Sally stood in darkness in her bedroom, air leaking from her chest in short, spasmodic sucks, shaking fingers, wide and wet with rage. She turned the center, its cold, pulsating light burning her, air around her quivering with the virulence of her anger.
"I want them all to die," she gasped, her voice a grating, splintered sound, her breath constricted in her throat, her eyes bulging and moist with fury. "All of them. This is my revenge for the hurt you've done to me."
She squeezed the center once more, the light flashing, the walls constricting in upon her quivering, the shadows reaching farther, the blackness grasping at her. Thunder boomed in the distance, the ground beneath her shuddering, the air surrounding her thickening.
Bats with teeth as sharp as razors erupted from the blackness, their eyes large and parched with hunger, their wings unfolding, their claws relaxing, their breath erupting from their lungs in short, shallow puffs.
"Go," she spat, her voice a rasping growl, her breath trapped in her throat, her eyes wide and wet with fury. "Go and burn it all."
The air stank of wet stone and iron gall, the village walls shaking with the blow of madness. The knights held their swords hard, their breaths sawed, their armor clanking with nervous anticipation.
"Back to your homes!" one of the guards bellowed, his voice lost in the crackling tension in the air. Villagers ran for cover indoors, doors slamming, windows shuttering, eyes wide with fear behind thin, splintered wood.
King Marcus loomed, his blood-red cape billowing in the biting wind, his huge, ancient sword glinting with the faint, ghostly sheen of old magic. He bore his kingdom on his shoulders, the iron of his crown against the temples of his head. At his side, Princess Neah cracked her skeletal fingers, the sharp crack of them cutting through the din. The air thrummed, and the trees behind them writhed, their gnarled branches come to life, twisting and extending at her whim. Birds descended upon her, their wings fluttering the air like agitated hearts, their hard eyes shining with feral devotion.
Carl, his whirring metal arm sliding soundlessly and with precision, pressed a hidden button on the palm of his hand. Metallic clashing clashed briefly, then his blade burst forth, its steel glinting with frosty purpose. Zoe, goggles pushed down hard over her golden locks, smiled as she juggled her little, spherical bombs, their coverings bearing fresh, greasy fingerprints.
Anna, her tiny, thin fingers shaking with a bit more urgency, greased the heads of her arrows. They hissed and crackled, their sharp tips growing a sick, poisoned green as her abilities infused them. She sprinted and ascended the stone steps of the balcony, her long, dirty skirt flowing behind her, her own breathing harsh and shallow.
Gabriel, his heaving chest, felt the fire burning inside him rage high. His skin trembled with heat, a thick, electric buzzing creeping over his body, his eyes shining with a mad, otherworldly gleam. The air around him snapped and shuddered, the rocks beneath his feet warming, throbbing in unison to his pulse.
The earth under their feet shook. The sea in front of them churned, black and thick, the waves crashing against the walls of stone with mounting rage. The warriors and the knights stood in a line, shields raised, swords drawn, their breath in hard, ragged gasps, their eyes wild and wide with terror.
A minute went by. Then another. The trees' only noise was the groan, creaking tortured of the trees, their branches contorting, their roots convulsing in wet soil.
"Why is this taking so long?" Zoe growled, her bombs clutched in fists, her muscles bunched, all her nerves strung taut.
And then, in the darkness, they arrived—a mass of writhing, winged terrors, enveloping the ghostly moonlight, their high, chittering screams echoing against the walls of stone. Thousands and thousands of them, wings leathery and tattered, eyes with dull, sickly red glow.
"They're not bats… right?" Neah whispered, her wide, frightened eyes catching the flicker of their twisted shapes. She took a step back, her bare feet brushing against the cold, cracked stone. King Marcus tightened his grip on his blade, his teeth grinding, his jaw clenched.
"This… this is your doing," he growled, casting a furious glance at Gabriel. "You've brought something far worse than the goblins."
Gabriel didn't have time to react before the bats moved forward, shrieking high, teeth bared, wings rending the darkness, crashing into the mob. The trees attacked, branches extended, wooden arms splintering through the darkness, cracking against the mob. Birds swooped and pecked, beaks driving through leathery wings, talons tearing through scrawny, cracked skin.
Anna's arrows flew out of the balcony, hissing in the air, each one hitting true, punching into chests, smashing wings, slamming broken bodies crashing down into the mud. The poison acted at once, the bats jerking and spasming as their veins turned dark, their screams bubbling over into choking, gurgling gasps.
But too many of them. The knights screamed and they swung their blades, steel crunching into bone, flesh ripped apart, thick air reeking of wet vomit-stifling crunching as skin ruptured and bones snapped. The bats chewed them, jaws deep in naked throats, ripping chainmail apart, empty hungry eyes wide and wet and dripping blood.
A yell sliced through the uproar as a young knight was pulled to the ground, his sword wrested from his hands, his helmet spinning in mud, his eyes streaming and open, his cries stifled by the black, chattering surge that engulfed him.
Zoe yanked a pin from one of her bombs, launching it into the thickest of the swarm. It detonated in a deafening, ear-shattering crack, a blast of flame and shrapnel ripping through the horde, blackened bodies crashing to the gore-stained earth.
But still, the bats persisted, battering on wooden doors, breaking glass, ripping at the thin, quivering walls of the village dwellings. The air was thick with the metallic smell of blood, the earth slippery with gore, the walls smeared with red with crimson handprints, the cries of the dying carrying up into the thick night air.
Carl, sword flashing in the night, wheeled and took off running down towards the village, metal legs clanking on stone steps, grating, straining gasps as he hacked at the bats attempting to pound themselves into the houses. Blood streamed across his goggles, fists clenched, his mind a single scorching purpose.
And at last, as darkness set in, they dwindled to a few, the remaining bats flying off into the night, their shrill, wild cries growing faint, their deformed, blackened forms vanishing into the gathering dusk.
Silence fell, a suffocating, heavy silence, thick with blood and smoke. There were knights lying on the ground, staring faces, bodies broken and mauled. Village walls remained, hanging on, cracked and splintered, stones smeared with new, black blood.
The fight had been fought, but night was colder, darkness was deeper, silence was closer.