the nights arrow

“That, my friend,” Corvin made a circle in the air with his finger before pointing squarely at Dex, “is complete, undeniable bullshit.”

The sky answered before Dex could.

Lightning split the night in a violent white flash, bleaching the room and rattling the window glass. Thunder cracked so loud it seemed to come from inside the walls themselves. Rain hammered like thrown gravel, fast and hard.

Everyone flinched. The brief burst of light lit Dex’s face at the window — his smirk thin, sharp, unreadable.

“You may not see it,” he murmured, voice low and steady, “but there is truth in the so-called bullshit you speak of.”

The storm swallowed the silence again.

Sai stirred on the bed, senses prickling awake. He sat up slowly, scanning the room — Mira pale and still under her blanket, Eira curled against her mattress, Corvin sprawled on the floor. Then his eyes fixed on Dex.

Still seated at the window. But wrong. His head was bowed too far forward, his shoulders loose.

“…Hey, Dex?” Sai whispered.

No answer.

Sai swung his legs over the edge of the bed, padding closer. The storm roared so loudly he barely heard himself repeat, “Dex? You awake?”

The window was fractured. Thin cracks laced across the glass, rain seeping through.

“Shit.” Sai lunged.

Dex slumped forward. Sai caught him under the arms before his head struck the floor.

“Dex!” Sai hissed — and then froze.

The shaft of an arrow jutted from Dex’s back, fletching quivering in the draft. Blood seeped dark into his cloak.

“Oh no…” Sai looked around the room in panic. “GUYS! WAKE UP!”

Eira jolted upright so sharply she toppled sideways, scrambling half over Corvin.

“Wha—?”

Corvin groaned, covering his face. “Come on, five more minutes—”

“CORVIN!” Sai barked.

“CORVIN!” Eira echoed.

He rolled back, bleary-eyed. “What? What’s the—”

Thwip.

An arrow punched through the cracked window, thunking into the wall above the beds. The wood splintered inches from Corvin’s head.

“OH HELL—” Corvin threw himself flat on the floor, limbs scrambling. “Nope! Not today!”

Sai dragged Dex against the bedframe. His pulse was weak but steady. Relief lasted only a breath before another sound cut through the storm.

Steel clashing. Voices shouting.

Sai darted to the window, peering out through the fractured glass. The village square below had become a battlefield.

Reapers filled the streets. Some were bland — blank-hooded, identical, faceless executioners with standard scythes. Others stood out like nightmares made flesh: one with a jagged scythe of twin spirals, another wielding a blade with an edge that glowed like molten iron, and a towering brute dragging a polearm wider than a man’s chest.

And against them — Gladius.

His katana flared with each swing, carving arcs of silver in the rain. The Shadows fought in pairs, their short swords blurs of discipline and precision. Reapers fell beneath them, but then there was some, the ones that had more gear carved swathes back through their lines. Lightning strobed the chaos — bodies, blades, blood, all flashing in split-seconds.

Eira’s hands covered her mouth. “Reapers… are real? and they are here?”

Corvin scrambled to his knees, wide-eyed. “Oh, fantastic. Walking nightmares with lawn tools, in the middle of a storm. Just what I needed.”

The wall exploded.

Wood splintered inward as a hooked scythe carved a hole wide enough for a man to walk thru. A a man with a sytche stepped inside, cloak dripping, porcelain mask painted with two crimson lines like bloodied tears.

Eira gasped, backing up. Corvin scrambled. Sai’s stomach dropped.

They had no weapons.

“Furniture!” Sai snapped. “Grab anything heavy!”

Corvin roared, ripping a leg off the nearest chair in a spray of splinters. “Improvised weaponry — my specialty!”

Sai yanked a chair sideways, holding it by the back like a makeshift shield. Eira darted to the counter, snatching bottles of herbs and powders with trembling hands.

The Reaper tilted its head slowly at the sight — as though amused. Then it moved.

The scythe swept low. Corvin leapt back, swinging the chair leg in a wild arc. It clattered uselessly off the Reaper’s ribs.

Sai shoved forward with the chair shield. The scythe slammed against it, splintering wood, rattling his arms to the bone. He staggered but held.

Eira, voice breaking, hurled a jar of crushed herbs. It shattered against the Reaper’s mask in a burst of powder. The figure hissed, staggering half a step.

“Yeah, eat plants!” Corvin shouted.

“Cough… cough…”

The Reaper in the room stumbled back from the thick cloud of herbs and powders that now filled the air. Its masked head jerked side to side, the crimson streaks painted down its porcelain face barely visible through the haze. It hacked and wheezed, a guttural sound more beast than human.

Through the coughing came a sinister rasp of laughter.

“Heh… ha… ha-ha-ha!”

Its head snapped toward the beds. Mira’s limp figure, pale and trembling. Dex, bleeding on the floor.

“Target spotted,” the Reaper hissed, voice like rust on steel. It slashed its scythe in a wide arc, dispersing the haze, and began to stalk forward.

Sai planted his feet between Mira and the Reaper, gripping his broken chair like a shield. “Over our dead body’s.”

“Don’t tempt it!” Corvin barked, dragging himself upright, clutching the jagged chair leg like a club.

Eira scrambled closer to Mira, her hands shaking. She hefted two glass bottles, oil sloshing inside.

Thunder split the night, rattling the inn’s shutters. From outside came the chaos of war — the clash of steel, the screams of Shadows cut down, the inhuman screeches of Reapers getting put down as they pushed the line.

“Hold the line!” Gladius’s voice cut through, cold and sharp as he led the defense, the group he was with held out cutting down multiple Reapers without any visible difficulty.

The inn shook as the battle outside surged.

The Reaper lunged.

Its scythe came low, blade hissing as it passed just above the wooden floorboards. Sai braced his chair-shield, the weapon striking with a thunderous crack that split the wood into shards. The impact knocked him flat on his back.

Corvin roared, swinging his chair leg with both hands. The makeshift club smashed against the Reaper’s ribs — useless — “Just DIe” Corvin got ready to strike again “Give me that Home run” He swung again, higher, crashing it across the mask so hard the reapers head snapped back as the mask cracked. A hairline appeared.

The Reaper’s laugh curdled into a snarl. It spun, slamming its haft into Corvin’s chest, sending him sprawling across the floorboards.

Eira screamed and hurled one of her bottles. Oil splashed across the Reaper’s cloak. The second bottle followed — shattering at its feet. She grabbed the oil lamp from the counter with both hands, raised it high, and smashed it down.

Flames whooshed to life, racing up the oil in an orange wave.

The Reaper staggered back, cloak igniting, screeching in fury.

Through the window, another lightning flash revealed the true terror outside.

The village square was drowning in blood and rain. Shadows fought like wolves in a pack, blades flashing in pairs. But for every Reaper cut down, two more forced their way into the fray. Their scythes cleaved air and flesh alike, black cloaks whipping in the storm.

Then he appeared.

One Reaper stepped into the street unlike the rest — taller, broader, his cloak lined in gold stitching that shimmered in every lightning flash. The haft of his scythe gleamed black as obsidian, but its blade stretched longer than the others, curved elegantly with gilded engravings carved into the steel.

Gasps rang out among the villagers still peering from doorways. Even Shadows faltered.

Gladius’s eyes narrowed. “So the gilded hound comes himself.”

The Reaper’s voice was smooth, venomous. “You’ve kept this cage too long, swordsman. Tonight, we crack it open.”

It cut down two Shadows in a single spinning strike, blood spraying the rain. Another charged. The golden Reaper barely moved — his scythe licked forward, splitting the Shadow across the chest, leaving him writhing in the mud.

Gladius stepped forward, katana gleaming in the storm. “Coward. Hiding behind numbers and masks.”

The golden Reaper tilted his head. “And you? Hiding behind orphans with blades too small for the monsters at your door?”

Their weapons clashed.

Katana against scythe. Lightning framed them in stark white. Sparks showered as steel rang. The golden Reaper moved with deadly grace, each strike flowing into the next, his weapon whistling arcs of gold. Gladius’s counters were precise, unyielding, his katana singing with every parry.

Rain blurred into blood. The square became their stage.

Inside the inn, the burning Reaper tore its cloak away, flames sputtering out. Its mask cracked wider, laughter returning in broken gasps.

“Clever… little mice.”

It lunged for Mira.

Sai dove, catching the haft against his chair’s remains. The wood splintered fully, stabbing into his palms. “Corvin!”

“I’m on it!” Corvin bellowed, hefting a broken chair leg. He swung down with both hands, smashing across the Reaper’s knee. The figure buckled, snarling — but instead of falling, it twisted, elbowing Corvin across the jaw. He dropped to the floor, dazed.

Eira screamed and leapt forward, jabbing the jagged neck of a broken bottle into the Reaper’s side. The glass shattered uselessly, but the distraction gave Sai an opening.

He rammed forward, driving his shoulder into the Reaper’s gut. Together they crashed through a small table, wood exploding under their weight.

The Reaper rose first. It grabbed Sai by the throat and hoisted him up, his legs kicking wildly.

“Haha… one less.”

Sai clawed desperately at the mask. His vision swam.

Then — thunk!

Corvin’s chair leg smashed across the Reaper’s head from behind. The crack in the mask deepened, fragments falling. The grip loosened just enough for Sai to slip free, gasping on the floor.

The Reaper staggered. But its laughter returned.

“Not… enough.”

Its scythe raised high.

And then — the window behind it exploded inward.

A Shadow was flung through the frame, body limp, blood trailing as another masked Reaper jumped in thru the broken window. Outside, the golden Reaper’s duel with Gladius raged, shock waves of steel clashing shaking the very air.

The Reaper inside turned its masked face toward the bed again. Mira twitched, murmuring weakly in her poisoned sleep.

“Target… spotted.”

Gladius locked blades with the golden Reaper, the katana straining against the ornate scythe. Rain poured into their eyes, lightning crowning their weapons.

“You fight for ashes,” Gladius hissed.

“And you fight for chains,” the Reaper spat back.

The scythe surged forward, forcing Gladius to skid back in the mud. Two Shadows flanked in to assist — the golden Reaper cleaved them both with a single spinning strike, blood mixing with rain at his feet.

Gladius lunged again, katana a silver blur. Their weapons screamed against each other, sparks showering the storm.

Around them, the Shadows’ screams thinned. The Reapers’ laughter grew.

And inside the inn, Sai, Corvin, and Eira stood bloodied and breathless between Mira’s bed and the Reaper stalking toward them.