"Don’t let them—" Bramm started, but his words were cut short as he heaved his great dane axe in a massive vertical chop, splitting the porch floorboards where a Lynx had been a second before. The beast had already pivoted, its saw-teeth locking onto the haft of his axe and shaking its entire body to grind through the wood. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"Resven, the flank! They’re coming under the rail!" Bramm roared, kicking the beast away only to feel another’s bone-spurs lash across his ribs, opening three parallel gashes that soaked his tunic.

Resven regained his footing, his steely blue eyes darting between the flickering shadows. "I can’t see any True-Reds, Bramm! It’s all a blur of light-red pulses!" He drove the head of his hammer into the ribs of a Lynx trying to climb the porch steps, but two more took its place instantly.

"Aye, because they’re not... waiting for turns anymore," Telarin intercepted, his voice straining under the weight of a dual assault.

He slammed his hatchet into the skull of one, but the second beast used its hooks to latch onto his arm, dragging its barbed body across his bicep. He didn’t scream, but his teeth remained clamped shut in a grimace of agony. "Hold the line! If we break...all is lost, be sure of it!"

"If they keep... stripping us like this," Resven gasped, swinging his hammer back and forth to keep a circle of four snarling Lynxes at bay, "we’ll bleed out before the others return!"

The combat was a brutal give-and-take; for every Lynx that Bramm managed to catch with a sweeping strike, another found purchase on his armor or skin. The trio shifted their weight, their boots slipping on the porch boards now made slick with a mixture of mud, torch-soot, and their own blood.

The air was thick with the smell of wet fur and the constant, maddening rattle of bone spurs as the pack tightened its circle, sensing the growing fatigue in the men’s limbs.

The porch was a mess of splintered timber and desperate gashes. The air felt heavy, thick with the copper tang of blood and the scorched-hair smell of the torches.

Telarin, Bramm, and Resven had held the arrowhead for what felt like hours, but the constant, high-speed harassment was draining their reserves.

Around them, the remnants of the pack circled. They had broken or blunted nearly ten of the beasts—some lay twitching on the porch steps with shattered spines, while others dragged themselves into the shadows, hissing through broken jaws—but the remaining pack members showed no sign of retreating.

"Bramm... your leg," Resven panted, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. He leaned his weight against the cabin wall for a split second, his shoulder marked by shredded leather and raw meat. "You’re trailing... too much."

Bramm didn’t look down at the tattered mess of his thigh. He heaved the great dane axe in a slow, weary arc, the steel head feeling twice as heavy as it had at sunset. "Doesn’t matter. They’re... slowing down. See? They aren’t leaping as high."

"They aren’t slowing," Telarin grunted, his voice now a gravelly rasp. He stepped forward to intercept a Lynx that tried to skirt the porch rail, slamming the flat of his shield into its ribs. The effort made his knees buckle for a heartbeat. "They’re waiting. They’re... let me breathe, lad... they’re trading places."

As if to prove him right, three fresh Light-Red Lynxes blurred out of the dark. One caught the edge of Telarin’s shield with its chitinous hooks, and instead of leaping past, it hung its full weight on the plank.

"Help him!" Bramm roared, stepping in to bring his axe down, but his movements were sluggish.

A second Lynx seized the opening, its whip-like tail lashing across Bramm’s chest. The bone spurs tore through his tunic, adding fresh lines to the map of his wounds. He stumbled back, his boots slipping on a patch of gore.

Resven lunged, driving the head of his warhammer into the snout of the beast clinging to Telarin’s shield, but the impact lacked its usual bone-shattering power. The beast fell back, snarling, but it wasn’t finished.

"We’re losing the light," Resven whispered, his eyes wide as he looked at the torches, now burnt down to sputtering nubs. "And I’m... I’m out of breath, my Lord. My arms feel like lead."

"Hold the wood," Bramm commanded, his voice a low, protective hum even as he bled from a dozen small tears. "Just hold the wood. The others... they have to be close."

They tightened the arrowhead once more, three exhausted men standing amidst a pile of broken predators, while the shadows beyond the torchlight seemed to grow deeper, watching and waiting for the final flicker of the flame.

The torches sputtered and gasped, their light failing as the atmospheric pressure shifted, turning the air thick and heavy. From the edge of the darkness, three True-Red Barbed-Lynxes emerged, their auras a darker, more predatory crimson that pulsed like a dying star. Behind them, the air rippled, manifesting translucent, jagged phantoms of the beasts—monstrous echoes that loomed over the porch.

"Vitre protect us," Resven whispered, his voice cracking as he gripped his warhammer with blood-slicked hands. "True Reds. They’ve been watching us bleed the whole time".

The struggle turned desperate as the alphas charged, moving with the force of battering rams. Telarin braced his weathered oak shield, but the impact of the lead True-Red sent him skidding back, his boots groaning against the porch boards as the beast’s serrated teeth began to saw at the iron rim of his guard.

Bramm heaved his two-handed axe in a desperate overhead cleave, but the beast twisted with unnatural agility, its whip-like tail lashing out to catch Bramm across his wounded ribs.

"They’re too fast for the light!" Bramm roared, coughing as the bone spurs opened fresh gashes. "Resven, get to the door!"

"I can’t—" Resven started, ducking a lunge that nearly took his head, "if I move, Telarin’s flank is open!" He swung his hammer in a short, powerful snap, connecting with a Lynx’s ribs, but the beast simply rolled with the blow and came back snapping.