Before the weekend, as promised :D
Ladies and gentlemen, Halloween in fast approaching us. The time of full moons, jack o' lanterns and spooky stories has come…and thus, I have decided to play a little game called "Amnesia: The Dark Descent." Let me fill you in on some of it, as far as I've gotten…
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH IT'S SOOOOOOOO SCARY DXXXXX
Ok, that's kind of the idea. But this is about as far as you can get from a campy horror tale. I almost wet myself playing this one night—the atmosphere that the game establishes is bloody brilliant, the audio and lighting are fantastic, and the storyline is enjoyable to follow. The tale places you in a decrepit castle in the year 1839, with no memory of what you've done or how you've come to be in this rural Prussian stronghold. The basic idea is to progress through the many rooms and areas of the castle, collecting anecdotes and diary entries that reveal more about your character and his relationship to the castle and its mysterious owner. All the while, you are beset by shambling entities that remain in the shadows, hunting you relentlessly as you head deeper into the castle.
Oh, and you don't have any weapons to fight back with. And your main light source? It's a lantern with limited oil, which you must find as your progress. So, you have to either run or hide from the Gatherers, while making sure that you don't run out of oil. Or else you're stuck in the darkness.
And did I mention that the longer you're in the dark, the lower your sanity drops? And the lower your sanity drops, the more hallucinations you'll see—the screen will flicker and your vision will become blurry, and you'll see things that aren't there, including monsters and mysterious figures. And eventually you'll fall unconscious and be helpless on the floor for at least thirty seconds, which is bad if there's an enemy lurking nearby…
And did I mention it's scary as hell? Yeah…the audio and atmosphere really make it terrifying. It's slow-burn, not jump scare…for anyone who's a fan of slow or psychological horror, BUY THIS and PLAY IT. Perfect for Halloween :D
So, yes, that is what I'm playing right now. I figured I'd mention it, just because. Anyway, on with answers!
Woohooman14: He was hit in the ankle with shrapnel—really minor wound, nothing important. He'll shake it off.
TerrarianCreeper: It's good to ask questions—they're meant to be answered. And yes, I did take that from Harry Potter—I just didn't remember that I referenced it. And the reason I put Lance in more is because he hasn't been really featured yet—it's time he got his dues as commander of the squad along with Leon.
PigeonFligher: I just made up the Paladin, really, but I based it off of German Tiger tanks from WWII. To some extent, at least. And I'll make sure that the caramel reaches its destination :D
BlakeyBoy: I shall keep updating!
HPE24: I'll just keep on referencing—and it makes more sense to reference TMC, really. I mean…it's kind of a myth, right? Ancient heroes taking on mob armies and saving the human race? That could easily be a legend for these guys—and there's quite a bit to reference there, and IT DESERVES IT D:
And yeah, I just recently saw how HP fit in with this. It's a bit similar, I guess.
shadowAaron34: It's good to see another reviewer on the block—I hope that you become a regular, but it's not necessary. And I think I answered most of this in a PM, but I needed to give you an answer anyway. And more cookies for your lambda :D
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It can't get any worse from here…this is the lowest I've sunk…
"Pull it together, Markus…I've got your back, you know that…"
Jens Bergensten had always had Notch's back; ever since the UN hearings had begun, Jens had been in New York with him. The nights had been late and long; teams of lawyers held conventions until two in the morning, trying to keep Notch from going before a world court as a criminal. He had upset the balance of space/time; although the effects had not yet occurred, it was only a matter of days before people began to notice.
"Well, it's kind of you to be here. But what else can we do?"
"Well…what about your brother?"
"I told you," Notch snapped, smacking the flat of his hand against the hardwood desk, "Herobrine has gone missing. I haven't had communication with him for two days now. I can't get through…there's a disturbing amount of interference, and I cannot contact him at all."
"Well, we know what the threat is at least—that part is cleared up."
Jeb wasn't helping; now that Notch knew what he was facing, he found it harder and harder to tell the Secretary-General what was wrong with Minecraft.
Those morons…are trying to build a portal to our dimension…they'd break time and space if they succeeded. They'd destroy us, themselves, countless other worlds…haven't they even given thought to the consequences of their actions?
"They're building a portal—"
"Yes, yes, the 'government' that I created is building a portal. There's no way to stop them from up here…not with the computer virus…"
Minecraft was now infected; someone, somehow, had implanted a "Wither" into the digital mainframe of the sentience program, and that virus had manifested as a sentient entity inside of the simulation. Slowly, the program's coding was being chewed up and spit out by these Withers; the landscape was being destroyed, and then the landmass would cease to exist, until there was nothing inside the program. It would be an empty box then; the code would be deleted, everything that Notch had worked so hard on would have been destroyed by a single virus…
"It's the virus that's causing the interference, isn't it?" Jeb suggested, pouring himself a cold glass of wine and sitting on the couch of the hotel room. The lights of New York City glowed below the towering hotel, and even higher up the skyscrapers that dominated the metropolis.
"I believe so…there's no other explanation for it…"
"Is there a way to combat it, then?" Jeb asked.
"Inside, yes…the simulations are fighting it. They don't see it as a virus—they see it as a real enemy…"
Jeb seemed quite confused; Notch decided that it was pertinent for his right-hand man to know as much as possible about the Minecraft simulation.
"Everyone inside of Minecraft is pure, simple code. That's the basis of it—you understand that as well as I do. But it does go beyond that…their code is so advanced, that they've developed sentience, personality, feelings beyond that of an AI, far beyond that of an AI. They're lines of programming with their own unique traits, people who feel and love and hate. And they don't see it like that—they see themselves as flesh and blood, and they see the Withers not as code that will destroy their code, but flesh that will destroy their flesh. Does that make any sense?"
"To some extent," Jeb said, downing the wine heartily.
"Very complex technology…I never meant for them to be sentient, it was just an experiment…"
"So, you've let them craft the world around them? They've changed the simulation?"
"To an extreme point," Notch answered. "They've stripped the world of its resources, gone far beyond their boundaries and grown beyond their carrying capacity. They're so much like us…it's almost scary, really. And that's why I decided to launch the apocalypse."
"You…just decided to kill millions of them?" Jeb asked.
"In a manner of speaking, yes. I programmed natural disasters—something I hadn't done before—and then unleashed hell on the populace. I meant for some to escape—I didn't want to kill everyone, that wasn't the point. They had reached their carrying capacity, their resources were dwindling. So, I brought their population down to an acceptable level. But things didn't turn out quite the way they were supposed to…"
"The civil war."
"Yes, yes, indeed. This is what makes them different from any other computer program…they think for themselves, have their own beliefs and ideals. One side sees the government as weak and unstable, and they are trying to put their own people in charge. The other believes that they are the only ones who can restore their people to power, and will fight to the death to defend their party. It's quite interesting, really, if you don't think of it as people killing one another."
"But that's what they are, Markus," Jeb argued. "They are people, sort of—if you look beyond the lines of code, they look just like human beings, gunning each other down without a second thought. It's massacre…even if they are computer programs—"
"It's what they chose to do. I cannot interfere, and even if I could, I wouldn't. Too much at stake to interfere—let them fight it out. Think of it as an experiment, Jeb," Notch said, grabbing his bowler hat and coat to go out once more; he had a conference in fifteen minutes with his lawyer team.
"An experiment? Is that all they are to—"
Notch left without another word; Jeb was seething inside by this point, but he allowed himself to remain calm. The time would come soon enough; all of this would be resolved, and Minecraft could go back to the way it used to be—8-bit fun free of sentient AIs slaughtering one another.
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"Did you break them?"
"They really didn't break, they just started talking. Said the Loyalists weren't paying them, and it wasn't worth being tortured just to keep their secrets. The prisoners gave us as much info as they could," I reported to Commander Carstone. The interrogation session with the two Loyalist captives had been brief; as soon as I entered the room, they calmly flooded me with intel, telling me everything.
"Really?"
"Said as much as they could. Said they had no interest in going back, and would be glad to join us. We checked them also—no hidden bombs, no secret papers, nothing. Not even dog tags," I said.
"Quite sad, really, the state of their army," Carstone sneered, looking at my report. "I would think that the government would be able to throw more at us than a heavy tank and some buffoons playing military dress-up…"
We had learned that the government was stockpiling heavy ammunition and explosives at a shopping outlet on the eastern edge of Adelina, and that recently eighteen motorcycles and four Ocelot-class light tanks had been shipped in as part of a "future offensive". It wasn't much info, but it was enough to tell us that the Loyalists were planning to bring the hammer down.
"I think they were testing us…send in some light troops, one of their tanks…"
"Maybe, maybe. That tank would've done a major number on us…I'm proud of you, Captain. You did well out there," Carstone complimented me, handing the report back.
"Thank you, sir—"
"Now, on to business. I can see your theory about them testing our defenses…the Paladin doesn't make since, it's usually used for major assaults. But I think they were seeing how prepared we were."
"I agree, sir," I said, slightly irritated. Carstone had just rephrased my theory.
"They have a significant presence in Adelina, including some heavy elite soldiers. I wouldn't be surprised if they launched another attack tonight…the only thing stopping them would be interference from Nameer's forces."
"Intelligence said that Nameer's been moving more troops in?"
"Spy birds found huge convoys of troops just marching through the deserts, into Adelina…there was nothing we could do about it, really," Carstone said. "I think they're planning to drown us in raw recruits…it could easily work, I suppose."
"That's their tactic? Human wave attacks, that's it?" I asked, surprised. Nameer struck me as an intelligent individual; a man who had smuggled suicide bombers into Terra Nova, brought down several planes from the ground, and managed to survive in a stronghold right next to Withered territory.
"That's usually what they go for if they want something bad. Thousands of people flock to him—he's an insane zealot, but his charisma really attracts the young, restless and poor. Not a good professional army, mind you, but one that's effective with numbers."
"So, when do you think they'll attack?"
"Night, probably," Carstone said absentmindedly. "They wouldn't dare to attack during in broad daylight. They'll wait until the sun's down to swarm you."
"Ugh, Notch…I figured they would…"
"You've got all day to get your perimeter secured, Captain. We'll have reinforcements on station to push them back—this will get personal, though, be warned. They will come tonight, almost certainly."
I was waiting anxiously for most of the day; it was quiet after yesterday's action. I was promised that the Loyalists would not strike at my sector, but I would get the full force of Nameer's wave assault. It was a lot to handle for the second day of command; already the soldiers looked up to me as a brilliant, top-notch leader, a full 180 from the previous day. How would we hold down this sector with only eighty soldiers and a couple of machine guns? With the massive amount of hostiles supposed to be attacking, it would be a long shot…
"They've got two .50 cals moved up to the sidewalk, and we're digging the trenches deeper. Sandbags, barbed wire, debris, calcicrete, we're piling it all up around the perimeter, make the defensive line stronger," Lance filled me in at around noon.
"There are only eighty of us…"
"Still enough to hold down the fort for quite a while. We're going to make this as impenetrable as possible."
Out of the trees surrounding the temple, Shadow and Tala emerged, dashing across Lockhart St and to the safety of the barricades in our block.
"Any news?" I asked the two rangers as they returned, out of breath.
"They're definitely…building up over…there," Shadow spoke, clutching his knees. "Lots of troop movement to the front, all light-armed infantry. Human waves, Carstone said…"
"It will be tonight, for sure," Tala added.
I sighed angrily, plastering the palm of my hand to my forehead, involuntarily. It was the worst news possible; the two, who had never brought back incorrect information, had returned with a confirmation that the assault was imminent.
"Sorry to bring you bad news, Cap," Shadow said.
"You did your job well," I reassured them. Both of them removed their balaclavas, and for the first time I saw their faces. Shadow's was worn and scarred; his stringy brown hair disheveled and tattered. Tala's sleek black hair was greasy and unwashed, having been exposed to the elements for several days on a reconnaissance mission, without a proper shower. Both were in the prime of their youth, handsome men and women.
"Get some rest, both of you. You've done well—"
"With all due respect, sir, we can head back out there and do some sabotage—"
"You'll need your strength for tonight. Get some rest, be back at the front by five tonight," I ordered sternly. Both complied without another word, and headed back to the main barracks.
"So…it's certain that they'll come?"
"Unfortunately, yes. It's imminent, and we can only prepare so much."
"Do you think they were wrong, maybe?" Lance asked, with a slightly forlorn hope.
"Shadow's eyes never lie to him, and Tala's ears hear everything. If they bring news back, it's the truth—Nameer wants Adelina for whatever reasons he has, and he's bent on taking it. We have to be bent on keeping it out of his hands."
I spoke no more with Lance; he assembled other defenses, while I got some good rest back at the command post. I was worn out after yesterday, with a massive fight ahead of me; I needed at least a bit of downtime, if not a good couple hours of sleep before sunset.
"Carstone said he wanted me at the front tonight. That's some good news," Celine said as she stepped into our quarters. She had been back in the reserve all day, commissioning new supplies and ammunition deliveries, which were supposed to arrive before nightfall.
"Define good news…"
"I'm glad to be in the fighting, and so is Miguel. I don't like being separate from you…especially if your life is in danger."
"We won't be having any fun up there tonight. You heard the news—"
"Well, I'm glad to see some action," she said forcefully, laying her arms and captain's cap aside. "It's ten times better than standing behind lines doing secretary work all day."
I was tired of lying down in bed; I had been asleep for at least three hours before Celine returned from her reserve duties. As she undressed and showered in the bathroom, I sat at the windowsill, staring at the one temple tower that rose above the mighty oaks.
What could possibly be inside that temple? And how did the insurgents gain access to it in the first place? If it were as simple as digging underneath the town and getting inside, the Loyalist forces would've done so a long time ago—the temple was the single reason that they had a strong presence in Adelina. Otherwise, they would've abandoned it to the Withers a long time ago.
It pacifies the Withers…an object like that could benefit any of the factions. But what is it that does such a thing?
I lost track of the time that I spent sitting at the window, watching that lone tower peeping above the rustling leaves of the trees. By the time Celine had dressed and armed herself, the sun was beginning to set in the western sky, casting deep shadows all over town.
"We've got about half an hour before the sun's down," Celine said as she closed the bathroom door behind her, and retrieved her assault rifle. "Carstone said to be ready at any time after the sun sets."
"The earlier the better. Lance is already out there anyway," I said, and we made for the front lines.
The entire sector was locked down, resembling some sort of high security bunker for nuclear weapons storage. There were pillboxes everywhere, stuffed with machine guns and extra ammunition. Barbed wire blocked off almost any access point, and sandbags guarded every single nook and cranny, and reinforced both the sidewalk perimeter and the pillboxes nestled in each house and garage. The bank had been turned into a concrete fortress; machine guns poked out of the windows, which had been busted out and reinforced with sandbags and some concrete. The roof was a sniper's nest, occupied by at least three sharpshooters; and the basement had been turned into a temporary medical triage, with several staff on hand to treat field injuries until wounded soldiers could be shipped back to the reserves.
It was quite an assembly, with our garrison of a hundred fighters and several support staff ready for combat. Lance was up at the sidewalk, having set up his command post inside the house on the block's corner. It had been badly damaged during the previous firefight, and part of its roof had been blown off by a tank round—but it was still in good condition, and the brick exterior provided more than enough cover from bullets and even some heavier munitions.
"Any reports?" I asked Lance as I strolled into his command center. Miguel was there as well, conferring with one of the sharpshooters.
"Full Moon came in earlier, said that there were massive amounts of movement on the southeastern side of Adelina. They're not holding anything back, sir…they'll be coming in full force."
"And what about the Loyalists? Any news on them?"
"Same for them, but they're not targeting us. They're trying to hit the northern blocks, capture some of that territory. But yeah, reports are basically the same—gearing up for a massive assault."
The Rangers never lied; the attack was coming, and it was only a matter of time. I set myself up on the second floor of the bank, where a temporary communications and watch post had been established. I connected with Commander Carstone, who was on the other line trying to coordinate every single garrison captain in Adelina.
"Commander?"
"Well, it's about damn time you got online, Captain Walker…listen, you and I both know that your sector will bear the brunt of the assault tonight. It's going to be a hell of a fight out there."
"I'm very well aware of that, Commander," I answered, slightly irate. I had heard this a hundred times already…
"Well, I want you to know that I have eight-hundred soldiers on station ready to assist and, if necessary, launch a counterattack."
That made me stutter for a moment.
Eight hundred soldiers? That's nearly ten times the number I've got right now…
"Eight…hundred?"
"Plus attack helicopters and LAV support. If you need to strike back at them, we're equipped and ready to hit Nameer's forces hard."
Carstone seemed pleased at my silence; he had assumed that I was not expecting so much reinforcement.
"I…thank you, sir—"
"Don't thank me yet, Captain. It isn't even dusk yet, and we have yet to see whether or not these boys will be needed. Get offline and finish your preparations, Captain Walker—and stay alert in case I need to contact you."
"Of course, sir—"
The line was cut off; Carstone seemed eager to be off the line. He had probably been arguing and bickering with the upper echelons all day over tactics and defenses, and was tired of messaging ever commanding officer in the nation. I couldn't blame him; as leader of the Secessionist forces in Adelina, he had a lot to be responsible for.
I stepped back outside as the dim glow of the sunset began to grow darker.
Weapons were held up to shoulders, their owners gripping them with white knuckles.
Sweat rolled down brows and foreheads, stinging eyes and dripping down onto the dusty ground.
Hearts raced and beat like mighty, thunderous machines, pulsing rapidly without any rest or requiem.
Feet shuffled restlessly, kicking up dust and dirt as they moved back and forth, shifting nervously in their heavy boots.
Safeties clicked off, silencers were screwed onto barrels, magazines were loaded in and primed with a single click. Belts of bullets were fed into the insatiable bellies of machine guns, and deadly projectiles were forced with muffled thumps into long black tubes. Optics were zoomed in on the houses and buildings on the other side of the plaza, watching for an enemy that would appear at any moment.
I stood beside Celine, her arms tensed and her weapon aimed out at space, the same as every other gun. Like everyone else, her body was stiff and rigid, her eyes locked on some object out beyond the temple, on the other side of the plaza. There was no movement over there, but everybody seemed so sure that the streets would erupt with activity within seconds.
I turned the safety off, and raised my own rifle to face one of the windows on the other side. Everything was so quiet, so apprehensive; it was as if the world around us had come to a sudden stop, and only Adelina mattered at the moment. For all I knew, it might've been the most important place on the globe at this very second—whatever happened this night could change the course of history.
We were waiting, arms raised, ready to gun down the first thing that moved on the opposite side…the seconds were ticking by, any moment now I was expecting a rapid burst of gunfire, a chorus of shouts and roars, explosions and the screams of the dying…
Ten minutes passed…
Then twenty…
And then thirty. Gunshots rippled through the silent air from the other side, along with shouts and screams; there were more of them, hundreds of rounds poured out into the night. Not directed at us at all; they were far from our position. Rather, it sounded like the militants were under attack, most likely by Loyalist forces. It was not entirely impossible, but it seemed unlikely considering that it had already been half an hour since sundown.
And then an hour had come and gone, and we were still standing stock-still, our muscles aching and our joints sore from holding our weapons up so long. Many of the commoners were wondering what the hell was happening; some of them were whispering fearfully amongst one another, and others were casting furtive glances from one area to the next, apprehensive about what would happen next.
There was gunfire again, but not anywhere near us. From up north, in the upper portions of town, there was heavy combat, significant fighting marked by bursts of gunfire and multitudinous explosions. But nothing here; another thirty minutes passed before Lance spoke up.
"Something ain't right here…"
"Maybe they're playing a waiting game? Keeping us on our toes, waiting until we loosen our guard?" Celine suggested, swearing as she dropped her rifle while trying to lower it. Her arms were shaking furiously, and I could tell that she had exhausted herself trying to hold the weapon in position.
Some of the men did the same, most of them militia or recruits; the more seasoned soldiers held their ground, their weapons still ready, but I could tell that they were becoming disgruntled and tired.
"It's possible, but unlikely. These aren't Loyalists…they're impetuous, and they broadcast their attacks pretty well. They wouldn't wait like this," I said concernedly.
"Then what the hell are they doing over there? Flipping coins to see who goes out first?"
"I have no idea what they're doing, but from what I've heard, this isn't like the militants…"
"It's not like them at all," Tala spoke out of nowhere. She had just emerged from one of the houses, along with Shadow, who was looking anxious. "I know Nameer's militants pretty damn well, and they're not ones to play waiting games. Even if the odds are against them, they'll strike come hell or high water."
Tala, again, revealed her knack for a concise knowledge of her enemies; not only did she know the militant's weapons and vehicles by heart, she also knew their tactics and strategies.
"They always use sneak or human wave attacks—it's either one or the other. If they were using one of those two, we'd know by now. We'd either have detonated a bomb in our headquarters, or rushed us with hundreds of green zealots. Something's gone wrong—maybe the Loyalists hit them first? They're no close friends of Nameer…"
I glanced over at the other side of town, now more concerned than ever; what had happened? There had been no gunfire from over there; I could tell that farther north there was heavy combat, but very few shots had been fired ever since the furious ten minutes of combat that had occurred earlier. No movement, no gunshots, nothing from the other side.
"Alright, we need to figure out what's going on. Miguel, come with the Rangers and I—we're going to the other side, see what's happening."
"What if the—"
"Whatever's going on over there, we need to know. If we end up in a roomful of armed fanatics, we'll know that they're still over there…I do hope that we don't, though…"
"The passage underneath the town is extremely safe—we're the only ones who know about it," Tala spoke up, interrupting Miguel as he began to protest again. She and Shadow led the way down into one of the basements nearby, that of a small house. She lifted the grating off of a large drainage hole, and led us down into an expansive tunnel that led off in two directions, both of them pitch black. It reminded me strongly of sneaking underneath Langsford Peak, so many weeks ago.
"And you said nobody knows about this?" I asked Tala as she lit a flashlight and led the way down the tunnel.
"They certainly won't—it's only on certain versions of the town utilities map, and it was supposed to be the last stop for a proposed subway line. If you go out the other way, you'll eventually reach Terra Nova—in a few days."
The government had to know that this existed—they designed it, after all—but there was no sign of any other occupants in the system. Eventually we reached another ladder, which led up to yet another grate. Tala silently removed this and helped the rest of us up into a dingy, barely-lit cellar.
"Other side?"
"Yep, hostile territory. This is how we get all of our information—our own little Underground Railroad," Shadow answered from behind me, dusting grime off of his camo suit.
It was a bad sign that there were bloodstains on the stairwell leading up into the house. I thought little of it—perhaps there had been combat in here, and the Loyalists had been driven back? There was a body, that of a militiaman, but we ignored it for the most part. It was not until our little search party stepped out into the street that we realized that this was not the work of Loyalists.
The sidewalk and entire sections of the street were covered in thick red blood; bodies lay shredded and flayed, scattered sickeningly across the street and into the yards and alleyways. There must've been dozens, hundreds of corpses, all in various manners of mutilation and dismemberment that could not be wrought by any sane human being.
Many of them were already decomposing, their skin sloughing off and grayness seeping into their already pale flesh. Some bodies were beyond recognition; chunks of flesh and pools of blood were the only things remaining. Spent shell casings were everywhere, along with abandoned guns and HMG emplacements.
"This can't be Loyalists," Tala seethed, kicking one of the bodies aside. "They would never create this large of a mess…"
"There aren't any bullet wounds in the bodies that remain intact," I noticed, examining one of the more complete corpses. His eye were completely black and vague, the iris blotted out by the dark black color that pervaded the normally white cornea. Foam seeped from his mouth, and his pale flesh was taking on a mottled gray color. There was no blood on him; on several other corpses, there was a distinct lack of blood or injury.
"This isn't right…something isn't right here…"
"There's nothing right about this…what the hell could do this to—"
Shadow stopped mid-sentence; I was stooped over the corpse, and I hadn't noticed one of the others begin to rise, gurgling as it hefted itself up on its shaky legs.
Withers…Withers killed them all…
I realized this too late—I had plenty of hints before. The black eyes, the decomposition, the grayish skin, the frantic gunfire an hour earlier…this was no Loyalist attack, no slaughter of men by men. This was a Wither assault…
The raspers were waking now, their hour-long slumber over; no longer men really, but no longer corpses. Now I knew why there was no blood on these bodies—they weren't truly dead. They had been hit by one of the Wither's darts, the ones that corrupted living things, turned them towards the chaotic ways that ruled these dark creatures.
The Withers destroy many, sparing few…but those who are spared are only introduced to a new era of agony and misery in their lives. Raspers…conscious, feeling, but not in control. They suffer pain at every waking moment, and can only do what their masters command. Only the tiny darts can transform a man into one of these malformations…the lucky ones are ripped to pieces, a merciful end compared to the ones who will soon wake…
I remembered hearing one of the men speak about raspers a few days back, describe them. Now we were surrounded by corpses that were rising from their short sleep, staggering to a new life, their black eyes sullen. These were not like the passive raspers; there was fire in their eyes, a hatred for the living flesh that stood before them. Shadow and Tala shot the first one that rose, but there were more; Miguel was stock-still, his eyes flickering rapidly back and forth between each rasper. As we gathered in a group, weapons raised and ready, a hundred shrieks rent the night air, the cries of the newborn who were only beginning their cycle of torment.