In a split second between life and death, Kantsuke rolled left, raising his rifle just in time to block the downward swing of a massive knife.
CLANG!
The gleaming double-edged Bowie slammed into his Barrett M82, sparks flashing as steel met steel before the blade stabbed deep into the dirt.
Kantsuke's heart pounded like a war drum. Adrenaline surged through him like wildfire. He twisted the gun toward the thing's shoulder and fired.
BANG!
The monster twisted aside, narrowly dodging the round.
Its left hand shot forward, grabbing the rifle's barrel and wrenching it aside with a grip like forged iron.
"Shit," Kantsuke snarled, struggling to wrestle the gun back. But the creature's arm was as unyielding as cold steel. With disturbing ease, it tore the 30-kilogram sniper rifle from his hands and tossed it away.
"I'm hungry," it growled, eyes wild and mouth drooling.
Kantsuke held his breath as the thing raised its right hand, knife poised again. He rolled, and—
SWISH!
The blade sliced into the ground, missing his neck by half an inch.
"No you don't—!"
He lunged, grabbing the wrist gripping the knife, muscles burning as he fought to keep the blade away. The deadly edge hovered mere millimeters from his carotid artery. He could feel the sting of its aura on his skin.
"You bastard!" Kantsuke roared, driving his titanium knee upward into the monster's gut.
THUD!
The beast lurched forward, off balance. In one smooth motion, Kantsuke rolled free, drew his sidearm, and fired a full burst.
BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM…
Bullets slammed into the monster's head and chest, dead-on.
But it didn't fall.
Kantsuke cursed in disbelief—and rage—more than fear.
"I'm hungry," it growled again, chewing three of the bullets in its mouth like peanuts, then swallowing them.
"You— you freak…"
The hulking creature in a torn overcoat snarled, and lunged—
BOOM BOOM BOOM!
Three high-velocity anti-materiel rounds slammed in from the ridge. The monster twisted, dodging all three with unnatural speed.
"Huh?" It stepped onto something round and metallic.
BOOM!
The trap mine Kantsuke had planted earlier detonated in a thunderous blast, hurling the monster into a nearby thicket.
He looked up.
Dirt, leaves, and shrapnel rained down from the sky like confetti.
"What the…?"
Through the dust and falling debris, he saw the beast… rising.
Click.
"Goddamn it."
He tossed aside the empty Barrett and pulled out his last grenade—his last hope.
If this didn't kill it, none of them were making it out alive.
He hurled the grenade.
It landed at the monster's feet just as it charged through the waist-high brush.
BOOM—ARGHHH!
Smoke and flame enveloped the creature. It dropped to its knees, blackened and seething.
Kantsuke stepped out from cover, titanium knife in hand, eyes locked with the monster's.
SHUNK!
The blade drove into its eye, the tip bursting out the back of its skull.
"You're nothing but a fucking termite," he hissed, voice trembling with fury. He held the knife firm for a moment, then slammed a steel-toed kick into its chest.
CRACK!
The blade ripped out as the monster collapsed onto its back.
"Jesus…" he muttered, wiping black ichor from the blade.
"You hurt my Simon…"
The voice came from behind.
Kantsuke's blood ran cold.
He spun, swinging his knife in a wide arc—
Whoosh!
Empty air.
But he'd heard it—clear as day—right behind him, close enough to feel its breath.
"Heh heh heh…"
The chilling chuckle floated on the night wind, echoing like a ghost in a tomb.
Kantsuke shivered.
He spun in place, trying to follow the voice with his blade.
"Come on out, you coward!" he shouted, drawing his pistol and firing wildly into the trembling brush ahead.
BLAM BLAM BLAM—BLAM BLAM!
Nothing.
He turned back—
The body was gone.
Gone.
Please, he prayed, don't let Izzy and Molly run into whatever the hell that was…
He slung the empty Barrett over his shoulder and scanned the area, then sprinted for the forest, ducking behind a tree for cover.
"Zota, Zota! Do you copy?" he barked into the radio.
No reply.
Only silence.
"Shit…"
He clenched his fist.
He hated this. Hated not being able to help his friend. Hated even more what came next—deciding whether to go in deeper… or turn back.
"Izzy, where are you?"
"We're at the station. Are you okay?"
Relief flooded his chest.
"Start the engine. We're leaving—now."
He cut the transmission and ran, full speed, downhill—ignoring the shrill, blood-chilling screech chasing him through the night.