Kai lost track of the hours. The pews became beds, then barricades, then supply depots as he moved through the nave, cataloguing who could stand, who could hold a bucket, who could swing an axe. He didn't bark orders—not like Vantis used to—but spoke low, to one person at a time, a hand on a shoulder or a nod to the strongest. They listened, because what else was left?
He sent the youngest to fill water buckets from the church's cistern, posted the older kids at the windows with instructions to watch for movement. The able-bodied men he set to stacking the ruined pews against the doors, wedging them tight with bits of fallen beam. The women—those who could still walk—he asked to tear bedsheets into bandages and scavenge candles from every corner of the building.
All the while, the stench of Gloom seeped through the stone, a low background hum that never faded.
Whenever he paused, Kai found himself watching Lena. She'd set up a triage line at the front, the floor beneath her slick with blood and other things. People came to her in ones and twos—some stumbling, some carried—and left either walking or not at all.
She worked differently now. Sometimes, she'd take a patient's hand, close her eyes, and just breathe for a minute. Other times, she pressed her palms to the skin—forehead, wrist, the soft part of the neck—and a faint violet glow would crawl up her arms, pooling at her fingertips before vanishing into the body. Once, Kai saw her reach for a dying man's chest, and the blackness in his veins seemed to lift, drawn up through the skin and out, dissipating in a wisp of oily smoke. The man coughed, then fell back, his breathing easier. Lena let him go, then slumped, barely catching herself on the altar rail.
Word spread quick. The villagers started calling her "witch" or "saint," depending on how scared or grateful they were. A few of the older women crossed themselves when they saw her, lips moving in silent prayer. Lena ignored it all, her face locked in a mask of concentration, sweat pouring down her neck.
Kai kept working, but every so often he'd catch her gaze, and she'd look back, just for a heartbeat. He tried to send reassurance—You're doing good. You're saving them. She never smiled, but sometimes she blinked, slow and deliberate, like she heard him.
The dead, they wrapped in what was left of the linen and stacked in the back chapel. The priest had gone cold long before they arrived, but Lena made Kai help her carry the body out anyway. "The smell," she muttered, when he asked why. "It spreads the sickness. Quarantine is better."
When the last of the living had been seen to, Lena sank onto the steps by the altar, head in her hands. Kai brought her water, and she drank deep, barely stopping for breath.
"How many?" she asked, voice raw.
He counted, quietly. "Sixteen still moving. Three more holding on. Maybe two dozen total."
She nodded, then closed her eyes, face gone slack. "Not enough," she said, but didn't explain what she meant.
Kai wanted to ask if she was okay, if she needed a break, but he knew better than to offer comfort she hadn't asked for.
Instead, he sat beside her and watched the candlelight play across the walls. It cast weird, shifting patterns—shadows that rippled and twined like living things. The sound of the Gloom outside was growing, a low moan punctuated by the occasional crack of wood or distant howl.
"Do you think it'll come back?" Kai asked.
Lena nodded, eyes still closed. "Always does."
He looked at her hands—pale, shaking, stained black at the cuticles. "What do we do?"
She opened her eyes. He saw fear in them. Not for herself, but for the people in the church. "We keep them alive. Until the Gloom finds a better target, or burns itself out."
She flexed her fingers, watching the light dance along the scars on her knuckles. "It gets easier, you know. The more you do it. The more you take out, the less it hurts."
Kai believed her, but the way she said it made him shiver.
He got up, checked the barricades, then did another pass through the nave. The kids with buckets sat in a row, giggling and poking each other with sticks. The women at the back were singing, low and cracked, but steady. The men had fallen asleep where they sat, heads tipped together like cattle in a storm.
He went to the front, where Lena was bandaging her own wrist.
"You need sleep," he said.
She laughed, the sound bitter. "Don't have time."
He thought about arguing, but let it go.
He watched as she drew a circle on the flagstone with ash from the candle, then muttered words under her breath. The air in the church shifted—just a little, like a change in wind direction. The stench faded, replaced by the clean, mineral smell of wet stone.
"What was that?" Kai asked.
"A cleansing ward," Lena said. "Old trick. My mother's. Keeps the lingering effects of the Gloom away."
He nodded, not pretending to understand.
They waited, neither speaking, as the night stretched on. The wounded slept, or tried to. The candles burned low. The world outside was silent, but it was the silence of something watching, not something gone.
In the quiet, Kai heard his own heartbeat, steady and unbroken.
He wasn't afraid. Not really.
He just wished he could do more.
Kai was mending a splintered bench when he heard the first scrape at the church door—a dry, scuttling sound, like claws on bone.
He straightened, straining to listen. The noise came again, louder, and this time it was joined by a chorus of wet, rasping breaths. At the far end of the nave, the men on guard stumbled to their feet, clutching their makeshift spears. The women pulled the children close, muffling their whimpers under blankets.
Lena was already moving. She slipped past Kai, eyes gone hard and colorless, and knelt by the main doors, ear pressed to the wood. "Three, maybe four," she whispered. "Heavy. Fast."
Kai looked at the barricade—an ugly tangle of pews, altar rails, even the priest's own reading desk, all braced and wedged with rope. It had seemed sturdy that afternoon. Now, he saw how frail it was, how the tiniest crack could open them all to slaughter.
The old man who'd let them in shuffled up, dragging a broken ax. "They can't get through, can they?"
Kai wanted to lie. But the fear in the old man's face deserved better.
"If they want in, they'll find a way," he said. "Stay behind the altar. Keep everyone together."
The first impact came without warning—a bone-shaking thud that rattled the doors on their hinges and sent a rain of dust from the ceiling. The children screamed; the guards at the windows froze, spears wobbling in their hands.
A second blow, then a third, each harder than the last. The wood groaned, splinters flying as something massive battered itself against the entrance.
Lena watched the doors, lips moving in a silent count. When she reached "four," the right-hand panel split down the middle, and a black, glistening snout punched through, studded with rows of crystalline teeth.
The old man screamed. One of the guards dropped his spear and ran for the back, shoving past the women and tripping over a crying child.
Kai didn't move. His eyes locked on the monster, cataloguing every detail: the too-wide mouth, the eyes—six of them, set in a triangle above the muzzle, all blinking and rolling in different directions—the way its fur crackled with threads of oily darkness, shifting and boiling like a living disease.
A second head forced its way through the gap, then a third. The door buckled, hinges tearing loose, and the barricade shivered.
Lena stood, turned to Kai. "Can you buy us time?"
He swallowed, nodded. "A minute, maybe. I don't know… I'll try."
She gave him a look—hope, terror, gratitude all tangled up. Then she turned to the villagers, voice sharp and clear. "To the altar! If you can fight, take up arms. Everyone else—hold your breath and pray."
Kai slid to the front, dropping to one knee behind the barricade. He pressed his hands to the wood, feeling the panic of the crowd, the pulse of his own heart, the throb of the Gloom just beyond.
He closed his eyes and reached for the Well.
It was there, as always—cold, deep, infinite. But this time, when he dipped inside, it fought back, pushing at his consciousness, threatening to drown him in its own momentum. He grabbed hold anyway, yanking a thread of blue-silver energy up through his arms and into the barricade.
He felt the change instantly. The wood stiffened, the grain tightening, every splinter and fiber fusing into a single, unbreakable whole. The pews groaned, but this time with the resonance of stone.
He opened his eyes. The Gloom corrupted wolves—three now, maybe four—were clawing at the entrance, jaws wide, tongues lolling with hunger. Their bodies were covered in scales of what looked like black glass, jagged and sharp. Different to the hunters chasing Lena, but similar in essence. When they struck the door, it sparked, the force almost enough to snap the hinges again.
Almost.
The villagers at the windows jabbed their spears at the writhing bodies, but the points glanced off the glassy hide. One wolf wheeled, snapping its jaws through the window, catching a spear and tearing it in half.
Lena shouted, "Keep them back! Don't let them get inside!"
The wolves battered the door again. Kai could feel the strain, like lifting a boulder with his bare hands. Every time they hit, the energy inside him drained a little more.
The wood started to crack, the power bleeding away faster than he could replenish it.
Lena saw it. She darted forward, grabbing a candle from the altar, and flung it at the lead wolf. The flame caught on its fur, but the beast just shook, sending sparks everywhere.
Kai felt the power slipping. He bit his tongue, tasted blood, and shoved harder, pouring everything he had into the barricade.
"More!" Lena cried, and the villagers surged, swinging axes, throwing stones, anything to keep the beasts at bay.
For a moment, it worked. The wolves faltered, heads jerking back, stunned by the noise and the sudden, desperate assault.
Then the smallest of them—no bigger than a calf, but fast—slipped through a side window, smashing the glass and rolling into the nave. It landed in a heap, then straightened, eyes scanning for prey.
The old man screamed. The wolf bounded forward, jaws snapping.
Kai let go of the Well, staggered to his feet, and grabbed the nearest weapon—a broken bit of altar rail, sharpened to a point. He planted himself between the wolf and the villagers, the world narrowing to a single tunnel of blue and black.
The wolf charged.
He braced, thrust the wood forward.
It struck home, sinking deep into the beast's neck. The wolf howled, rearing back, but instead of blood, a torrent of black, smoking fluid poured from the wound, splattering the floor.
The wolf collapsed, twitching, the smoke pooling around its head before dissipating into the air.
Kai turned, dizzy, just in time to see Lena facing down another wolf at the shattered window. She raised her hand, fingers spread, and a ribbon of violet energy lashed out, wrapping around the wolf's throat. She yanked, and the beast's head slammed against the sill, shattering the bone.
The remaining wolves howled, sensing the tide turning. One tried to leap through the door, but the barricade held. The villagers jabbed at it, driving it back, while Lena and Kai moved to reinforce the front.
The fight blurred, time losing meaning. Kai's arms felt like lead, every breath a struggle. He heard Lena shouting, heard the villagers screaming, but all he could see was the endless, gnashing teeth and the relentless drive of the Gloom.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
The last wolf—missing an eye, blood streaming from its flanks—turned and fled, disappearing into the night. The others lay dead or dying, their bodies already dissolving into puddles of tar and smoke.
The church was a ruin. The barricade had shattered, but held long enough. The villagers, stunned, stared at the carnage, not daring to believe they'd survived.
Kai slumped to the floor, head spinning. His hands shook, fingers numb. He looked for Lena, found her kneeling by the altar, arms wrapped around herself, shivering with exhaustion.
He crawled to her, sat beside her on the cold stone.
For a long while, neither spoke.
The silence was broken only by the soft, stunned crying of the survivors, and the slow, steady drip of rain outside.
Kai closed his eyes, the taste of smoke and blood still thick in his mouth.
He'd bought them time.
He just hoped it would be enough.