The smell of iron and burnt bone filled the air inside the base. Koro stood in the center of the main hall, his large hands trembling with a rage he could barely contain. At his feet, a literal mountain of bodies... those were his friends, his family—lay slumped in the dirt.
The wolves stood over them, their snouts stained red.
"I will kill every single one of you," Koro growled. His voice was deep, vibrating the very ribs of the base.
Next to him, the gunslinger adjusted his hat, his eyes cold and fixed on the wolf leader.
"Calm down, big guy. If you lose your head, you die. I will handle their boss outside. You take care of the trash in here. And do whatever you please."
Koro's eyes shifted to the corner where Old Horg was hiding behind a line of wolf guards. The old tortoise looked terrified but smug.
Koro nodded once.
"Fine. Go."
The gunslinger stepped forward, pointing a long, silver barrel at the wolf leader.
"Outside, dog. Or I start pulling the trigger right here and none of your pups make it out."
The leader wolf bared his teeth, a low snarl ripping from his throat. He didn't want to leave his pack, but the look in the gunslinger's eyes told him he wasn't joking.
He gestured for his men to stay and walked toward the exit.
"Do not let the gorilla breathe another minute," the leader commanded.
As soon as the leader and the gunslinger cleared the door, the tension snapped.
"Kill him! What are you waiting for? Tear him apart! " Old Horg screamed from the back.
The wolves charged.
Koro roared, meeting the first one with a punch that sounded like a mallet hitting a drum. The wolf flew backward, its jaw shattered, but three more took its place.
They weren't like the ones Lemony fought. These were the elite, armored and wielding pointy and sharp spears.
Koro swung his massive arms, clearing a circle around him. Every punch landed with a sickening thud, but there were too many. A spear tip grazed his shoulder, and another bit into his thigh.
I promised the old man, Koro thought, his vision blurring with sweat. I promised we would leave this place. I cannot die in this cage.
He saw Old Horg turn tail and run toward the exit.
"Get back here, you coward!" Koro shouted.
He shoved through a wall of fur and steel, taking a shallow stab to his side just to get an opening. He didn't care about the pain. He ignored the wolves hanging onto his back and arms, dragging them with him as he charged out into the snow.
Outside, the wind was howling.
Old Horg was surprisingly fast when he was scared, scurrying toward the left to avoid the area where the gunslinger and the wolf leader were just having a conversation.
Koro stumbled into the snow, breathing hard. His grey fur was matted with blood.
The thirty wolves poured out of the base behind him like a flood.
They surrounded him again, stabbing at his back and legs. Koro grabbed one by the neck and hurled him into two others, but he was getting overwhelmed.
Old Horg stopped a few dozen meters away and looked back. A nasty sneer crossed his face.
Look at him! A big, stupid beast dying for a dream that died a hundred years ago.
"Why don't you just lay down and die, Koro? You're just a leftover! You're nothing but trash meant to be burned!"
He turned and started running again.
Trash? Koro's eyes turned a dark, bloodshot red.
He calls us trash after everything we did for him? After Crysorgo fed him and gave him a home?
The anger gave him a second wind. He let out a scream that shook the snow from the nearby rocks.
"Horg!" Koro roared. "I'm going to kill you with unfathomable violence!"
The wolves sensed Koro's exhaustion. They moved in like a tide of grey fur and iron, their snouts wrinkled in a collective snarl.
The circle was closing.
Koro's knees buckled under the weight of the spear wounds. He felt the cold of the snow seeping into his skin, mixing with the warmth of his own blood.
High above, a small shape cut through the grey sky. Sissy pushed her hair-wings until they felt like they were made of lead. She saw the smoke first, a black scar against the horizon, and her heart sank into her stomach.
What is going on? Please, let them be okay,
She saw the four-eyed silhouette of Koro surrounded by a sea of wolves. She saw the base, their secret sanctuary, cracked open. And in the distance, a stranger was locked in a life-or-death stare down with the wolf leader.
What happened here? How did they find us?
Sissy didn't slow down.
She tucked her wings and dived. She became a blur of white and red, a living projectile. She slammed into the line of wolves attacking Koro's flank with a deafening thud. The force of her impact sent broken bodies flying into the snow banks.
Koro didn't even look surprised. The rage had taken over. He swung a fist that caught a wolf mid-leap, crushing its ribs and sending it spinning into the darkness. He was moving insane with his four eyes bloodshot and focused on nothing but destruction.
"Sissy?"
"Koro! What happened? Where is everyone?"
Koro's face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated agony.
"They are gone," he rasped, a tear carving a path through the blood on his cheek.
"Everyone... they killed everyone."
The words hit Sissy like a physical blow. She pushed past him, ignoring his warning cry, and ran toward the entrance of the base. She threw the heavy bone doors open and stopped.
The mountain of bodies was the first thing she saw.
These weren't just "leftovers" to her.
That was the old badger who always gave her extra dried fruit.
There was the young fox who wanted to learn how to scout.
They were piled up like cordwood with their limbs tangled and their eyes staring at a ceiling they would never see again.
The fire was already licking at their clothes, the orange light dancing cruelly over their pale faces.
This was her home.
The only place in the world that didn't treat her like a slave or a toy. And now, it was just a furnace for her friends.
Sissy felt her soul go numb.
She began to walk up the stairs. Then suddenly, three wolves jumped from the shadows, their blades flashing.
Sissy didn't even flinch.
She struck out with a desperation that was more dangerous than any trained skill. She took a spear to her shoulder, the cold steel biting deep, but she didn't stop. She threw the wolf over the railing and kept climbing.
She reached the top floor. The door to the leader's office stood before her, scorched by the heat.
"Old man! Crysorgo! Open the door! Please!"
Silence followed. Only the crackle of burning wood answered her.
"Old man! It is me! Sissy! Please, don't leave me too!"
She threw her weight against the door until the hinges groaned and snapped. The door swung inward, revealing a room filled with thick, grey smoke.
Crysorgo Aizzovac was sitting in his chair. He looked like he was just resting, but as Sissy stepped closer, she saw the truth.
His clothes were shredded, soaked in a deep crimson that had already begun to dry. In his hands, he held a heavy iron bar, bent from use.
Tucked behind his chair and under his desk were ten small children. They were huddled together, shivering and crying silently, but they were alive.
The old man had stood at this door and fought off an army to keep them safe. He had been a wall that the wolves could not break.
Sissy's legs gave out. She fell to the floor, her wings dragging in the soot. She crawled to his feet and wrapped her arms around his knees, burying her face in the coarse fabric of his tunic.
He was cold. The steady, comforting heartbeat she had known for a hundred years was gone.
"Grandpa. Please wake up. We were going to find Cutie. We were going to leave. You promised."
She hugged his lifeless body as the fire roared below, her cries lost in the sound of her world turning to ash.
Sissy's fingers gripped the rough fabric of Crysorgo's tunic until her knuckles turned white. She shook him gently, her tears splashing onto his blood-stained lap.
"Please, old man. Don't die on me. I'm back, see? I found my way back to you."
A wet, rattling sound came from the old man's chest. His head tilted forward just an inch, and his eyes cracked open, dull and hazy.
"Sissy?" he whispered. It was a ghost of a voice.
"Yes! It's me. Don't talk, okay? Just breathe. We have to get you out of here. Koro is outside, and we have a path. We can leave this place fast, all of us. You just have to stand up."
Crysorgo let out a weak, huffing laugh that ended in a cough of red. He lifted a trembling hand and pressed it against her cheek.
"Stop, Sissy. My legs... they stayed behind in the hallway an hour ago."
"No, don't say that!"
"I'll carry you! I'm stronger now, I flew so fast to get here—"
"Sissy." He cut her off, his grip on her face tightening just a fraction.
"Listen to me. The dream... you have to keep the dream alive alone now."
"I can't do it alone!"
"I'm not like you! I'm just a scout! I need you to tell me where to go!"
"You aren't a scout anymore," he wheezed, his eyes starting to drift toward the ceiling.
"You're the heart now."
Sissy choked back a sob, desperate to give him something to hold onto.
"Wait! I heard about them. Cutie and Lukerion. I met a creature in the abyss, Fiji. He knew them, Crysorgo! He saw them decades ago!"
A spark of the old life returned to Crysorgo's eyes. A small, genuine smile touched his lips.
"Tell me... tell me the story."
Sissy swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady while the room burned around them.
"Fiji said... he said Cutie was brave. She fell into his cave and the first thing she did wasn't cry. She asked where the nearest exit was so she could find Lukerion."
"That sounds like her."
"And... and Fiji said they stayed with him for a week. Also... Lukerion fixed Fiji's stone arm when it broke. They were happy, Grandpa. They were laughing even down there in the dark."
"They were laughing..."
"The third thing he said..."
"was that they left together. He saw them walking toward the light of the lower peaks. He said they looked like they were going home."
She waited for him to respond. She waited for a laugh or another question about his brother. But the room grew deathly quiet, save for the roar of the fire downstairs. The hand on her cheek slipped and fell limply to his side.
"Old man?"
She leaned in, pressing her ear to his chest.
Nothing.
No thud, no rattle, and finally, no warmth.
"No, no, no! Wake up! I have more to tell you! Fiji said more!"
She began to pump his chest with her hands. She breathed into his lungs, tasting the copper of his blood, pushing until her own arms gave out.
Then, at the end, she collapsed against his knees. The children under the desk began to wail, but Sissy couldn't move. She looked up at his peaceful, bloodied face one last time.
"Why is it that the only people who ever loved me keep leaving me behind in the dark?"
----------------------------------------------------------
The blood was literally dripping from Koro's knuckles, staining the white snow a dark, ugly red. He didn't even feel the cold anymore. His four eyes were locked onto that brown shell bobbing in the distance.
"Horg!" Koro screamed, and the sound was so loud it actually felt like it shook the mountain.
"I'm going to rip you apart!"
Old Horg didn't stop. He was huffing, his short legs kicking up snow.
"You're too slow, you stupid beast! Just die with the rest of the trash!"
Koro pushed himself. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a drum.
I remember when I first got here, Koro thought. Horg was the one who gave me a blanket. He was actually kind back then. He told me we were a family of the forgotten. He was the one who taught me how to find water in the bone-walls. How did that person become this monster?
The vicissitude of the old man's soul was something Koro couldn't understand. He just wanted it to end.
With a final, desperate burst of speed, Koro lunged. He grabbed the edge of Horg's shell.
The weight of them both sent them tumbling into the snow, rolling until they hit a jagged rock. Horg scrambled, trying to get his footing.
"Wait! Koro, wait!" Horg shrieked, his voice high and thin.
"I had to do it! They would have killed me too! We can still leave together!"
Koro didn't say a word. He reached out and snatched Horg by the leg. He pulled him back with a jerk that made the old man's joints pop.
Koro flipped him over and slammed him into the ground, sitting on his chest with all his massive weight.
"Please! I'm old! Don't do this!"
Koro's response was a fist.
He punched Horg right in the mouth. The sound was a wet, heavy thud. Horg's head snapped back, and blood immediately sprayed from his nose, painting the snow red.
This is for the children you left to die, Koro thought.
He punched him again.
And again.
Horg's face was becoming a mess of purple and red. The old man was sobbing now, his hands weakly trying to push Koro's chest away.
"P-please... mercy..." Horg wheezed. He could barely get the words out through his broken teeth.
Koro looked down at him. His own face was twisted in a look of profound sadness, even while his hands were doing something so brutal.
He saw a large rock sitting right next to them. It was heavy and sharp. He reached down and hoisted it over his head with both hands.
Horg's eyes went wide. He tried to scream, but only a gurgle came out. The terror in his eyes was so thick you could almost taste it.
Koro drove the rock down with everything he had.
It didn't hit Horg's head.
It hit his throat.
There was a sickening crack of bone and cartilage. Horg's hands flew to his neck, his fingers clawing at the stone.
He tried to speak, to beg, to breathe, but only a thick, dark fountain of blood came out of his mouth. He was choking on his own betrayal.
"You sold Sissy," Koro growled.
He lifted the rock again.
"You sold Old Man Crysorgo."
He slammed it down again.
More blood.
The snow under them was a literal lake of red now. Koro didn't stop. He kept lifting the rock and slamming it down, over and over. He shouted out the names of the people who had been killed in the hall.
Every strike was a name.
Every strike was a life Horg had traded away.
Horg's body was twitching, his eyes rolling back in his head, but the old tortoise was stubborn. He was still clinging to life, his chest heaving in tiny, wet gasps.
Just die already, Koro thought, his arms shaking from the effort. End this.
Koro lifted the rock one last time.
He put every bit of his grief, his exhaustion, and his hate into the swing. He brought it down with a final, crushing blow.
The twitching stopped.
The wet sounds stopped.
Horg was finally dead.
Koro let go of the rock and slumped backward, falling into the cold snow next to the corpse.
He didn't feel like a hero.
He just felt empty.
He looked up at the gray sky, watching the snowflakes fall slowly toward his face.
It's over, he thought. But there's nobody left to tell.