The village of Maplewood was drowning in heavy, indigo twilight. This was the same place where, not long ago, Eliza had been snatched by the werewolves—a scar on the land that had not yet healed. Volien's forest detachment had vanished as suddenly and silently as they had arrived, dissolving into the thick timber like morning mist.
Dex Kellark remained at the camp they had established on the outskirts. He sat by the fire, but he was no longer alone. One by one, figures emerged from the darkness—men whose steps were heavy with the weight of those who had already witnessed the end of the world once before. These were Dex's old comrades, the friends who, years ago, had stopped the first great wave from Marionis. While James Urban and Henry held the line at the mannequin factory itself, here in Maplewood, the "Old Guard" was assembling.
Back then, the world was different. Back then, Torsken still fought on the side of the living dolls, protecting them rather than turning them into cannon fodder. Their true nightmare and the leader of their enemies had been Loeg the Molter —a hideous, flying entity that threatened both Marionis and the human world. Wounded and dying, they had burned him and buried him deep in the earth. But the grave had not held him. Whispers spread among the people that he hadn't truly burned, and later, he had vanished from the pit entirely. It was eerie and terrifying, but as time passed, the fear grew dull, and everyone accepted him as finally defeated.
But it was not so. Amidst the endless ruins and desolate plains of these lands, people occasionally glimpsed a flying monster in the sky. No one knew when he would return to claim his revenge.
At the center of the camp, a large bonfire crackled cheerfully. Around it sat the legends of the former war: John Urban, the former owner of the mannequin factory; Troy the Crossbowman, whose eyes constantly scanned the horizon; Russ MacKen, the veteran hunter; and Tib Pans, the former circus acrobat and gymnast.
John Urban leaned toward the fire, poking the embers with a stick. The firelight emphasized the deep lines on his face.
— "Gector was a good general," John said hoarsely. "Now Torsken has lost him. He has no more commanders like that. We did a fine job with his squad, Dex. It's a significant victory."
Dex looked at his palms, stained with oil and soot.
— "We took out his best hound, that's for sure," Kellark cut in. "But Loeg... if he has truly returned, then Torsken's legions are only half the trouble. Torsken is a soldier; he knows how to fight like a man, by the rules of war. But Loeg is a predatory beast. Pure hunger and vengeance."
Troy the Crossbowman meticulously checked the tension of his string; his movements were mechanical and precise.
— "The scouts on the plains say they've seen a shadow in the clouds, Dex. Something massive, with husks and torn skin falling from it. It's circling away from Marionis. They say where its shadow falls, the grass withers."
Russ MacKen spat to the side.
— "I found a deer in the Borderlands Forest last week. The carcass was untouched, but inside—emptiness. It was as if all the life had been drained out of it through a tiny hole in the neck. Only the Molter killed like that. If that flying devil has risen from his empty grave, we're in for a hard time."
Tib Pans froze on a fallen tree and jumped down with unnatural grace.
— "We all saw that he didn't burn completely. We all heard his bones cracking in the pit. But fear is a resilient thing. If he's back, it means he's grown even more vicious."
A few volunteers approached the fire, carrying dry branches. Their faces were pale. Everyone understood: the battle with Gector had only been a warm-up. Dex stood up abruptly, his shadow looming over the fire, vast and intimidating.
— "In the ruins of the industrial sector, in the shadows of the old abandoned plants and warehouses, two more of Torsken's legions are lurking. Twenty thousand mannequins that do not make mistakes. And at the same time, a new threat hangs over us—Loeg."
John Urban raised his head and looked Dex in the eye. Though he didn't own those factories, he knew them like the back of his hand.
— "Those abandoned plants and warehouses are their lair now. But I explored every brick, every drain, and every secret hatch there back in the day. If we cannot stop Torsken's army in the open field, we will lure them into the labyrinth underground. We will outsmart them there."
The bonfire flared up, illuminating the faces of the grim men. The Old Guard was back in formation. This time, they knew: the enemy would come from both the earth and the sky.
********
The night over the industrial sector was unnaturally quiet. Here, amidst the rusted skeletons of plants that once gave life to the entire state, a silence reigned, broken only by the screech of rotting iron in the wind. Dex Kellark and Tib Pans moved across the roof of an old warehouse, taking care not to step on shattered glass.
— John wasn't lying, Tib whispered, hanging over the edge of the parapet in a dangerous, almost cat-like crouch. — The air here is soaked in the smell of lubricant. But not the kind from James's factory. This... it smells of cold.
Dex pressed his eyes to the lenses of an old pair of military binoculars. Below, in the vast bay of an abandoned assembly plant that had once belonged to Urban's competitors, darkness stood still. But it was not an empty darkness. It was dense, geometrically precise.
It was them.
Torsken's Second Legion. Unlike Gector's squad, these mannequins were not painted in bright colors. They were matte black, coated in an anti-reflective finish. They didn't grunt, they didn't move, and they didn't make a sound. Ten thousand black figures stood in perfect formation, shoulder to shoulder, filling the entire space of the plant to the horizon. In the moonlight filtering through the jagged holes in the roof, their glass eyes shimmered with a crimson hue.
— Look, Tib, Dex pointed to a raised platform in the center of the hall. — They don't have a general like Gector. Torsken is controlling them directly through a central relay. See that tower with the pulsing red light?
— If we cut it down, do they just become a pile of plastic? Tib asked hopefully.
— Or they'll lose their minds and start crushing everything in sight, Dex muttered grimly. — Torsken doesn't leave loopholes.
Suddenly, the air above them shuddered. It wasn't the wind. It was the heavy, ragged flapping of massive wings. Dex and Tib instantly pressed themselves into the concrete of the roof, holding their breath.
A vast shadow, jagged and uneven, swept directly over them. From the sky fell dry, gray scales, resembling dead skin. It smelled of decay and old blood.
— Loeg... Tib breathed, barely audible.
The monster did not see them. It made a wide circle over the industrial zone. Loeg the Molter looked even more terrifying than in the legends: his wings were like shreds of old banners with bone showing through, and his long, serpentine body constantly writhed, shedding scraps of flesh. He landed on the tallest chimney of the factory and emitted a low, hissing sound that made Dex's teeth ache.
In that same second, the ten thousand black mannequins below simultaneously turned their heads toward Loeg. The synchronized click of their neck mechanisms sounded like a gunshot.
— They aren't allies, Dex whispered, watching how the legion reacted to the predator's presence. — The mannequins are bracing for defense. Torsken fears Loeg just as much as we do. The Molter didn't come for the factories. He came for the living plastic. To him, they are a delicacy—bottled energy.
— That means we don't just have two enemies, Dex, Tib looked at the Sheriff with widened eyes. — We're in a jar of spiders. And we're trapped inside with them.
Dex reached slowly for his belt and pulled out a flare.
— John mentioned the tunnels. If we can pit them against each other here, in these ruins... If Torsken's legions engage Loeg, we might have a chance to slip through to the heart of Marionis.
— You want to use Loeg as a battering ram? That's madness! Tib shook his head.
— There are no normal ways to win in this world anymore, Tib. Let's head back. We need to discuss with John how to breach the lower hatches and let Loeg into their perfect formation.
They began to retreat, but below in the hall, one of the black mannequins suddenly tilted its head up and looked directly at the roof where the men had just been. Its red eye flared brighter, and a vibration ran through the factory's steel beams—the signal had been sent.
The hunt had begun. On two fronts at once.