

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  A frying pan against monsters.

  He was no soldier. Just a fisherman with calloused hands and a head full of dreams.

  Not that it would have done him much good to wield an actual weapon. Nolan was trained from birth to catch fish, and though he’d had great dreams of joining the Kingdom’s Army, even the deadliest sword Relic would have been merely a metal stick in his untrained hands.

  Behind them, Lukas was ushering his family behind their wagon. The merchant father trembled as he held out a small dagger—more ceremonial than functional. His wife, Arin, clutched her belly, trying to corral their wide-eyed children toward the ruined tower.

  Not that it would have done him much good to wield an actual one. Nolan was trained from birth to be a fisherman, not a swordsman, and though he had great dreams of joining the Kingdom’s Army, training under one of the finest masters who’d ever lived, even the deadliest sword Relic would have been merely a metal stick in his current untrained hands.

  Attempting to stuff his panic down, Nolan tried to steel himself.

  ‘Don't be nervous, Nolan. Think about it. A frying pan is just an extremely short club. You can still hit a monster over the head with it. Just gotta get close enough.’

  Nolan stepped beside Reginald, clutching the pan tight enough to whiten his knuckles.

  One of the fiends—the newest-looking of them—was crawling into view. It held the shape of what Nolan recognized to have once been a woman. Like its master, the female monster carried itself low to the ground, its mostly intact dark hair dragging through the mud.

  Whatever foul rite was performed to create these creatures must have been completed recently on the female as her clothes were entirely intact and her body unmarred by the gore that covered the others.

  Reginald leaned in, voice low and grim.

  “I will deal with the leader as quickly as I can. You try to hold off the second, and I’ll help you finish it when I’m done.”

  Nolan nodded, barely hearing. He could feel his heart pounding, his chest heaving with quick breaths in anticipation of the fight to come. Whatever reassurement he’d been telling himself was quickly torn to shreds the moment he’d met the mad, hungry eyes that were now trained upon him.

  Every muscle in Nolan’s body screamed for him to run. But something deeper held him there—some mix of pride, stubbornness, and the memory of his father’s voice.

  "A man’s worth isn’t in his strength, Nolan. It’s in what he does when strength isn’t enough."

  The female fiend seemed to almost revel in his fear, however. It looked as though it sensed his apprehension and felt the very blood racing through his pounding heart.

  Perhaps it could.

  It bared its teeth as it approached Nolan, running its tongue across the veritable razor blades that were its canines and then came to a stop mere meters away.

  Silence reigned across the courtyard, both sides remaining absolutely still, apart from the sound of Lukas audibly whimpering before his own enemies.

  Then the lead creature screeched—a terrible, echoing cry—and the others surged forward towards their chosen quarries.

  Reginald roared and charged, axe swinging overhead.

  The woman-shaped monster lunged at Nolan, claws outstretched.

  He stepped forward, pan raised high.

  And swung.