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What? Why was she in his room?

He pushed the door open to see her staring at his empty bed. She got down to the floor and looked underneath—where he’d put the hellfire circle.

“Are you gone?” she called out, voice trembling. She reached out to grab the shirt and move it aside.

“Hey!” Zeth shouted frantically, stepping forward.

Immediately, she withdrew her hand and hopped to her feet, looking back at him. “Zeth! There was a loud noise, and I couldn’t find you, and—”

“Yeah, uh, I’m sorry, I went up front to check things out,” he said, glancing at the slightly disturbed shirt under his bed. The dark red of the circle’s writing was barely visible. Close call. “Hey, listen, there’s some dangerous stuff going on. You should go to your room and go back to sleep. Maybe barricade your door.”

“What’s going on? I wanna see!”

Zeth blinked. “What? No, you can’t see. There-there’s something dangerous coming, and if it notices you—”

A crash sounded from outside. It was nearby. Zeth heard his mother calling his name.

“Listen, I need to go and deal with this. Go to your room. And don’t come out no matter what.” He walked over and grabbed her arm, pulling her away and out of his room despite her shouts of protest, then closed the door.

The moment she was gone, Zeth rushed over to his bed and crawled underneath, dragging his shirt out from beneath it. It was only slightly wrinkled, so the ritual circle drawn onto its fabric was still perfectly intact, emanating a dormant power that Zeth’s recently-acquired perception of mana sensed, causing his hairs to stand on end.

Okay, now how do I get over to that thing without anyone clearly seeing me running around with a giant ritual circle painted onto a shirt? C’mon, c’mon…

Opening the shutters covering his window and gazing out, he saw the fleshtaker still walking steadily up the road toward them, following his scent.

He could climb out of the window to get to the thing, but what about once he was out there? Anyone who glanced over would be able to see him. And he assumed that the massive pillar of flame the Hellfire Ritual created would draw quite a bit of attention.

A loud banging echoed across the house, and Zeth whipped his head to its direction—it was coming from the direction of the living room, where his mother was. What?! Has the monster already—

He glanced back out the window, only to find the fleshtaker still down the road, slowly creeping in their direction.

The banging sounded out again. Wait, is that the door? Who’s knocking?

He heard someone open the front door to the house, and then he heard a voice. “Miss Valerian, thank the gods you’re safe!”

Is that…Turin? Why are you here?! Please, get out, get to safety!

Turin continued speaking. “Th-there’s some sort of monster, it crawled out of the mines and started attacking town! A fire broke out, and the guild’s combat teams got preoccupied, and—it’s coming your way. I ran out here as fast as I could, but it’s close. You need to get out of here.”

Zeth glanced over to his closet, his father’s clothes hanging inside. If I can’t hide the ritual magic, I’ll just have to hide myself.

Hurriedly, he went over and ruffled through several different pieces of oversized clothing, looking for something that would hide his face and figure. Soon, he found a long full-body black coat with a hood that totally covered the top of Zeth’s face when drawn. He’d never seen his dad wearing this thing, and it looked relatively unused—at least, compared to all the other torn shirts in the closet, covered in sewn-on patches to close up their countless holes. This thing was even bigger on Zeth than all the other clothes, so it’d probably been too big for his dad, as well.

He wrapped it around his body and buttoned it up, the bottom of the coat almost passing his knees. Then, he grabbed the ritual circle shirt and held it close to his body, careful not to let it fold or crease anywhere.

With one last deep breath, he gathered his courage. Okay, just gotta go out there, not die, and kill the thing.

After ensuring his knife was tucked securely into his belt and locking his bedroom door, he raised a leg and slipped out of the window, dropping down into the tall grass surrounding the house. In the cover of the night and hiding beneath the foliage, he hoped he wouldn’t be seen coming from his room.

He moved as quickly as he could while still trying to move slow enough that he wouldn’t draw attention, crawling through the grass in the direction of the road and listening to the fading voices of Turin and his mom arguing with each other. His mom was refusing to abandon the farm, since the monster would kill their animals if they weren’t there to protect them.

He just hoped she’d keep refusing. If she tried calling for him to flee only to find he wasn’t in the house, it’d cause issues.

As he got further and further away, the sounds of their arguing were drowned out by the gentle rustling of grass, screams from town, and blood rushing through Zeth’s ears. Once he was far enough away, he popped his head out above the plant cover, squinting out across the pitch-black roads to find the fleshtaker.

For a moment, he thought he lost it, but after a few seconds of scanning up and down the dirt path, he spotted its dark skin, blending in with the pitch black night to make it borderline impossible to spot if you didn’t already know where it was. But he could just barely catch a glimpse of its pure white teeth chomping in the air as it stalked up the road toward his family. And flecked across those white teeth were small bits of red blood speckled across them, still wet and dripping onto its tongues.

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He took a breath, trying to remove all self-doubt from his mind before he had to confront this thing. He couldn’t be afraid—not when everything was on the line. No, he could not let nerves be what ended him and killed his family. He needed to be the fearsome one. He needed to be the one in control. He needed to be the one to slaughter his enemy and strike fear in the hearts of anyone who witnessed it.

He would be the monster in this fight.

Zeth charged. Wind rushed across his ears as he pushed his boots against the hard dirt, quickly closing the distance between him and his opponent. It only took a few steps before the fleshtaker snapped its head in his direction, tongues licking all over its own face in all-consuming hunger.

And then, in an instant, it changed direction and sprinted to meet him. It moved much faster than Zeth did, threatening to close the gap between them before he could even react. Quickly, he grabbed his knife from his belt, gripping it with white knuckles. He held it out—not aimed toward his enemy, but rather toward himself.

He’d been dreading this, waiting until the last moment so there wouldn’t be a risk of accidentally triggering it on the wrong target, but he had to do it now before it was too late. With a swift motion, he set the blade of the knife on his arm, pressed down, and sliced himself open once again. Blood seeped out of the stinging wound, placed right next to his previous one, soaking into the fabric clinging to his skin, and Zeth quickly threw the ritual shirt against the wound, wincing as more pain shot through his arm with the added pressure and friction.

He breathed heavily, stepping back and keeping wide eyes on the charging monster tearing toward him while keeping his mind on the slowly climbing completion percentage. Just as the monster was about to reach him, he felt it hit one hundred percent, and the Hellfire Ritual was armed. Bright pink light covered the dark field as the lines covering the old shirt glowed with activity. Even the fleshtaker, dashing forth to catch its prey, slowed when it felt the magic whir to life.

But its hesitation didn’t last long, and soon enough it was back to full speed, galloping on all four of its spindly limbs with each of the mouths covering its head chomping in anticipation of the meat it wanted so badly to taste.

“What the—?” A voice came from the house, which Zeth only barely paid attention to. Was that Turin? “What’s going on out there? Is someone there? Watch out! Monster!”

Zeth planted one foot back on the ground, readying himself for his do-or-die moment. The fleshtaker was twenty feet away. Fifteen. Ten.

“Hey!” Turin’s voice continued to echo over the fields. “Hey, you there, look out! There’s a monster headed right for—”

The fleshtaker lashed a claw at Zeth, who stumbled back to avoid it tearing his face open, but it still caught his forearm, pointed fingers each digging holes into his flesh. He felt the horrible sensation of skin and muscle giving way to the claws as he used his other arm to throw the shirt out and press it against the monster’s face.

But just before the lines of the ritual circle made contact with it, the fleshtaker lurched forward, pushing Zeth to the ground and kneeling atop him. Drool dripped from its mouths onto his face, tongues flailing wildly with excited snarls escaping its throat. His head hit the ground and the shirt slipped from his grasp, landing just a few inches away from the tips of his fingers.

The fleshtaker’s claws sank deeper into Zeth’s other forearm as it leaned forward, preparing to bite a chunk out of his cheek. He was pinned to the ground by the massive beast, unable to move his body, reaching desperately to grab his dropped weapon.

“What’s going on out there?!” Turin shouted from inside the house once again. “Hey! Someone! Help! That person’s being attacked!”

Then he heard another voice coming from the same place. Sophie’s, shouting in annoyance. “Mom, why can’t I see?! Zeth told me to stay in my room and now he’s not coming out either. What’s happening?”

More words, more arguing, more shouting back and forth.

“I wanna see!” Sophie yelled once more, and then came the sound of an opening and slamming front door. From his position in the grass, Zeth could barely see the silhouette of a young girl run out of the house and out into the fields, toward him. Their mom opened the door back up and shouted after her to come back, but she didn’t dare take one step out of the safety of the house, leaving Sophie to sprint toward danger on her own.

No! Zeth thought as he fought off the fleshtaker. If she comes over here, this thing will—

The monster snapped at him and he moved his head out of the way just in time, leaving it to bite empty air. It took a deep breath as its head came by his profusely bleeding arm, its claws still dug into it, seeming to savor the scent of his open wound. Iron invaded his lungs as well, mixed with dirt, sweat, and the fleshtaker’s own scent of rotting meat.

He took a deep breath, taking in all of those horrible smells, and reached one last time for the fallen shirt, still lit aglow with deadly magic waiting to activate. His hand fell a couple inches too short once again, but this time, he didn’t give up, raking his fingers across the dirt in an attempt to pull himself ever so slightly closer to it.

The fleshtaker’s claws, stabbed into Zeth’s other arm and pinning him to the ground, didn’t budge.

But his body did.

More skin and muscle tore asunder, ripping away to allow Zeth to pull himself just barely closer to the shirt. The fleshtaker’s mouths each widened into a grin and the thing took in another deep breath as blood poured from his widening wounds. It leaned over to his arm and began lapping up the blood that leaked from his screaming arm. Tongues flickered against his skin and dug into the holes in his body, drinking the blood straight from his own veins. Disgust mixed with pain as Zeth winced and cried out, wishing more than anything that his fingers would just reach a hair further.

Then, his pinkie touched fabric.

He instantly gripped tight, pulling the shirt into his hand and swinging it against the beast’s body. The shirt fell flimsily onto its charcoal skin, and Zeth watched as the glowing pink lines of the ritual circle fluttered down and grazed against it.

There was a crackle of electricity, and then flames spilled out across the fields.

A pillar of fire illuminated the sky like the approach of a second sun. And the claws that were still dug into Zeth’s body turned white hot.

As the monster screeched out a dying breath, each of its mouths letting out its own terrible tone, Zeth let out his own scream of pain. Its flaming body fell against his own, and he could feel his skin smoldering. Within seconds, he would begin to melt.

He placed his hand on the monster’s fiery chest and pushed as hard as he could, wincing and feeling another scream escape his lungs as his hand began charring. The fleshtaker tumbled off of him, however, finally giving him an escape from the intense heat of the flames.

That is, he had an escape from the supernatural hellfire. The natural fire that caught alight on the coat he wore and on the grass he lay in continued to burn him alive, and he quickly realized he was still very much dying. He kicked his way out of the flaming grass and tore the cloak off of himself, tossing it over by what was now the motionless corpse of the fleshtaker, which had already succumbed to the fire that had engulfed it.

Zeth was busy trying not to succumb to his own fire, though. He’d shed the most intense flames, but there were still smaller flares and embers scattered across his body, burning deep into his skin. He dropped on the ground and rolled back and forth until he was confident they were extinguished, the cuts and burns covering his body screaming for him to stop the whole time. Only when he glanced across his body and found no more active flames did he stop and take a shaky breath, giving his body a moment of rest.

He’d done it. The damned thing was dead.

Lacerations leaked blood into the grass and the burns on his chest, arms, and hands cracked to make new cuts, all stinging in intense pain that Zeth suspected his brain was still not allowing him to feel the full brunt of. Though ironically, his most worrying wounds had been cauterized by the fire, which stopped their bleeding.

Before he could get to his feet, however, Zeth heard the unmistakable scream of his sister, Sophie, coming from only a few feet behind him.