Vlad and the green-haired man began their descent into the trench, watching their steps carefully. The slope was uneven, slick with damp moss and streaked with tangled roots. A few loose rocks shifted underfoot, threatening to send them sliding. Neither spoke.
The smell hit Vlad halfway down.
He frowned, lifting his free hand to his nose and whispered, "This place reeks of blood."
The man said nothing at first, only stepping over a twisted corpse with care. Then, in a low voice, "We need to move fast."
Vlad followed him, eyes scanning the bodies. "We can't use the armor," he said quietly. "Wearing that much metal? We'd be walking around ringing like bells."
The man gave a short nod, crouching beside a corpse that lay half-sunken in the mud. "Then let's just take their clothes and weapons," he muttered, then turned to Vlad and handed him the torch.
With efficiency, he tugged a pair of black wool gloves from the corpse's stiff hands. He slid them on, flexing his fingers, then rubbed his palms together. The sound was faint but comforting.
"Much better," he murmured.
Without pause, he moved to another body and peeled off a second pair. Turning, he held them out to Vlad.
As Vlad handed the torch back to the green-haired man, something near his boot caught his eye. A strange shape, barely visible beneath a pile of damp leaves and clumped earth.
"Wait," Vlad said, narrowing his eyes. "Shine the light here."
The man tilted the torch downward.
Vlad crouched and nudged the spot with the tip of his stick. The mud shifted with a sickening, wet sound then parted, revealing a dull metallic glint.
Something long. Angular.
A hilt.
He pushed aside the rest of the leaves. A sword emerged slowly from the muck, still gripped in the rigid fingers of a half-buried corpse. The blade was caked in filth, but intact. It had been held tightly, as if even in death the soldier hadn't let go.
Vlad stared at it for a moment, then reached down.
He snatched the sword from the corpse's stiff grip with a sharp tug. The motion made a wet squelch as the blade came free, caked with mud, leaves, and the faint stink of rot. Without flinching, Vlad braced the sword against his knee and used his stick to scrape off the worst of the filth, flicking clumps away with quick movements.
Once it was mostly clean, he turned the blade upward. A flicker of torchlight danced along the steel. Balanced. Still dangerous.
He held it there for a moment, angled just so, studying it quietly.
The weight was balanced, surprisingly so. The grip fit his palm, worn smooth with use, but still firm. Crude, not elegant. Not like the blades he was used to.
Vlad turned the blade sideways, ran his fingers along the flat edge. This is no obsidian steel or reinforced shada but…
He gave a faint nod, almost to himself.
…It'll go a long way.
From beside him, the green-haired man let out a low whistle. "Great find," he said. "Now we just need two or three more, and we'll all have something to defend ourselves."
He paused, eyeing the blade in Vlad's hands.
"You seem to be liking that one. So keep it."
Of course, I like it. This feels really similar to one of the swords back at home.
"I will," Vlad said, crouching down. He quickly took off the sheath and belt the soldier was wearing to make carrying the blade easier.
The two of them moved quickly, stripping the dead soldiers of their battered armor.
Vlad noticed beneath the dull plates and cracked helmets, the soldiers wore clothes almost identical in material to theirs–simple, worn, and thin. The only real protection they had from the biting cold was the thick cloaks draped over their shoulders, heavy and lined for warmth.
Without hesitation, Vlad and the green-haired man each grabbed one of the cloaks. They pulled them over their own shoulders. The thick fabric instantly pushed back the chill that had been creeping into their bones.
Vlad shivered once, then exhaled softly. The cloak's warmth pressed in, a fragile comfort against the cold.
Finally, he thought, I feel like I can survive the night without getting hypothermia.
***
They kept searching, working quickly. The green-haired man shifted another corpse with his boot and spotted something beneath its arm.
"Another one," he said softly, crouching.
Vlad stepped closer as the man pulled a second sword free from the body. It was similar in design to the one Vlad had taken, worn, but intact. Just a few steps away, they uncovered a third and fourth sword, but one was snapped clean through the middle. Half a blade, jagged at the break.
"Still better than nothing," the man muttered, inspecting the broken edge before gathering the sheaths and sheathing the full blade at his hip and carefully wrapping the other two–one broken, one whole–around his waist as well. He took the torch from Vlad and adjusted it to his free hand, managing the weight with practiced ease.
They also recovered two more thick cloaks, both stiff with mud but still intact. Vlad rolled them up and slung them over one shoulder, the weight welcomed like carrying survival itself.
By now, they were loaded with everything they could use and reasonably carry. Three swords. Four cloaks. One torch, still flickering in the murk.
The green-haired man stepped up the incline slightly and raised a hand, signaling to the girls above with two quick, silent waves.
Vlad shifted his feet to follow.
Tang!
His boot had landed on a discarded piece of armor hidden beneath the leaves. The sharp metallic ring cut through the stillness like a blade.
The man snapped his head toward him, eyes wide. Then both of them went still as the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed from the darkness of the trench. Leaves crunched under weight that wasn't theirs.
Vlad's heart stuttered.
"That… that wasn't me," He whispered, shaking his head.
The man didn't answer. He didn't need to.
A low, guttural growl came from behind him, followed by the faint but heavy thud of approaching feet.
They both turned, slowly, toward the sound.
The man raised the torch slightly, trying to push the light deeper into the darkness behind them. The flame flickered against the fog, casting twisted shadows over fallen leaves and the corpses, but nothing clear emerged.
The shadows danced against mud-slick walls. Something shifted within them. Something large.
Vlad gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white.
Panic crawled up his spine.
What is…on second thought, I don't want to know.
Neither of them moved. Not a breath. Not a twitch.
They stood frozen like statues, tense enough to snap.
Vlad could feel the weight of the dark pressing in around them. The sound of his own heartbeat thudded in his skull.
Please... He prayed silently, just move along. Don't notice us. Don't look our way.
Then it stepped into the torchlight.
The fog peeled back just enough to reveal its shape. Hulking, low to the ground, and wrong in every possible way.
It had six limbs. The front pair were massive muscle-bound arms ending in claws the size of butcher knives. Killing hands, not walking ones. They sank into the earth with slow, predatory weight.
The second pair, set further back, were smaller but still powerful. The last were tiny, almost vestigial, twitching weakly as they dragged behind.
Its fur was matted and wet-stone grey, clinging to its frame in sickly clumps. It had no eyes.
Just smooth, fur-covered skin where a face should be. No nose, only gills, twitching on either side of its head, sucking in the damp air like slow, rhythmic wounds. Its jaw was wide and twitching, ringed with jagged, uneven teeth built for biting, breaking, tearing.
Is it blind? Vlad's stomach twisted.
The creature's head tilted ever so slightly toward the torchlight.
Its jaw opened. A bubbling growl rumbled from somewhere deep within its throat.
Vlad glanced at the torch.
Is it being attracted by the crackling of the torch?
The creature was blind but it was still tracking them with sound.
He clutched his sword tighter, muscles trembling. Cold sweat slicked his palms.
Beside him, the green-haired man raised the torch higher, slowly sliding his free hand toward one of the swords sheathed at his hip.
They stood frozen, barely breathing. Both silently prayed it would move on.
The creature's head twitched once then slowly began to turn. It tilted left, as though something in the dark beyond the trench had piqued its interest more than them. Its gills pulsed again. For a brief, impossible second, it seemed like the thing had lost interest.
Come on… just leave. Vlad's heartbeat roared in his ears. Just...
Thwack!
Something dropped near his boot.
A wet, fleshy smack against the mud.
Vlad didn't even look–he didn't have time.
The creature's head snapped back toward them, and with a guttural, gurgling roar it lunged, six limbs slamming forward in a blur of muscle and claws. Its maw opened wide, jagged teeth glistening.
It charged.
All claws and teeth and fury, coming straight for him.