CHAPTER 15

Adelle moved with purpose directing the guards around the Sweet Haven with Kulisevski’s help. Barricades were set, and a defensive perimeter around the bakery. Frank stood at the gate, ice forming beneath his hands as he created a temporary shield over the melted portions. He worked quickly, the frost crackling in the cold night air.

One of the guards, a wiry man named Trystan, stepped forward. “What if reinforcements don’t come?”

Frank smirked, tapping him on the shoulder. “Then we make sure they don’t get past us. Reinforcements or not, this gate holds.”

Adelle glanced at the horizon. The faint blush of dawn threatened to undo Frank’s work. “The ice won’t last much longer in daylight,” she muttered.

Frank nodded, standing back to inspect his work. “Let’s hope it holds until Michael gets back.”

Above them, scouts stationed in the bakery’s upper windows scanned the streets.

Meanwhile, Michael was leading the others to the Four families’ compound. The inner heavy gates to the Four’s compounds were wide open, swinging lazily in the wind but there was no sign of anyone.

“It’s too quiet right?” Emma whispered, her voice breaking the silence. “Not even a single guard from the Taskforce.”

Phoebe nodded, holding her bow staff in her hand. “Mr Kulisevski said the Families came here with a full security detail. Something’s wrong.”

The group stopped before an ivy-covered stone manor, its windows dark and lifeless. A faint but distinct low hum emanated from inside.

“Stay sharp,” Michael remarked.

“You don’t think Deviants could have gotten this far down, do you?” Phoebe asked, a sudden realization on her face.

The sound grew louder as they approached, morphing from a hum to something grotesquely organic—like wet, crunching noises. The group exchanged uneasy glances.

Michael stepped forward, raising his voice. “We’re allies. If anyone can hear me, open the door.”

Silence.

Michael nodded to Phoebe, who pushed the door open. It creaked ominously, revealing a scene of chaos. Broken furniture, overturned crates, and hastily packed supplies littered the floor. The house reeked of blood.

They moved cautiously through the ground floor, finding nothing but destruction. The sound lured them upstairs, each step of the staircase creaking under their weight. At the top, the noise was clearer—chewing, wet and deliberate.

As they approached the kitchen, Emma stepped on something soft. She looked down, her face became pale as she realized it was an eyeball. Her scream pierced the air, echoing down the halls.

“Shh!” Phoebe hissed.

They pushed open the kitchen door, and the sight before them turned their stomachs. A hulking Deviant crouched in the center of the room, hunched over a corpse. It tore into a person’s skull with sickening relish, its claws drenched in blood. The walls were painted with gore, entrails strewn like discarded decorations.

Emma gagged, falling to her knees and vomiting. The creature turned its head slowly, its crimson eyes locking onto them. It stood to its full height, towering over them, its frame grotesquely muscular. Blood on the floor slithered toward it, pooling at its feet before being absorbed into its body. With every drop it consumed, its form swelled, spikes and tendrils erupting from its back.

“Phoebe, what the hell is that?” Emma whispered, her voice trembling.

“It doesn’t matter as long as we kill it.”

The Deviant roared, the sound shaking the walls. It tilted its head studying them like prey before lunging with terrifying speed, claws elongating mid-strike. Michael intercepted, his blade sparking as it collided with the creature’s talons. The force of the blow sent him back.

“Manuever Seven!” he barked.

Phoebe grabbed Emma and ran to the far side of the room, her staff crackling with energy. Michael struck the ground sending arcs of lightning toward the room hitting the creature and disorienting it a bit. Phoebe absorbed the excess lightning and hit the creature, causing it to convulse, but it didn’t last long. Instead, it roared, its body splitting open to reveal a second set of arms with jagged claws at the ends.

Phoebe thrust forward, her staff a blur as she struck the creature’s legs. Lightning surged down the weapon, blasting one of its limbs apart. The Deviant staggered, but its wounds began to regenerate almost instantly, the flesh twisting unnaturally as it reformed.

Michael charged with his blade. He slashed at the creature’s torso, carving deep into its flesh. The Deviant screeched, lashing out with a tendril that knocked him to the ground displacing his weapon. The creature’s body shifted again, its form becoming even more monstrous. Violet eyes gleamed as spikes erupted from its shoulders. It opened its jaw and unleashed a piercing scream that shattered the windows, sending shards of glass raining down. The Deviant’s form was now almost unrecognizable – an abomination of squirming tendrils.

Emma pulled a sliver of glass from her arm and healed it instantly. “Wish we had Adelle right about now,” she muttered.

“ Beggers can’t be choosers. I’ll draw its attention,” Phoebe nodded, her expression grim.,. “Michael go for the head. Emma?”

Emma sighed moving back from Phoebe’s position, “I’ll stay far away.”

Phoebe dashed forward, weaving through the tendrils with agile precision. She feinted left, then struck low, her bow staff crackling with residual lightning. The creature swiped at her but she managed to vault over. Michael came behind her, lightning coursing through his arms now, and punched its head super hard, shattering its brain apart. The deviant roared in pain motionless revealing a translucent diamond-like structure glowing partially.

“There! Hit that shiny thing,” Emma spoke up excitedly. “It’s probably its weak spot.”

“Emma please get back,” Phoebe shouted out.

The Deviant released a shockwave of energy, hurling Michael and Phoebe across the room. It rose again, its body leaking dark, viscous blood, but it was slower now, faltering.

Back at Sweet Haven, the vibrations from the compound reached the bakery, rattling the barricades. Adelle’s flames flickered nervously around her hands.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, her voice tight.

Frank nodded grimly, glancing at the barricades they’d so carefully placed. “That’s not the sound of reinforcements. Something’s gone very wrong.”

“Do we hold or go to them?” Trystan, the wiry guard, asked, his voice betraying his fear.

Adelle set her jaw. “We hold—for now. But if we lose contact with Michael’s group…”

“We move,” Frank finished.