The Wagon-Fortress groaned like a dying beast as it lumbered forward, its once-mighty mechanisms now grinding in protest with every laborious step. Victor, his consciousness tethered precariously to S-01, felt each shuddering movement as if it were his own failing body. Golden scars flickered erratically across the Sentinel's armored plating—visible proof of the strain.

  "Left. Steady now."

  Victor's voice, channeled through S-01's vocal array, was thin with static. The massive construct obeyed, its colossal treads churning up dirt and loose stone as it veered away from the exposed plains and toward the shelter of the northern foothills. The terrain grew jagged, treacherous—boulders the size of houses jutted from the earth like broken teeth, and gnarled thickets clawed at the fortress's armored underbelly.

  Good.

  Cover. Shadows. A place to disappear.

  Pip crouched in the lower engine bay, her goggles smeared with oil as she manually overrode a seized pressure valve. Steam hissed like an angry serpent, scalding the air near her face.

  "Come on, you stubborn son of a—"

  A wrench twist. A metallic snap. The valve relented, and the fortress lurched forward again with a shudder.

  Above her, Borin and Aelin moved ahead on foot, clearing the path. Borin's massive shoulders strained as he shoved aside a moss-crusted boulder, his boots skidding in the loose scree. Aelin darted ahead, light-footed, her blade slicing through thorn-laced vines that threatened to tangle the treads.

  Every noise put them on edge. The creak of overstressed plating. The crunch of gravel underfoot. The distant, unidentifiable howl of wind—or something else—echoing through the rocks.

  Hale watched from the command deck, his wrists bound in reinforced shackles linked to a bolted-down console. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes tracked every flicker of the dim emergency lanterns, every flinch of the others.

  "You know," he mused, voice dripping with false levity, "if you wanted me dead, there were cleaner ways."

  No one answered him.

  Hours bled together in a haze of exhaustion and tension. Then—

  "There."

  Victor's voice cut through the fatigue. Ahead, a narrow ravine split the foothills—a gash in the earth just wide enough to swallow the fortress whole. Towering rock formations leaned over it like sentinels, their shadows stretching long in the fading light.

  "Take us in. Slowly."

  S-01's massive hands gripped the control levers, pistons hissing as the fortress pivoted. Armored plating screeched against stone as they squeezed into the gap. For one heart-stopping moment, the left tread caught on an outcrop—then tore free in a shower of sparks.

  With a final, exhausted hiss of steam, the Wagon-Fortress settled into the ravine's belly, half-buried in shadow.

  Pip wiped grease from her hands, leaving smears across her trousers. "That should buy us some time."

  Borin leaned against a console, his breath ragged. "Assuming whatever’s hunting us doesn’t have a nose for metal." His knuckles were split, bloody from clearing debris.

  Aelin ghosted back inside, her blade sheathed but her posture coiled. She checked the rust-streaked perimeter gauges—manual now, with the sensors dead. "We’ll post watches. But first—" Her gaze cut to Hale.

  Victor's voice, thinned by strain, filled the space between them. "We need to decide what to do with him."

  Hale smirked. "Ah. Touching reunion over. Now comes the part where you debate whether to slit my throat or toss me to the wolves."

  Pip's grip tightened on her wrench. "We’re not killing you."

  "No?" Hale tilted his head, chains clinking. "Then what? Keep me as a pet? Chain me up like some trophy?"

  Borin cracked his knuckles. "I vote for tossing him off the nearest cliff."

  Aelin didn’t blink. "Blackridge. Two days west. Mining town with a garrison."

  Victor's optics dimmed. "You’re suggesting we turn him over."

  "It’s the cleanest solution," Aelin said. "They’ll lock him up—or put him to work in the pits. Either way, he’s not our problem anymore."

  Pip hesitated. "And if they just execute him?"

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Aelin’s gaze didn’t waver. "Then that’s the price of betrayal."

  Hale laughed—sharp, bitter. "How noble. Can’t stomach killing me yourselves, so you’ll let some backwater thugs do it for you?"

  S-01 took a heavy step forward, the deck plates trembling. "You forfeited your say the moment you backstabbed us."

  Hale’s grin faded. Something flickered in his eyes—not fear, but calculation. "You really think this ends with me in a cell? You’re all so predictable."

  Borin scowled. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

  Hale leaned forward, chains taut, voice a whisper. "It means you’re making a mistake."

  Silence.

  The fortress creaked around them. The wind howled through the ravine like a thing alive.

  Victor spoke first. "We move at dawn. Blackridge it is."

  Pip exhaled, shoulders sagging. She didn’t look at Hale as she turned away.

  Some choices left scars, no matter how you decided.

  And this one?

  This one would linger.

  Fangs in the Dark

  The ravine was a tomb of shadows, its steep walls pressing in like the jaws of some great beast. The Wagon-Fortress sat crippled in its stony maw, its mechanical heartbeat silent, its armored flanks still radiating heat from their desperate flight. The dim glow of emergency lanterns painted the interior in flickering amber, stretching Pip's small gnome frame into a monstrous silhouette against the riveted walls.

  She perched on a stack of crates, her oversized wrench resting across her knees, her large ears twitching at every sound. The air smelled of scorched oil and something wild—something that didn't belong in their metal sanctuary. Outside, the crescent moon offered little light, its silver glow obscured by tattered clouds.

  Skitter.

  Pip's pointed ears swiveled forward.

  Just pebbles. Just the wind.

  Then—

  A low, guttural growl vibrated through the darkness, deeper than any natural creature's.

  Not the hiss of failing steam valves. Not the creak of stressed metal.

  Something alive. Something hungry.

  Her breath caught. Slowly, she turned toward the ravine's mouth.

  Eyes.

  Dozens of pairs.

  Glowing like sickly emeralds in the dark, reflecting the lantern light with unnatural intensity. They didn't blink. Didn't waver. Just watched.

  "On your feet!" she barked, hurling a spare gear at Borin's broad chest.

  The dwarf was up before his eyes fully opened, his warhammer already in his thick-fingered grip. Aelin rose like a whisper, her long elven limbs unfolding gracefully even as her hand found her bow in one fluid motion.

  Victor's voice crackled through S-01's dormant frame—thin, strained. "Report."

  Pip didn't answer.

  The first beast moved.

  It came in a blur of matted fur and distorted proportions—too tall at the shoulder, too long in the limb, its spine curved like a drawn bow. It hit the fortress plating with a resounding clang, its claws shrieking against the metal as it scrambled for purchase.

  Then the night erupted.

  Creatures poured from the rocks, their forms warping as they moved, some running on all fours, others lurching upright with grotesque, almost-human gaits. All of them wrong.

  No automated defenses. No backup. Just them.

  Borin's battle cry shook the ravine as he met the first horror, his hammer pulverizing its skull in an explosion of blackened blood. Aelin became a storm of motion, her arrows finding eyes and throats with unerring precision even as she danced between attacks, her long braid whipping behind her.

  Pip scrambled up a pipe, her small frame allowing her to squeeze into the maintenance gaps. "Victor—I need power to the port vents!"

  "Not without—"Static."—risk core collapse—"

  "Rust and damnation!" She wrenched a manual release valve. A scalding geyser erupted from the fortress's side, enveloping a leaping beast in boiling steam. The creature's howls turned to wet, bubbling shrieks as its flesh sloughed away.

  Hale, still chained to the console, watched with a viper's grin. "Need a hand, little gnome?"

  An arrow sprouted from the wall an inch from his face, still vibrating. Aelin didn't even glance his way as she nocked another. "Next one finds your eye."

  The pack kept coming.

  They weren't natural. Their forms flickered at the edges of vision, limbs elongating and retracting unnaturally. Borin took a claw across his thick forearm, the wound sizzling with some foul substance. His roar of pain shook dust from the ceiling.

  "We're being overrun!" Pip screamed, ducking as a multi-jointed horror vaulted over her head.

  Then—a flash of bronze.

  S-01 fought with brutal efficiency, its metal fists caving in chests and tearing limbs from sockets. But with each crushing blow, the golden scars across Victor's core flared brighter—warning lights in the dark.

  "Victor, you're pushing too hard!" Pip yelled.

  The Sentinel didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Its piston-driven arms moved with mechanical certainty, smashing through bone and sinew. One creature's head vanished under a crushing blow. Another's spine snapped as S-01 lifted it bodily and slammed it into the ravine wall.

  Then—silence.

  The remaining beasts melted back into the night.

  Borin leaned on his hammer, his beard matted with blood both black and red. Aelin retrieved her arrows from corpses, her movements precise despite the adrenaline. Pip's hands shook as she sealed the last fuel line, her fingers blistered from the heat.

  Only Hale broke the quiet.

  "See?" He grinned, licking blood from where a stray claw had grazed his cheek. "I told you you'd regret not killing m..."

  "Finish that sentence," Aelin said, an arrow already drawn, "I dare you."

  Victor's voice was barely audible. "Dawn... can't come... soon enough."

  Outside, something howled in the distance.

  The hunt wasn't over.