Exousia - The Patron Saints of the Damned -Book II
Chapter 16 - A New Weapon

Chapter 16 – A New Weapon

Megan Michaels drove down a county road. The dim green lights from her dashboard illuminated her face, and only her headlights were there to light the empty street. With the car heater running, she hadn’t yet bothered to wear zip-up hoodie her father had so strangely given her. She realized that she hadn’t given the scene a whole lot of thought, beyond her own embarrassing reaction. Her father was a stranger, and the truth was that she really didn’t know what was weird for him. He’d only given her a jacket, which shouldn’t have seemed all that abnormal. He’d given her clothes before and thoughtless gifts during her birthday and holidays. But … he’d never done anything like that, bought something just because he’d thought of her.

Megan shook her head directed her attention to her phone. She remembered that he’d asked her to tell him when she found her brother. So, she pressed the button to activate the voice command function of her phone and called him.

“Megan?” Her father answered with a groggy voice.

“Yeah … dad,” Megan replied, the word coming out awkwardly. “I was just calling to let you know that Sam’s grandmother finally heard from the boys. The signal wasn’t good, but it looks like they had an accident out on a back-road by an old state park. I’m going to get them.”

“Brennan’s not home,” her father said as if this were news to him. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I did! You’re the one-” Megan began to say, gripping the steering wheel even tighter. Then she clenched her jaw and shook her head. “Whatever. I’m almost there. I’ll call you back when I’m on my way back with the boys.”

“You took the minivan?” He sounded as if he were trying to be helpful, but it came off patronizing and confusing. Was he really that good a liar or was he just drunk? No … he was pretending like he didn’t know anything about it so that her mother wouldn’t chew him out for not telling her. It was just like him. Megan wondered if the jacket hadn’t even been meant for her but for some girl he was sleeping with at his store. The thought made her blood boil; she hung up the phone and tossed it at the back seat. She then sat in silence for a while, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

As the road’s plastic reflectors beamed her headlights back at her, Megan began to grind her teeth. It … and everything else … was giving her a headache. After all she’d done, her dad still treated her like this. How dare he! Despite how both her parents normalized it, Megan knew there was no legitimate reason for her to be driving at nearly five in the morning on a school day, while they slept soundly at home. Just like she knew that she shouldn’t have had to play the role of mother instead of having a childhood of her own! It wasn’t enough that she was working hard to keep straight A’s in school, to apply for universities, to try in vain to find scholarships, and to work a job.

On top of all that, Megan also had to act as a parent … and got no thanks or support from her own parents for it. She hated them for being so caught up in their own little worlds. And she hated Brennan—the favorite child and the youngest—just a little bit too. He was lucky enough to have been born second. This gave him freedom from responsibility, from having to care about anyone or anything.

Of course, Megan also knew that she didn’t really hate her brother. All things considered, he was a pretty decent kid. He just didn’t realize that they were in the same boat when it came to their parents. She didn’t usually blame him for this … except for when she did. And now—with the residual anger from her parents, the worry she’d felt, a headache, and being exhausted from driving at the early hours of the morning—was one of those times. They were just different. He was determined to have a childhood and adolescence, while she had resolved to deal with their situation by acting like an adult and setting herself on a course for a better life. And this part of her knew that she had to find her brother, even though she was angry.

For a moment, Megan lost her concentration on the road and nearly ended up in a ditch. Sobered and a bit startled, she decided that she needed to calm down and focus on finding the boys. The GPS had indicated that they were slowly approaching the head of an old hiking trail, near some historical fire tower in the middle of the woods. If the boys were using their brains and remembered some of their scout training, they would be waiting at the trailhead or tower. If not … then Megan had a hike ahead of her.

It wasn’t the first time they had gotten into a mess hiking out in the woods, especially with how much time they spent out there. Still, it wasn’t safe to be out at night with all the strange things that happened around their town.

Megan saw a hand-painted sign pointing the way to “The Old Fire Tower,” and turned onto a gravel road. Driving on it created a crunching sound from her tires. She slowed down more when she saw a small building that looked like a rest-stop. The place looked like nobody had passed through in months, maybe years. And it was empty … the boys weren’t there.

Megan sighed miserably as she parked. She then got out of the van, and gave a loud groan while she looked at the trailhead map by the light of her phone. It was nothing more than a dusty, laminated printout. According to it, the fire tower was about a mile in. She tried not to think of the possibility that maybe one of them was hurt and couldn’t go any further. Surely, they would have said something when they called if someone had been injured.

Megan returned to the van and tried to call Sam’s phone again. But, this far out, her signal was dubious at best. It was a surprise that her GPS was even still working. She would have to follow the trail to the tower. If they weren’t there, she would at least stand a better chance of spotting them from the top of it. And if they weren’t there … well, the map trail said that it was five miles to do the whole loop.

Megan resisted frustration tears as she opened the trunk of the van, pulled off the plastic side-paneling for the storage of car tools, and pulled out the revolver that her dad kept there for emergencies. She also took the flashlight he stored in his emergency road-kit. She felt a little bit silly for bringing the gun, but something about the dark woods made her feel like … she wanted it. At this time of night, there should have been insects chirping, maybe owls hooting, even a coyote howling would have been normal. But … there was only dead silence. And the air around her was cold, even though there was no wind to produce a chill.

Megan decided to take the red zip-up hoodie out of the grocery store bag. It didn’t have any tags or logo; it was just a red hoodie. She put it on over her tank-top and noticed how soft the lining was against her skin. It didn’t seem like anything expensive, but it was a little bit too nice for her to believe that her dad had bought it just for her. Without zipping it up, she placed the handgun with the safety on into one of the large jacket pockets and began to walk along the trail.

There was something eerie about the woods that produced no sound and no wind. She reminded herself that there were no buildings or houses for miles around and no cars at the trail. Still, after a while, Megan reached into her pocket and placed a hand on the gun.

-O-

David walked alongside his friends, limping on his sprained, cut up, and bruised leg. At first, the walking had produced sharp pain with every step, so he had been forced to find a makeshift walking stick out of a brittle branch that he’d found along the way. But as the hours passed, the sharp pain became a dull and swollen throb that was a little easier to deal with.

Brennan walked alongside him. Ted, Jodie, and the boy with the scar were walking ahead of them. Each remained quiet, staring into the dark woods and looking for whatever might be looming out there. The rest were in the back of the group.

Marshal had mentioned the name of a boogeyman, a monster who had become something of a local legend in North Alabama.

The Woodcutter.

Though David did not particularly feel like whispering that name while trapped in the woods, he found his imagination entertaining the idea that they were being led by this legend. He had first heard about the legend when he was about thirteen years old. One day, while watching television, his parents had received a frantic phone call. His mother had shooed him out of the room. Sensing that something exciting was happening, he had sneaked back into the room and watched from behind the couch and saw that the channel had been changed to a local emergency broadcast.

The broadcast had announced that the bodies of several adults and a preteen girl had been found butchered by a man with an ax in a nearby state park. After that, there were many more killings … and many more strange visitors from others states and countries. Cultists armed to the teeth, bounty hunters, even a collection of exorcists, and all kinds of others. The weirdest of them all was the second group. They had been vertical cuts that extended from their throats to their bellies, and a second cut that bisected each of their hearts. It was said to have been performed almost like an Aztec ritual—the killer cutting into the heart while it was still beating. This method of strange execution was said to be continued by the Woodcutter … though not for every victim.

David could still vividly remember the news report after the second killing. The newscaster introduced the witness, a priest in black robes, unusually strong facial features, and a blond beard. His eyes were downcast and sad as he was asked by news reporters what he knew about the events of that night.

“I arrived much too late to see anything or be of much help,” the priest had said. “I’m afraid I was too lost in my prayers and meditation to immediately recognize what I saw. There was a very tall man with a wood-ax and a pair of scissors that he used to cut open the bellies of those poor people. The only thing I remember thinking about was a story my mother told me as a child … of Little Red Riding Hood, the Wolf, and the Woodcutter, though … this was probably just my mind coping with the shock. Regardless, I implore your viewers’ prayers on behalf of the victims, as well as for the tormented soul who feels he must do … all this.”

The newscaster then thanked the witness, a Father Ammon, for his time and the report had continued with details of the murders. Weirdly, nobody ever saw or heard from the priest again, and some wondered if he hadn’t been the Woodcutter himself.

Six months later, another body had been found with identical cuts from the belly to the throat. This one was found in another set of nearby woods. The first mentions of a serial killer began to circulate on the internet shortly after that. Because of the first killing with the ax, the odd nature of the wounds that the killer left, the fact that all the bodies so far had been found in forests, and mostly the memorable interview given by the priest, the killer was dubbed the Woodcutter.

It wasn’t long before more bodies were found, and in a larger radius than they could have imagined. Bodies that bore the marks of the ritualist slaughter reached up to the northern and western states. But they always returned to the North Alabama area. The victims were usually found to have connections to the occult. Usually, the bodies would have the same two cuts. But they were sometimes burned, brutalized, or torn up as if by predatory animals. One brutalized body even turned out to be a copycat killer. Yet all this news was left mostly undisclosed in public forums.

In his younger years, David had thought that this was because the television networks were stupid or because they didn’t care. He learned more by chatting with other serial killer enthusiasts privately, through the internet. Some of these enthusiasts were themselves one step away from being copycat killers, but they knew their stuff.

Yes, For reasons that he couldn’t understand, David had gained a deep and morbid fascination with the deaths of those people and the person who’d killed them. It fascinated him that someone could do something like that to another person. The mental picture of a man with an ax who hunted wolves and people filled his young imagination. He didn’t feel like this new interest was a bad thing, at first. After all, David was very much against violence … and had often considered the life of a vegetarian. It was just such an interesting mystery.

However, David kept his fascination with the Woodcutter to himself; he knew his mother and especially his father wouldn’t understand. They didn’t approve of the morbid, and occasionally talked about the mental instability of those who did. David wondered if the shame of how he thought his father would react to his interests was what made him as quiet and reserved as he was.

Still, David did everything he could to keep track with local deaths through television and his family’s living-room computer. His hobby taught him a lot about the world, the nature of society, and people in general. Surprisingly, it even made him think about life and its inherent value. But, eventually, it grew into an obsession that made him reclusive and secretive to an extreme degree. It wasn’t that he necessarily wanted to hide from other people. But … part of him worried that others would be disgusted if they saw the real him. This resulted in a deep feeling of isolation and a desire to find some other part of himself that he could share.

Perhaps this was the reason that Brennan had become his best friend. He was not at all reflective, secretive, or serious. He was the exact opposite; he lived purely in the moment, squeezing fun out of every second. This was a right balance for David, who sometimes felt like he spent too much time thinking and not enough time experiencing. Being around a friend like that, a benevolent jester and unrealized anarchist, one had to exist in the present or risk falling behind.

Carpe Diem—seize the day. The motto was so inherent a guiding philosophy to Brennan’s life that he didn’t even bother to learn the words.

For David, the balance he found in living between these two parts of himself felt right. It was where he could be true to himself with both times of isolation and times of company. But now, in this forest that made no sounds, he was walking the line between the public and the private parts of his life. It seemed an impossible coincidence in a world that he had long ago determined to be ruled by chaos and chance. Maybe chaos had chosen him for this, in its great appreciation for irony.

David’s thoughts were locked on this when he stumbled on a fallen branch he hadn’t seen before. He nearly fell. But Brennan caught him and pulled him back to his feet. David managed a smile and said, “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it. You look like shit already, and I don’t want to have to look at you if it gets any worse,” Brennan replied. He was unable to keep from smiling a little, even though he was panting and trembling a little. He was fighting … trying to use humor as a small handle of control over a situation that was so far beyond anyone’s control. “You look like you’re in a good mood, though, all things considered. Think she’s legit and wants to help us?”

David shrugged and gave a small smile. “We’re not the Woodcutter’s normal sort of target, and it’s not like he … or she … or any other competent killer would have needed to lie to us to take us out.”

Brennan seemed to think about this for a moment and then shrugged. “I think you’re just showing off your big-ass brain, man.”

David chuckled, feeling a little less crazy. But when his laughter subsided, a wave of emotion hit him. “Might be the last time I get to show off. Maybe I’m just getting stuck in my head because all of this is just too much.”

Brennan stopped for a moment and turned to face him with a serious expression. “We’ll get out of this.” He pulled his best friend’s arm around his neck to help him walk.

The two of them pressed forward.

-O-

Though Marshal had been through a car wreck, a kidnapping, a fight with his friends, and a long hike, he was surprised that he did not feel more tired. Of course, this was probably due to a surge of adrenaline and his mind’s natural coping mechanisms. But still, he regarded the point with interest. So it took him a while to acknowledge to himself that his general lack of tiredness wasn’t some incredible detail. It was just something that he had decided to think about instead of the things that made him feel like throwing up. He didn’t want to consider how unnatural the woods seemed, that all of them were acting strangely, or that he might have been wrong in his plan to play along. And though he tried not to, he did notice these things and more.

Despite his seemingly disinterested personality, Marshal had always paid close attention to the things going on around him. He’d always been intuitive of how much people gave away about themselves. They didn’t notice their own behaviors that made them vulnerable and gave others leverage over them. Part of him thought that most people gave these secrets about themselves away on purpose, on some conscious or subconscious level, in a desperate desire for the true parts of themselves to be recognized and accepted.

For some people, like Jodie, it was easy to tell what they were thinking. His confidence and calm nature were mostly a mask to hide his inability to deal with severe emotions. That was the reason he’d taken things like his cousin’s death and his arrest so hard. But most others failed to realize this because they were so preoccupied with themselves to see past the flimsy masks that others wore

Sam’s history of abuse was visible in the way he carried himself, the way he flinched slightly at any sort of robust movement, like a dog with a history of being beaten. And whatever he had endured had been so traumatic that his brain was now more concerned about preserving his psyche than his life. It had detached him from being fully aware of the situation to save him. Classic dissociation.

The others kept their thoughts and fears only slightly more guarded. Ted’s worried and caring glances at Jodie betrayed his feelings of affection. Derrick’s telling signs were his staring at the ground and his hunched his shoulders. He wanted people to know he was insecure, angry, and angry at his own insecurity without having to say it. David was currently unable to hold a conversation without getting stuck in his own thoughts for minutes at a time. He was stuck in introspection, the place where he was safe and could pretend like he had control over the situation. Billy’s worshipful looks at Brennan and his resentful glares at the rest of them made his jealousy more visible now than it usually was. And this fact betrayed his deep need for a meaningful relationship with family. And Brennan … well, he kept a smile up when he could. But this just revealed that he was hiding how scared and powerless he now felt.

Marshal didn’t just know these things about his friends because he knew them well; he could sense them out of most people. Of course, most people weren’t as observant as he was. But still, he had no desire to give away his own secrets. He had worked so hard at creating a barrier so that people could not see what was inside him. He had dreams of one day being someone important … a leader, a musician, or something else by which he could fix things and influence the world. He had always wanted that, had always felt the weight of purpose inside of him. He’d always wanted to stand as his own man, apart from the wealth, comfort, and status of his parents.

This made him think about Megan. Despite his obligatory protests, it was true that he had feelings for her. He perceived her as a kindred spirit. While she clearly struggled with the opinions and expectations of those around her, she was trying to fight through them and become something. She had big dreams and a plan for the distant future, which included leaving their small town. That was not to say that Marshal was madly in love with her, but he did sometimes find himself imagining a future where she was present. And if she were present … then maybe the rest of his friends could be too. He could have the future he dreamed of, as well as the people he cherished most in his life now.

Of course, pushing into the future meant that he had to begin preparations now. This included besting any potential vulnerabilities within himself. Not that there was anything tremendously wrong with him, but he’d seen how people used these little details to manipulate and control the people around them. He’d seen his parents do it … though never maliciously. This was why he always kept his cards close to his chest, even more so now that they were in danger. So while Marshal struggled with self-doubt over whether he had chosen to deal with the situation correctly, he knew deep down that he had made the right call.

He would have known immediately if this stranger was a lunatic. There would have been something in her eyes, something like a hungry need that would have filled them. Marshal’s self-doubt in this was that that there was … absolutely nothing in the girl’s eyes. Absolutely nothing. Even when she’d just been attacked in the dark woods, her tone remained even and she offered none of the clues about her psyche which most people so eagerly wanted to show others. This either meant that she was so dead inside that there was no way they could ever defeat her or that she was something completely different from a normal person.

This was the insight that had also prompted Marshal to argue with Jodie’s animalistic impulse to fight. Still … he hadn’t meant to be as emotional or cruel as what he’d been. He hadn’t been himself, just like the others who were no longer acting entirely like themselves. Their emotional fortitude was now frail and easily bent by whatever was wrong with these woods. It was because of this that Marshal had remained quiet since then. He knew that he had to keep his cool if they were going to stand a chance of surviving. So, he continued to think about how not tired he felt. He ignored the stimuli from all around him and the lack thereof coming from the girl who led them.

-O-

Brennan’s first hour of being led by a possible serial killer known for disemboweling her victims and removing their hearts was the most terrifying one of his life. But that meant that he was carried on adrenaline and so did not notice the massive bruise on his backside, the rope burns on his skin, his ever-increasing hunger and thirst, or how sore his muscles had become. The next few hours thus became the most miserable. His physical exhaustion and pain seemed to double with every mile that he walked. Most of that time, he found himself too short of breath to talk or even do much thinking.

But after five hours of walking, he found that these feelings sort of melded into a general bodily sensation of misery. The only mercy was that his head went into some kind of autopilot daze. Because of that, he did not immediately notice when the first beams of morning light traced the sky. When Brennan finally did notice that the sky was a slightly lighter shade of gray, all he could feel was disappointment and despair. He thought that they’d have seen a road by sunrise. It seemed that they were just being led deeper into the woods. Had it been smart to play along?

So far, the girl with the scar had walked with absolute assurance along the same trail they’d started on, not even stopping to consider forks in path or places where it crossed with others. Did she know the woods this well? Or was their guide was leading them further from where they could be found?

Regardless Brennan paid close attention to these other trails, in case they decided to change plans and needed to backtrack. As the light slowly showed more than just the shadows of trees around him, he became more doubtful of their situation. With every mile, the trees seemed to get thicker, until it was impossible to see very deep through them. While there had been groves, clearings, hills, and boulders before, there were now only dense, dead woods. Furthermore, the lifeless and eerie nature of these grayish brown trees was now plainly evident in the light. Even the evergreens were more yellow and brown than green.

Of course, the unsettling effect of the woods paled by comparison with that of following the silent guide with the scar … the one they all thought could be a famous killer. Ever since Brennan had first heard about the Woodcutter in the news, he had imagined the figure as a creepy old man dressed like a lumberjack. He would go along and just cut open random hikers and hunters with his giant ax. For the Woodcutter to be a girl … a teenager who ignored them almost entirely … was not what he had imagined.

As Brennan passed a tall grove of trees, he saw a structure—an old, rickety fire tower off in the distance. Were there rangers in those towers? Hikers with binoculars, tourists, anyone? Or was it an abandoned structure from which they would be chopped up? Maybe … this was the safe place that the crazy guide had wanted to bring them to. He didn’t know, so he resolved to lead an attack at first sight of blood or bones. He could only hope that his friends would join him. With that in mind, he took a deep breath, swallowed, and then peered into the distance. He looked for any sign of bones, blood, or of people whose attention he could get.

But there was nothing and nobody, only the tower. Still, his friends reacted by opening their eyes hopefully when they saw it. Well … all but two of them. Sam only glanced with a worried expression at their guide, and then looked back down at the dirt. The way he did it was almost like a child whose parents were upset and hadn’t yet decided how to punish him. Meanwhile, Derrick was keeping his gaze down and shaking his head every so often. Had something happened while the rest of them were talking?

Though curious, Brennan resolved not to ask until they were alone again. It remained at the forefront of his mind, though, until he saw something unexpected. He glanced back at the tower and saw light coming from behind it. This was not the light of the sun or some sort of reflection, but artificial headlights from a car. These beams glowed through the light fog and the thick trees. Maybe the driver was planning to climb the tower. That would give them the offhand chance of being spotted.

Unfortunately, the girl with the scar had looked up, noticed it, and said, “Someone is coming. Nobody should be out here. Stay here if you want to remain safe.” Then she lifted her staff to use it as a weapon and stepped off the trail.

Brennan felt like a spike of fear pierced his chest, and the tiny flame of hope inside him was smothered. He almost moved to follow their guide, wanting to distrust her words, until he stepped on a very dry branch. After the resounding crackle, the girl with the scar did not turn around. She … genuinely didn’t actually care if they followed her or tried to escape.

Something bad really was coming.

-O-

Exousia considered whether the arriving vehicle was a trap, a distraction, or perhaps a human who had coincidentally come to explore the trail. A trap meant that his opponent had likely lost himself to madness, while a distraction meant that he was in control of himself. In the case of the latter situation, this was all an effort to create a scene. Then there was the possibility of coincidence … in which case she was wasting precious time. Fortunately, these woods quickly drove almost all humans away. If this one had incidentally arrived for reasons that did not concern the teenagers, they would soon leave.

But after several minutes of walking, Exousia did not sense the human turn back. This was probably the one who had received the phone call … and who might call the police. It would make sense for Ammon to have done this. After all, what better way was there to traumatize the humans and discredit Exousia’s efforts at protecting them than to force her to take out a raged parent or a dozen cops? It would slow the teenagers and probably scatter them, making it near impossible to get them out of the woods.

Exousia decided it better to take a calculated loss and risk stepping into a trap, rather than to risk that level of chaos. She left her walking staff resting against a tree so that it did not slow her down and then moved toward the tower. As she walked, she used the time to think about how to keep the teenagers’ souls from corruption if she noticed that they were getting close to it.

As the apprentice of an assassin, the topic of human souls rarely came up in such a light. She had learned the approximate level of power each human soul contained, their potential uses, their composition, and how to divide them into more basic components. She had even learned the methods by which human sorcerers collecte souls for their own power. But … she’d never learned of their preservation. So Exousia directed her thoughts towards corruption, a practice nearly as old as the demon nation who needed human souls to survive in their prison. In ancient times, demons had collected souls by taking the forms of djinn or benevolent spirits. They gave humans all the power and wealth they could have wanted, as there was no better way to corrupt a human soul.

Of course, times changed and these djinns were replaced when forward-thinking demons got to work designing societal constructs like governments, religions, reputation, wealth, and fame. These were designed to give the most despicable humans the most power, without creating awareness of the supernatural realm or necessitating direct demon involvement. It was a lot like farming, in a sense. Sure, most human souls were left uncorrupted to ascend to the Creator, but more than enough corrupted themselves in order to get what they wanted. Additionally, these societal constructs of power naturally evolved into values over time, meaning that the percentage of humans seeking to corrupt their own souls only ever grew … except by the involvement of Saints.

The Saints … normal humans who used their influence to uplift the spirit of their kind–not to be confused with the sorts of religious figures of power who humans felt the need to glorify even in death. The true saints–people who healed, who took care of the desolate, and who promoted a sort of honor akin to that espoused by demonkind–had been known to effectively combat the effects of corruption in a populace.

Such a saint would have likely tried to persuade Exousia that kindness and service to the teenagers would enrich their souls against corruption. The problem was that she would not be able to defeat Ammon using these ideals alone. Exousia understood her own lack of any personality attribute that the teenagers might find relatable. Any attempt that she could have made to be kind to them would only come off as unskillfully manipulative, and make her seem less worthy of their trust. And her own absence of skill in this was not the only problem. While it was true that some humans reacted to kindness and respect positively, these were a rarity and required time. The people that she’d seen act most nobly in a time of need were those faced with fear, pressure, and the threat of an unbeatable enemy. Humans, it seemed, fought most boldly to protect their loved ones and themselves when an enemy sought to tear them down.

So Exousia decided that, for now, the solution was for her to keep them at arm’s length and to allow them to find strength in one another. After having been tied up and seeing the body of the old woman, they were already beginning to stand together.

The degree of their potential strength of spirit was significant … and strange since the Challenge should have been designed to put Exousia at a disadvantage. Ammon was aware of her weakness when it came to human interaction, so there was no reason that he should have given up such a potential advantage. On top of that, he had still not tried to corrupt any of them. Perhaps he was creating a false atmosphere of security. But the more likely answer was that he was building up his plan and getting ready to turn the tables. Or … he had already lost himself to the madness and had abandoned the challenge in favor of gathering his forces.

There was no way for Exousia to know. She could only continue her course of action until she found another clue that might help her understand the game at hand–starting with this new intruder in the woods.

Finally, a distant person with a femme-sounding voice shouted, “Brennan!” She sounded annoyed, but there was a fearful undertone as well.

Exousia looked around for blue lights or a siren and wondered why the human hadn’t brought help. The practical answer, of course, was that she hadn’t been given her any reason to. The phonecall had been short and vague, if she had heard anything at all. Still … this seemed too convenient. Did humans not bring ambulances to accidents, tow trucks? What about just another person for help and safety? Just like with the rest of what had happened in the challenge thus far, it all felt like an elaborate trap.

Exousia drew close as quietly as possible, staying on the edges of her feet and taking great care to step between the twigs and leaves. While this did not severely hamper her speed of movement as it had when she’d first learned the skill, it did take tremendous concentration. She had to feel the shadows and the dark so that seeing obstacles was no longer necessary.

Exousia fell into a trance-like state that her teacher had taught her. This was neither human or demon magic, at least not in the strictest definition. This was a moving style of meditation exemplified by the practitioners of the Tao. It was a part of Wei Wu Wei, effortless action. It was a transition from walking with awareness of the destination to taking steps in with only the present in mind. It was feeling, existing, and doing without doing, so that purpose did not create error. It was using the peripherals of all her senses, even the demon ones, to unconsciously know what was around her. Within her trance, Exousia moved forward in absolute silence … until, at long last, she was awakened by the presence of the human he was searching for.

The girl was of average build and was perhaps six inches taller than she was. Her skin had a natural tan and a few freckles that bore a resemblance to one of the teenage boys in the woods. Her hair was chestnut brown. She wore jogging shoes, a pair of shorts, and a red hoodie that seemed … familiar. The human walked along the trail, shining her flashlight in the woods and holding a medium-sized pistol at her side.

Given time, Exousia would have been able to disarm her. But at that moment, she sensed four or five heavy heartbeats, smelled a bit of sulfur, and saw glimmers of light reflected from the frame of the fire-tower.

Demons.

It was only after Exousia heard, saw, and smelled them, that she felt their presences take shape from the ether. Which meant … they’d been waiting. They hadn’t used the girl as a distraction to interact with the human teenagers. This was a trap for Exousia herself. But what was the nature of this trap? Why wait until now to attack? It wasn’t as if the teenagers would have given her any sort of edge in a physical fight. The again, just because it was a trap did not mean that it was intended to kill her. More than likely, it was just another part of the game. A checker piece … forcing her hand.

Exousia remained one with the shadows and avoided the orange streaks of sunlight that slowly crawled through the woods. She decided that the best way to resolve the problem was to scare her back to her car. This would nullify the purpose of the trap, whatever that was. Additionally, the girl would be one less factor to consider in this game, and her absence might disrupt Ammon’s plans.

Exousia just had to make sure not to let the girl see anything that would give the cops reason to send more than a couple officers. She would use her psychic demon abilities to whisper fear into the girl’s mind. It would be dangerous … but the best option for throwing a chaotic wrench into the machinery of Ammon’s plan.

Exousia watched until she felt her eyes connect with those of the girl. Two pools of water meeting, with only a thin and fragile membrane between the two. Now … now was the bad part. She had to fill herself with that which made her afraid in order to share that fear with the human. Exousia whispered demon words to get the process started. At first, this only generated a physical feeling of anxiety—an increased heart-rate, sweat pouring from her body, and slight tremors. But then, she began to see something. The world started to grow larger around her until she felt tremendously small … and powerless. Exousia and the girl as one watched the trees melt together and stand straight into the sky. They gradually replaced the woods, until they were gone altogether, becoming the skyscrapers of a large city.

Exousia found herself standing on a sidewalk, while humans gradually appeared and then began to walk all around her. She kept her head down and tried to remember the meditation techniques that she’d been taught for keeping their thoughts out of his mind. But no matter how hard she concentrated, it didn’t work. She could feel waves of stress, everyday terror, and impending doom. Her heart-rate quickened painfully and her body began to feel frigid, as she struggled to stand with the terrible emotions crashing against her.

Finally, Exousia looked up and saw hundreds of eyes staring at her … those of humans on every side. They knew that she wasn’t human, but they weren’t afraid of him either. They wanted to put her in a cage like an animal, locked forever in a prison filled with even more of their kind. Until she died, they would surround her on every side with their crushing thoughts and emotions.

Exousia screamed and projected all of her terror at the humans staring. This created vibrations in the waters of her mind–actions that demanded an equal reaction to the soul opposite of her own. The trembling, the cold, and the painful beating of her heart leave like a fiery breath from her throat. And with all of that terror, the illusion went away as well. She braced herself against a tree to pant and regain control of her trembling body.

The magic had taken a phobia, reflected it inside her like a laser bouncing between specialized mirrors, amplified it to weaponized power, and unleashed it against her target. But the damage to herself was severe enough that it took a good half-minute before she could look up. She was relieved a bit when she did and saw that her plan had worked.

The human girl turned around and began to run back towards her car. This meant one less human that Exousia had to protect, and a wrench into the trap set against her.

It was then that four demons emerged from the deeper woods, taking the shapes of shadows on the ground. They had to have anticipated some sort of attack and been hiding! The demons placed themselves between the girl and her escape. Then they rose from their dark two-dimensional forms on the ground until they had depth and shape.

The demon had become enormous black wolves, with more horrifying features than their natural counterparts. They looked like they were afflicted by mange and a multitude of other skin afflictions, though their muscles bulged. Each opened their mouths and let tar-like, black blood drip and speckle the ground in front of them.

Exousia growled under her breath. They were taking the exact same shape that Dufaii had frequently used ever since they’d moved out to the woods. This couldn’t have been a coincidence. They were targeting her emotions. Ammon was targeting her emotions. However, there was no time to dwell on it.

The girl screamed, frantically aimed her pistol at the demons, and unloaded five rounds into one of their thick hides.

The bullets did impact the demon, creating shallow wounds that splashed thick black blood. The demon that was hit did not fall. It opened its wolf mouths, revealing a row of jagged, white teeth with pools of black blood trickling from between them. But it did not seem to be threatening her; it was smiling. It was … trying to scare her–cutting off her route of escape. The demon lunged and landed only a couple of feet away from her.

The girl turned, stumbled, and then sprinted down the trail–in the direction she was clearly being herded.

Exousia knew that she had to do something. By the time she managed to process the situation, it was too late to do anything but act. She stepped out from the woods and onto the trail, ready to catch and disarm the human.

The girl looked up, saw him, tripped, and fell face-first toward a tree.

Without thinking, Exousia dove, grabbed her waist, and diverted her path away from it. She felt the butt of the gun and the human’s flailing arm strike her temple. Blackness began to overtake her, and she had to fight to retain consciousness.

Exousia fell to her knees and looked hazily at the woods around her. She no longer saw the demons, but rather something that had replaced them. It was a thin and dark figure, with white lines finger-painted across its face. It was standing behind the human, staring while waving an amulet made of dried bone. Exousia felt energy emanate from the amulet, which redoubled the effects of the strike to her temple. Then she saw nothing.

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