His gaze shifted from the white orb to two smaller gemstones resting on the bench’s surface. Lucas reached forward, picking one up between his fingers. The crystal was cool against his skin, smooth like polished glass.

  A spark of information rushed through his mind. Spike. He supposed this was what he’d been calling upon inside his puppet, channelling it to receive the effect of a literal spike shooting from its arm. The word itself carried weight, sharp and deadly.

  He rested the crystal back on the bench in its little socket and picked up the next one. The moment his fingers made contact, another understanding manifested within him. Control.

  On one level, what the word did was clear to him. It allowed him to manipulate something, making it act as the user wished. But the way it manifested was yet to be decided upon. A single word like this had so much potential until it got used. Yet once combined, that same potential would become refined. Given a purpose and a direction.

  So he had two words. And a decision to make.

  How was he supposed to put them together? Because from what he was slowly gathering, one could combine two words, but it was never random. Direction mattered. In one configuration, it would mean one thing. In the other, something else completely.

  Control Spike would mean one thing. Spike Control would mean another.

  Lucas bit his lip, ruminating on the thought. What was he supposed to do? What would be most effective? And most of all—his stomach tightened at the question—would crafting this new word cause him to lose Spike entirely?

  ????ˊ? ·?? ? ? ? ??· ??ˋ???

  Ian Tizzard wouldn’t consider himself an ambitious man. No—he hadn’t felt that spark of grand design since Carrie died. His wife had been a good woman. The most caring person he’d ever met. Finding out she couldn’t have kids had broken her, and when she died three years later, it broke him.

  Since then, he’d become what some called bitter. He preferred realist. The world took and took and gave nothing back. It was just suffering, simple as that.

  So, leaning against Vincent’s kitchen counter, watching the man work his magic on these desperate fools, Ian found an odd sense of pleasure in it all.

  Shifting his weight, Ian’s eyes drifted to Harwich—at least, that was the man’s last name. Ian hadn’t paid that much attention when the big brute first introduced himself. Apparently, it was just him and his daughter left. The wife had gone shopping just a few hours before the Blightkin appeared. She hadn’t come back. And probably wouldn’t be coming back. Same story as everyone else.

  “So you see,” Vincent said, resting a hand on the kitchen table, his glasses practically sparkling as he spoke, “I believe that with a united front, we can look after each other.”

  The man’s thick northern accent would normally grate on Ian’s nerves, but Vincent’s carried a certain charisma he couldn’t help but find appealing.

  “And with our united efforts, we can push back these creatures and take back our town. Don’t you all agree?”

  Vincent swept his gaze across the small crowd of two. Both of them looked back with hopeful eyes.

  Idiots.

  Vincent was a man with ambition. That much, Ian was certain. When he’d come to him a few hours earlier, he’d given him a similar show—made claims of wanting to do good for the neighbourhood, help people fight back, claw something from these creatures. All crap, at least in Ian’s eyes. He saw the ambition there. That same ambition had awakened in him, especially after he’d seen what the crystal could do.

  He bit his lip. Frowned. Stopped paying attention to Vincent’s incessant morale boost to these weary souls.

  Instead, his mind went back to Brad’s girl. What was her name? Isabelle, was it?

  He’d met her a few times before this all started, when he went over to Brad’s to trade the latest shipment of gems from his overseas suppliers. He’d gotten one of the three crystals the man had found somewhere in Europe. Called it Yeoldenite. At first, it meant nothing, just a nice new rock that could be of some value someday.

  But yesterday, when this apocalypse sped up the world’s death, and a flameback wolf was backing him into his room, he’d been lucky enough to stumble upon the gem. When he grasped it, the system—as it called itself—offered him a boost in strength, if he absorbed it. Ten whole points.

  Normally, he would have thought he was delusional. But when that wolf came barreling at him, teeth gnashing, claws bared, he gave in, and the resulting power nearly allowed him to rip the blasted creature’s head off.

  The flameback wolf’s squealing only stopped when the words left his mouth, and he summoned his sword, plunging it into its gut. And as it bled out in front of him, viscera spilling from its torn belly, he knew he needed to find the other two crystals.

  With that in mind, and as the creatures retreated later in the day, he moved through town. He spotted the odd one or two Blightkin as he walked, taking them down when he could. Eventually, he made it to Brad’s house.

  The man was missing. Which wasn’t a problem. If anything, it made things easier.

  What was the little girl going to do? Stop him?

  She shouldn’t have been able to. But who would have thought the system was speaking to others too? That’s when it became clear. Not only was he not having a delusional break with all this madness, but there were others like him.

  So when that static shot straight through his chest, when that little twerp hit him, he was incensed. Clear-minded, though. After the dog chased him away, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  He’d waited outside in an alleyway, watching her house. A few minutes after he’d fled, she, the dog, and that boy left with her sister in tow, carrying suitcases. His gut had sank when he saw that. Would the girl have brought gems with her—the last thing left by daddy, the most valuable thing? Likely. But he had to be sure.

  So when the other milling idiots, who’d come out after the wolves had left, cleared the streets, he made his way back up into Brad’s apartment. Tore the place apart. Searched.

  All he found were some odd gems and trinkets. He stuffed them in his pocket—he wasn’t going to leave such valuables behind—but he didn’t find what he was looking for.

  That little twerp had the crystal on her. And he would not let her keep it.

  “So,” Vincent’s voice pulled Ian back from his thoughts, “I say we move in as a team. But first, we want to get Phoebe here, her armament.”

  Ian’s gaze flickered to the black-haired woman who’d arrived earlier with her young girl. She wore a summer dress—odd, given the situation. Perhaps it allowed her to run faster. He didn’t know. Jeans would have been a much better option.

  The woman gave them a shaky nod as attention turned to her. Another pawn in Vincent’s growing ambitions. She was part of the group he’d been forming. So far, that group consisted of Ian, Vincent, Hendrick, Phoebe, and the Tooson family just a door over. Apparently, the husband and Vincent had been close before this—squash games together or something.

  Vincent had tried to recruit Samantha, the ‘bird lady’ as the kids called her, but she’d rejected his offer. Content with doing her own thing.

  Either way, Vincent wanted them all to gain access to their system powers. And there was a simple way to do just that.

  “I’ll be leading the charge,” Vincent said. “Harwich, you’ll be teaming up with Ian. You know what to do, Ian.”

  The man turned to him, giving him that same characteristic smile he constantly wore—confident, with underlying calculation.

  Ian simply nodded.

  “But I will ask that you not take too many risks,” Vincent said, looking at the thick man, who scratched his stubble and scoffed.

  “Don’t worry,” Harwich replied. “I have my little girl to look after. I won’t be taking any risks I can’t justify.” The man’s expression hardened. “Unless getting stronger by fighting these things goes a long way toward avenging Sally.”

  Ian held back a scoff. Avenging. The man would do well to focus on strengthening himself and living to see the next day. Idiot.

  Vincent clapped his hands together. “Right then. Let’s get ourselves sorted.”

  The group moved with motivation, disorganised as it was. Ian watched as Vincent crossed to the kitchen counter, where several empty backpacks lay crumpled against the backsplash. He grabbed two, shook them out with sharp snaps of fabric, and tossed one to Harwich. The big man caught it with a grunt.

  “Phoebe, you’ll want to change into something more practical,” Vincent said, his tone gentle but firm. “Can’t be running around in that, love.”

  The woman glanced down at her summer dress, colour rising in her cheeks. “Right. Of course.” She disappeared down the hallway toward the toilet, footsteps quick and light against the floorboards.

  Vincent distributed the remaining backpacks. Ian took his without comment, slinging it over one shoulder, resting it against his chest. The canvas felt rough against his palm, worn but sturdy. He ran his fingers along the zippers—working smoothly. Good enough, and so he moved it to his back.

  Harwich was checking his own bag, pulling the straps tight and adjusting them across his broad shoulders. The man’s build was reminiscent of an ox. Useful, if he didn’t get himself killed doing something stupid for revenge.

  A few minutes later, the toilet door creaked open. Phoebe emerged in jeans and a t-shirt, her hair pulled back into a practical ponytail. Much better. She gave Vincent a tight nod.

  “Ready?” Vincent asked, surveying his assembled group.

  A murmur of agreement.

  “Good. Let’s move.”

  They filed toward the front door. Ian fell into step behind Vincent, but before they could exit into the front garden, Vincent’s hand shot out, catching his elbow.

  “A moment, Ian.”

  Ian stopped. Through the doorway, he could see Phoebe and Hendrick standing in the front garden, their voices low as they talked. Nervous chatter. It wouldn’t do them much good though. They had to actually harden their hearts, and you couldn’t do that by talking.

  Vincent stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This shouldn’t take too long. I want to be back in time to get the barbecue going.”

  The barbecue.

  Ian’s jaw tightened; even now, the idea still made a part of him want to laugh. The man was planning a bloody barbecue while people were dying in the streets. While those creatures still prowled the neighbourhood. But of course he was. Vincent saw this as an opportunity. A chance to cement his leadership, build loyalty. Feed people, protect them, make them dependent.

  Smart, really.

  Ian kept his expression neutral. “Yes, it’s quite important.”

  Vincent smiled, satisfied. “Good man. Knew I could count on you.”

  He clapped Ian on the shoulder and strode out into the garden, calling to Phoebe and Hendrick.

  Ian followed, stepping into the fading afternoon light.

  They moved onto the street, and Ian stopped, his gaze catching on movement down the road.

  A young, curly-haired boy. Walking side by side with a dog. And that wretched twit, Isabelle.

  The girl’s sister wasn’t with her. Which meant she was probably still back at the house the three had just come from. His eyes shifted to the building with a large oak next to it. A woman stood in the front garden, watching them leave. The boy’s mother, perhaps?

  And if so, was the gem in that house?

  Part of him wanted to go over there. Search while the two of them were out. But another part knew he couldn’t rush these things. Especially with Vincent practically claiming this place as his territory. Isabelle had the crystal with her. He was certain of it. She wouldn’t leave her father’s last gift behind.

  Patience.

  “Right then,” Vincent said, addressing Phoebe and Harwich. “We stick together, watch each other’s backs. We find one of those creatures, and we take it down as a unit. No heroics.”

  The others nodded.

  Ian barely heard him. His fingers slipped into his pocket, closing around the smooth surface of the red gemstone he’d taken from Brad’s apartment. He rolled it between his fingers—cool, solid, worthless compared to what he really wanted. He pulled it out, stared at it for a moment, then frowned and tucked it away again.

  This needed to be a quick trip. The sooner they finished this little hunting party, the sooner he could focus on getting that crystal.

  “Let’s go,” Vincent said.

  And they moved forward, weapons ready, into the creature-infested streets.

  ????ˊ? ·?? ? ? ? ??· ??ˋ???

  “Well, should we get at it?” Lucas asked, turning to Isabelle, who stood at his side, and then glancing back at Apollo, who stood just behind him.

  The girl nodded, letting out a sigh and hiking her backpack higher. “The whole town is a mess,” she said, throwing a look over her shoulder.

  Lucas followed her gaze. Rust-colored stains streaked across the asphalt like dragged paint, darker where they pooled in the cracks between paving stones. Shattered glass glittered in storefront frames, jagged teeth catching the afternoon light.

  A child’s shoe lay abandoned near the curb. Papers tumbled past in the breeze—receipts, flyers, a homework assignment with careful handwriting now smudged and torn. The debris told the story: people had run. Fast. Car windows spider-webbed with cracks or blown out entirely, the interiors visible, emptied in desperate flight.

  The flameback wolves had torn through here a day ago, and the evidence clung to everything like a stain that wouldn’t wash out.

  “Yeah,” he said, “but for now, we can only focus on ourselves.” Stepping away from her, he raised a hand, pointing to the other side of the store. “You take that side, and I’ll handle over here.”

  Apollo’s ears perked, and the dog began wagging its tail.

  “You keep guard, alright, buddy?”

  The creature let out a low whine, then trotted forward, before settling near a shelf in the store’s entrance. Lucas regarded its contents for a moment, noting the packets of sweets and other confectionery. That’d be good as a treat. Roland and Shasha would probably love it, sure, but it sat firmly at the bottom of the list when it came to things that they should prioritise bringing home.