"Yaaaah!"

  Lowell's battle cry echoed across the courtyard as he brought the broom down with devastating force. The wooden shaft whistled through the air like a blade, striking the creature's jaw with a second thunderous crack. Shockwaves traveled through the beast's unnatural form, its shadowy hide rippling like disturbed water around the point of contact. Though the blow failed to penetrate its otherworldly flesh, the nightmare staggered backward, its massive frame recoiling with a guttural growl that rose from the depths of its shadow-worm composition.

  The creature's eyes blazed with renewed fury, those clusters of luminous ocelli shifting from sickly green to hellish crimson as they locked onto Lowell.

  Its maw contorted into something that almost resembled a cruel smile, the rows of obsidian teeth gleaming like broken glass in the fading light. Lowell was no longer a mere annoyance to the creature. For better or for worse, Lowell had proven himself a genuine threat. The nightmare's predatory instincts shifted. Gone was the casual hunting of easy prey. Now it would hunt with different deadly purpose: elimination.

  Across the courtyard, Bart struggled against Helena's panicked resistance. His arms strained as he dragged her backward, his boots scrabbling for purchase on the uneven cobblestones littered with debris. In her catatonia, Helena fought him with the desperation of a cornered animal, her limbs flailing wildly as she tried to fend off invisible attackers that existed only in her terror-stricken mind. Her fingernails carved angry red welts into Bart's forearms, and her legs kicked out at anything within reach. She was trapped in a waking nightmare, unable to distinguish friend from foe, seeing threats in every shadow and feeling enemies in every touch.

  "Helena! It's me!" Bart grunted through clenched teeth, barely dodging an elbow that would have shattered his jaw. He struggled to control himself and Helena with more than just physical exertion. The metallic taste of fear filled his mouth, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could maintain his grip on her thrashing form. Behind them, the nightmare's presence loomed like a dark storm cloud, its malevolent energy pressing against his consciousness.

  Lowell positioned himself as a living barrier between the creature and his peers, his movements calculated to draw the beast's full attention. The nightmare, its feral cunning rising above mere animal nature, recognized Lowell's tactic immediately, and its response was swift and brutal.

  With a roar that shook the very foundations of the courtyard, it launched itself at Lowell in a blur of shadow and malice. Lowell twisted his body at the last possible moment, feeling the cold void left behind in the air from the creature's claws as they brushed against his skin like a whisper of death. The razor-sharp tips grazed his side, shredding through his uniform fabric and leaving shallow cuts that burned with unnatural heat.

  The atmosphere in the courtyard had become suffocating, thick with tension and the alien stench that clung to the nightmare's form. Every movement Lowell made felt like it could be his last, each breath a conscious effort against the oppressive weight of the creature's presence. He ducked beneath another sweeping attack, the wind from the strike ruffling his hair as claws sliced through empty air where his head had been moments before. Rolling to the side, he sprang back to his feet, his breathing ragged but controlled.

  Lowell Brandt stood alone against an impossible foe, defiance burning in his chest like a flame that refused to be extinguished. The fear that gnawed at the edges of his resolve was real, but it was outweighed by something stronger: the knowledge that failure meant death for everyone here.

  In time, this confrontation might form the bedrock of a new legacy that future students of Orus would look back on with wonder. Would it be remembered as legendary? Perhaps. Foolish? Almost certainly. But stories were written by the survivors, and legends were born from moments like this. If Lowell failed, if he let the others die, there would be no story to tell. Only another tragedy added to the academy's long history of loss.

  But in that moment, surrounded by the wreckage of the academy's courtyard and facing a creature that defied all natural laws, Lowell's world narrowed to a single focus: survival. Future legends and regrettable tragedies belonged to some other time, some other person. Right now, he could only concentrate on drawing his next breath, on staying alive long enough to find an opening. To reclaim the offensive.

  Bart had always assumed that defeating nightmares required the combined efforts of several full-fledged guild members. The stories he grew up with spoke of coordinated attacks, magical wards, and weapons forged specifically for combating otherworldly threats. For a creature this size, Bart had imagined it would take at least a full hunting party.

  But watching Lowell fight, Bart realized that even that might have been an optimistic estimate.

  A group of skilled hunters would probably have lost people trying to take down something like this. And here was Lowell, armed with nothing more than a broom, standing his ground. It was equal parts amazing and lunacy.

  And Lowell was doing it all without hesitation!

  Still, no matter how impressive Lowell's skills were, he was fighting a losing battle. If something wasn't done soon, eventually he would falter. And then... Bart shook off the chilling finality of the unfinished thought.

  I've got to be able to do more. I have to help him, otherwise... Bart thought, unable to look away from the duel unfolding before him.

  It was clear that the monster had the upper hand. For every offensive blow Lowell struck against it, the beast shook off the effects before responding with three or four attacks of its own.

  To make matters worse, Bart observed, fewer than half of Lowell's attacks were now connecting. Most were being deflected effortlessly.

  The battle had drifted toward the heart of the courtyard where the late afternoon sun was already yielding to shadows of the hastening evening. The creature moved with terrifying speed, its movements defied what should have been possible for a creature of its physical size as it darted from shadow to shadow. Each leap sent it meters across the courtyard, landing with a muted thud that could be felt meters away in the ground beneath Lowell's feet.

  Lowell's breaths came in sharp, ragged bursts now. Each one burning his throat. He could feel the drag of exhaustion beginning to sneak its way into his limbs like slow poison.

  Keeping the nightmare's attention on him demanded more than just focus. It required constant movement. Whenever the beast retreated, he was forced to close the gap between them. But as the battle progressed every step forward felt heavier, each swing of his makeshift weapon slower. The monster sensed it too, its molten eyes gleaming with an impossible intelligence as it played with him. Wore him down further until there could be no more resistance.

  Meanwhile, Bart struggled to pull Helena further into the relative safety of the covered walkway. He propped her up against a half-wall which provided more cover than the open railings, her body slumping like a marionette with its strings cut. Her stare was wide, unseeing, and her hands twitched erratically at her sides as though trying to ward off invisible threats. Bart knelt beside her, placing himself between her and the chaos unfolding just beyond their fragile cover.

  He glanced at Lowell, dodging and weaving through the creature's relentless attacks, and a bitter thought gnawed at the edge of his mind. What am I even doing? His hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles turned white, fingernails digging into his palms until he could feel the sting of broken skin. The frustration burned in his chest like acid, making it hard to breathe.

  "If that thing comes over here..." he whispered to himself, voice trembling with barely contained rage, "...what the hell can I do?"

  The helplessness sat in his chest like a stone, heavy and suffocating.

  Suddenly, the creature changed tactics. With a snarl, it launched itself into the air, its silhouette momentarily eclipsing the fading glow of daylight that was streaming into the courtyard. But this time, it didn't land in front of Lowell, it came from the side. Lowell's eyes widened as he threw his body to the side, moving on instinct alone as he pivoted to meet the sudden threat.

  He barely managed to raise the broom in time. The beast's clawed paw crashed into it with a sound like thunder, the sheer force of the impact washing over his body. The broom snapped clean in two, wooden splinters exploding outward in a shower of debris. Lowell staggered backward, struggling to maintain his balance and at the same time keep hold of the fractured remains of his only weapon.

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  Bart's breath caught in his throat as he watched, frozen in horror. For a fleeting second, the creature loomed over Lowell. Bart saw it clearly this time. There was no mistaking it. He saw the familiar curvature of the maw twisting into something that was clearly a diabolical grin. The nightmare was smiling.

  "The arena..."

  Helena's voice was barely a whisper, the words scraping out of her throat like they were fighting through sandpaper.

  Bart's head snapped around toward Helena. She was conscious again, but barely. A distant look glazed her eyes, sliding past him toward some point beyond the courtyard, as if she were only half here.

  "The gymnasium?" Bart echoed, confusion knitting his brow. "What about it?"

  Helena's lips trembled as she tried to form the words, her body still locked in the aftershocks of fear. She coughed suddenly, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth. "The arena... weapons..." she managed, each word a struggle against the haze clouding her mind. "Training weapons... in the gym..."

  Bart's eyes widened in sudden realization. Of course! The martial training weapons were stored in the arena. Blunted swords, staves, maybe even shields. It wasn't much, but it was better than watching Lowell get torn apart while waving around a splintered broom.

  Bart was already hurrying to stand. "Stay here and don't move!"

  The words hung in the air, bitter and absurd. Helena, slumped against the wall, her body limp and discarded, barely managed to lift her head. She gave him the faintest nod—a movement so weak it could have been mistaken for her simply losing the battle to keep her head upright.

  Right. Like she's going anywhere, Bart thought, grimacing at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, telling a half-conscious girl to stay put while a nightmare tore through the courtyard and Lowell fought for his life with a broken broom. He gave her a half-hearted thumbs up that felt more like a salute to the doomed, then spun on his heel and bolted toward the gym, his heart pounding as fast as his feet.

  Bart shot off down the corridor, back toward the arena, over the polished wooden floors of the open air corridor. He slid around the corner, nearly losing his balance as he did so. After he found a weapon for Lowell, he'd go find one of the instructors. Many were retired members of guilds, probably with experience fighting or hunting creatures like this one. If they were here, no one would be in danger anymore.

  With a plan forming in his mind, Bart sprinted forward. If he could just find someone—anyone—there was still a chance to turn the tide.

  The shattered remains of wooden beams and scattered debris near the gymnasium entrance forced him to slow down. His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped over the wreckage, eyes darting across the devastation. The sheer scale of destruction was staggering.

  Did the nightmare do all this damage?

  He didn't dwell on the thought. He pressed on, stepping into the arena.

  And his heart plummeted.

  The gymnasium was in shambles.

  #

  The sun dipped lower in the sky, its last rays spilling across the courtyard like molten gold, but the warmth did nothing to ease the chill creeping into Lowell's bones. Shadows stretched long and jagged over the cobblestones, warping the courtyard into something unreal. The warm glow of the setting sun clashed with the encroaching blackness pouring from the creature, the very air seeming to twist and ripple in its unnatural presence.

  Lowell gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening around the broken broom handle. His heart pounded against his ribs. It's toying with me.

  The realization hit him like a fist to the gut. This thing had stopped attacking him in earnest. It was testing him. Seeing how much fight he had left in him. The same way a cat played with a mouse before delivering the killing blow.

  Lowell's muscles burned as he dodged yet another lightning-fast swipe from the creature's claws. The beast moved with terrifying precision, each attack a blur of shadow and malice. Lowell ducked beneath a sweeping arc, the wind from the strike ruffling his hair as the claws sliced through the empty air where his head had just been.

  He gritted his teeth, refusing to let that ever-present fear take hold. Keep moving, he told himself, don't stop. His legs felt like lead, but he forced them into action, sidestepping another lunge and narrowly avoiding the snapping maw that lunged for his throat.

  A tongue, or the close approximation of one, lashed out from the beast's mouth around its teeth and wet its lips as it sensed Lowell's fatigue. It pressed its advantage, claws flashing like blades of darkness absorbing the fading light. One vicious swipe caught Lowell's side, sending him sprawling backward. The pain exploded, white-hot and blinding. He was unable to contain the cry of pain that escaped involuntarily from his lungs. He hit the ground hard, his vision swimming as the world tilted around him.

  Get up, his mind screamed, but his body felt like it was sinking into the cold stone beneath him.

  The beast stalked forward, its hulking form blotting out what little light remained. Lowell's heart hammered in his chest, but he refused to let the fear consume him. Not now. Not again.

  Then, an opening.

  For a split second, the creature shifted its weight, preparing for what it had intended to be the final blow. This persistent prey had proven more resilient than expected, but now its movements were sluggish, its defenses weakening.

  With its aberrant intellect, the nightmare calculated the precise angle of attack, the exact moment when this human's exhausted body would be unable to respond. It would end this now, crush this annoying spark of defiance that had dared to challenge its nascent supremacy in this place. A ripple of anticipation coursed through its profane form as it prepared to kill this interloper, savor the taste of its flesh, and reclaim what had slipped away.

  Adrenaline surged through his veins, drowning out the pain. With a cry of defiance he rolled to the side and sprang to his feet, his movements fueled by sheer willpower. Gripping the broken remains of his broom, he launched himself at the beast.

  The first strike connected with another satisfying crack. Before it could recover, Lowell drove forward, landing a second blow, then a third. He could feel each hit in his own arms, the splintered wood of the broom weakening with each successive strike.

  The sudden assault from Lowell drove it back, but the beast wasn't defeated.

  Far from it.

  With a deafening roar, it retaliated, tendrils of shadow and claw slashing through the air with renewed fury. Lowell narrowly avoided what would have been a fatal blow mere inches from his face. The beast's claws dug into the ground. Lowell stumbled back, panting, but determined.

  His exhaustion weighed heavier on his movements with each passing moment. Every step felt like wading through molasses, every swing of his makeshift weapon slower than the last. The adrenaline that had fueled his initial burst of energy was fading, leaving behind only the dull ache of fatigue that seeped into his bones.

  The injury to his side from the creature's earlier attack didn't help. Each breath sent sharp jabs of pain through his ribs, reminding him of the creature's razor-sharp claws. The wound was shallow, thankfully, but it was enough to slow him down. To make every movement a conscious effort against the burning sensation.

  Having only two pieces of a broken broom with which to defend himself, Lowell spent more time evading than striking back. The splintered wood felt fragile in his grip, and each impact threatened to shatter what remained of his only weapon.

  He had started this fight at a disadvantage, armed with nothing more than a cleaning tool against a creature that defied nature.

  The situation had only worsened since then. He was having difficulty holding the beast back at any appreciable distance, forced to fight within the creature's preferred range where its claws and teeth could easily find their marks. His focus was now once more on surviving than attacking, each defensive maneuver costing him precious energy while the nightmare grew stronger, more confident in its inevitable victory.

  Suddenly he raised both pieces of the broom, crossing them in an effort to absorb the impact of the swipe that cut through the air aimed directly at his head. The claw connected, sending Lowell sliding backward and splintering one of the pieces of the broom handle further. A piece of the broken broom cut his cheek and drew blood as it shattered.

  Before he had the opportunity to raise his defenses again, the nightmare followed up with another claw strike. It closed the distance in the blink of an eye, almost as if it had disappeared only to re-materialize next to him. The monster struck Lowell in the side of his arm, at his shoulder, sending him reeling backward and spinning from the force of the powerful attack.

  Lowell had managed to rotate his body at the last possible moment, avoiding a more serious injury. He felt the warm blood dripping down his arm from where the claws grazed his shoulder.

  It had not been a killing blow, Lowell realized. He was lucky for that. It was meant, he suspected, as a way of preventing any further act of rebellion against it, so that it could finish this fight once and for all.

  But Lowell wasn't about to give it that satisfaction.

  Lowell slid in close to the creature instead of retreating like it had expected. He took advantage of the opening and thrust the snapped, jagged end of one broom half deep into the nightmare's foreleg. The wooden shaft pierced through the false skin and muscle, obliterating a small cluster of the shadow-worms that composed the creature's anatomy.

  The beast let out a pained howl, the first real pain it had experienced in the fight with Lowell, and in response slammed its head into Lowell's body, sending him rolling backward and destroying what remained of the broken broom.

  The broom, a poor stand-in for a weapon, was shattered now and lay on the ground, its pieces scattered across the courtyard like broken shards of his own resilience.

  Lowell struggled to stand, but his own energy was sapped. The nightmare took a step toward Lowell, favoring its injured leg.