CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I’m a soldier working on a Mountain Outpost, that by all accounts should not exist" Creepypasta

Episode Date: June 6, 2023

CREEPYPASTA STORY-►by Darkly_Gathers: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...0:00 - Chapter 130:06 - Chapter 258:44 - Chapter 201:36:47 - Chapter 202:05:38 - Chapter 203:29:20 - Chapter 202:47:10 - Chapter 2Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- • "I wasn't careful... ►"Personal Favourites"- • "I sold my soul f... ►"Written by me"- • "I've been Blind ... ►"Long Stories"- • Long Stories FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

This weekend, I'm I'm in a while I'm new as I'm not on think. Oh, that dossier that morning off must be all moot as I'm too

on think. Oh, van't at a pedal tournoe, oh, I'm a moose if I'm a new as I'm not on the

going to come. Give you self then a boost with Biocure Maxshot Liquid. Three opepend Planta, magnesium,

iceer. An energy booster to make then to come to come out of Bocure Macshot liquid. Foodingsupplement

forcriag by the apotheker. My hair is whipped violently back from my head with a blast of frozen wind as the helicopter ascends, lifting itself up and off the Arctic ground before the door has even fully closed. I grimace with a lurch in my stomach, muttering a quick prayer as we leave the earth behind. I'm not particularly religious, but I'll admit it. I'm scared. You find me at the tail end of a confusing and chaotic 24 hours.

Yesterday morning, my military routine was disrupted by my superior superior, and I was deliberately separated from the rest of my squadron. I was informed I would be taking a brief hiatus from the NATO Rapid Reaction Corps here in Norway, and would be temporarily relocated to a coalition-based outpost in the Ural Mountains. The Ural, sir, I replied, but that's in Russia, isn't it? That's right, he said, NATO-Russian Coalition. NATO-Russian Coalition?

I considered the existence of such a coalition incredibly unlikely, especially considering certain current geopolitical circumstances. And yet, here I am, on board a Royal Norwegian Air Force helicopter departing from the air base in Badafus and in transit to the base in Ireland, where one of NATO's finest will fly me directly into Russian airspace, across the country and towards the Urals, the mountain range that marks the border between Europe and Asian Russia. I feel sick, and not just because of the choppiness of the flight.

I suffer through it. We arrive in Erland. I am bustled from one means of transport to another, out from the helicopter and into a plane, space enough inside for plenty, but aside from myself and the pilots entirely empty. Another American, the pilot remarks as I clamber on board, pointing to the flag emblazoned across the arm of my uniform. He turns to his co-pilot and mutter something in Norwegian. I picked up a little the language during my time in the country. I think he says something about a one bet.

Excuse me, I ask as I buckle myself into my seat. The pilot turns to look at me over his shoulder. The last four were Americans, he says simply. I have thought they were overdue for a European by now, Canadian maybe. Adam Smith, yes. Yeah, I reply. Yeah, that's me. Good, great.

Well, here we go then, Adam. Fingers cross, we don't get shot down by any Moscow missiles, eh? He chuckles and turns back to the controls, failing to see the impact that is Jokad on my constitution. I still don't understand, I shout out above the rising roar of the engine. No one's telling me a damn thing. Why am I going to Russia? Why do we have people stationed in the Ural's? And they're not spies, right?

They're working with them? So what the hell is going on? The co-pilot shoots me a sympathetic look. Secret information, friend, classified. We ferry the people to and fro, but that's all. He shifts and turns back to the runway ahead. But you're in for a rough couple of weeksmith, maybe longer. Best to look to you.

And the aircraft begins its run between the mountains, clambering up and into the sky. The snow like little stars in the dark as we saw up high between them. I watched the little blinking lights on the sides of the wings. It's early as hell and the sun is still yet to rise. We saw through the darkness and I settle into my seat, doing my best to try and grab a few hours of sleep. Not an easy thing to do when you're expecting to be blown out of the sky at any given second.

Burnt half to a crisp in the initial explosion. Court admits billowing flames and plumes of smoke. plummeting and free fall towards the ice and the rocks below. I scratched the side of my neck, shifting in my seat. To be honest, I'm not even sure that I'm supposed to be here. I happen to share the exact same name as another soldier on the base you see, a guy also named Adam Smith. In a further bizarity, he was even born in the exact same town just a few years apart.

We've been mistaken for each other on numerous. occasions. Not that we look anything alike, of course. I doubt that that even matters. We all look the same to the higher-ups. These misunderstandings have never been particularly consequential. They've always been remedied pretty promptly once they were pointed out, amusing to everyone else involved. Nothing quite like this has ever happened before, ever, and I've never noticed anyone disappearing from the base, despite what the pilot said. The last four were Americans. Why had nobody spoken about this before?

Why is this the first time I'm hearing about a joint U.S. Russian base? A base in Russia? Surely not. It makes no strategic sense. It's downright dangerous. But I'm unable to come up with any concrete, logical theories. And so I spend the next few hours drifting in and out of bleary, unrestful sleep, tainted with disturbing dreams.

The hours pass, the sun rises, and any real chance of sleep is lost. I drowsly watched through the window as the eurals appear beneath us below the layer of cloud. We fly overhead in a wide arc, and the pilots begin our descent, ears popping as we draw closer and closer to the sight of a runway nestled amongst the mountains, attached to what looks like a very modest military installation. The wheels judder against the asphalt.

The plane trundles to a gradual stop. My heart hammers. Well, the pilot says after a moment, this is your stop. He unfastens and steps out of the cockpit stretching his legs. He pauses and there is a

poignant moment between us as he looks to me. Then he holds out his hand. I shake it. Good luck, man, he says quietly. All traces of sleepiness are blasted back with a rush of wintry wind as the doors clank open. Jeez, I shout out into the gale, shielding my eyes from the wind and frost, as I make my careful way down the steps towards the ground.

I'm greeted there by two men, one American and one Russian. I salute and both salute in return. saluted by a Russian on Russian soil. The American mutters something in Russian to his partner, then steps forward. Smith, he calls out loud above the winds. Yes, sir, I shout back. With me. He replies, turning and walking the length of the runway towards a collection of squat, low grey buildings.

I hurry along after them, casting a quick look at our surroundings. There is nothing but grey and white, bleak snow mounds of rock, mountain, mist and concrete. We head into one of the nearest buildings, revealing it to be a part of a corridor-connected network. I draw the door closed with some effort, and with the thud of the door, the roar of the gale is replaced by the quiet bus of electric lights. The two officers do not stop walking, and I move to keep pace. They'll want you up in the outpost before he gets dark tonight. The American says to me, grab some breakfast of the canteen. The wind is due to die down in an hour or so.

Officer Sokoloff will take you via helicopter to the closest available site and will then lead you on foot from there to the outpost. You are to address him as sir whilst you are here. Is that understood? I falter. I... Yes, sir, but... Canteen is that way.

The officer points. Helicopter port is down there. I know you've had a barrel of question, Smith, and do not have the man said it's frustrating, but you have been assigned to the outpost. You will serve for two weeks' duty, possibly longer, dependent on the weather. You are doing a duty to your country. He stops. He points again.

Canteen, Smith, it's that way. He claps me on the shoulders, and the discussion is done. Away they walk, leaving me fumbling for words. like an idiot in the corner of... ...of where exactly? I look around, grey walls, noteboards and signs, all written in Russian, of course, but I recognise a military installation when I see one. My stomach growls, I cannot deny my hunger,

so I anxiously consider my predicament as I go to grab some food. I think I might be the only American in this section of the the facility. The canteen is mostly empty, though there are a smattering of Russians at the far tables. Some shoot me glances, most pain me no mind. So I mind my own business in turn, fill in my stomach until it is time for the next rough leg of my journey. Since the beginning, since I first became aware back at Badovas that I was going on something of an excursion. There's been this building, growing, gnawing, nor in not. of anxiety inside me, slowly spinning and tightening all the cords that it is attached to.

Around it goes, around and around, the pressure rises. Another helicopter ride. The American officer bids me a rapid goodbye and accompanied by the Russian Sokolov, I believe his name was, we have flown across the Urals, higher and higher. Sokolov gives me two pills to take on roose. Acetazolamide, he mutters, then potassium. He points up to the sky for altitude. I take them both, and then, after brief consideration, he hands me a small capsule box stuffed

full of them. In case of need, he says, and I thank him. The ice now broken, I risk a question. I still don't understand, sir. outpost hidden away in the mountains? Why are there Americans here too? Why are just Russians? What makes this place in particular so important? International agreement is the only response? Secret, important. And then he leans back against the helicopter walls with his arms folded, eyes closed. I sighed quietly, assuming that

this means he has deemed the matter closed. But, as I turned to to look out the window at the world below. He mutters one more quick phrase. Monsters at the gate, he says, as the blades of the helicopter were around and around and around. The helicopter goes as high as it can into the mountains. There are some decidedly nerve-inducing moments, but it at last brings us down into a crude helipad in the cradle of stone. Upon her departure, we are then forced the walk to climb, almost for the bulk of the afternoon, then evening. My head hurts, and after a point I find myself winting with almost every step.

Not much further now, Sokolov says, as a sudden sharp gusts blow snow into our faces. Hour to go, 90 minutes most. Sweat butts across my forehead, but I nod. and continue the climb. 17 minutes later, the outbows itself at last shimmers into view through the fog. The mountain goes higher still, but from here we are given a commanding view of the rocky plains and outcrops, drops and cliffs all around. At least we would be if the day was clear. At present, these juts of rocks appear as little more than looming shadows through the mist,

flashes of colour draw my eye and I glance up, wearied to see five flags above the outpost roof flapping in the wind. The one on the leftmost spire is the flag of the Russian Federation, bands of white, blue and red. It's in pretty good condition, though the same cannot be set for the other flags. Tattered and string-worn past their best days. Beside the Russian flag is all glory herself, the star. stars and stripes. To the right of this is the Union Jack and to which right beyond is the flag of Norway. After that is an empty spire and then there's one more flag at the far end. And this is the NATO sign, white and navy. As I said before, these latter four flags

have seen better days. These flags are almost the outpost's tallest point, beaten by a lightning rod and what looks like a standalone tower a little further out across the mountain, partly shrouded in fog. If I squint, I think I can just about make out a lightning rod of the tower's own. The outpost itself is a series of closely clustered, roughly rectangular, black-grey buildings. There is a white, scratched up tank attached to the wall of one of these buildings, linked up with pipes. I cannot see all the way around the outpost from here, but it looks like it might be built right up to the edge of the cliff on the other side, and likely hangs over a steep drop.

There are a couple of stand-loan sheds, an aerial dish or two, and what looks like the wreck of what might once have been a water tower off to one side. Sokolov clicks his tongue and mutters something under his breath when he sees it. This collapsed structure is not the most interesting feature of the outpost up here in the mountains, however, nor are the curious combination of flags waving in the wind. There are three key features that alert my sense of curiosity the most. The first is the low, circular wall that borders the outpost's perimeter. It only comes up to about waist height,

and the officer and I are able to clamber over it easily enough, but the surface is completely covered in chalk. Once we've crossed, I watch with uncertain interest as Sogloff carefully ensures that our hands and footprints have been scrubbed away, using his fingers to re-smooth out the layer of chalk. The second of these three features are the symbols and scrollings, drawn all across the body of the outpost itself. Most of these drawings are crosses,

but amongst them I spy multiple wheels, watchful eyes, moons and suns. I see stars of David, an eagle with widespread wings, and what appears to be a whole horde of ancient, Slavic or maybe Celtic ruins. But the aspect that gives me the most cause for alarm is the object attached to the side of the outpost, about 12 or so feet from the ground and clearly connected through to its interior.

It is, to put in bluntly, an enormous gun. It has the appearance of a massive white-grey rifle, like something a giant would wield, though its exact make is not one I'm familiar with. I've never seen such a design in my life. A wall too low to keep people out, religious graffiti,

and the world's largest gun. I do not have long to dwell on these abnormalities as we have now approached the outer gate of the complex. So glove presses the side of his hand against the buzzer, and action repeats four or five quick times. As we wait for a response, he turns to me and scratches his jaw, regarding me, looking me up and down, as if properly seeing me for the first real time, assessing me as an individual. Think good thoughts, he says eventually, tapping the side of his head. It helps.

I don't respond. I only nod, unsure of what to say. The gate makes a dull, whirring sound, and then, after a series of clicks, it grinds and clanks open. Two disheveled-looking individuals greet us, both with American flags on their uniforms, a man and a woman. The man breathes in the cool mountain air and laughs. He clasps hands with a woman, smiling at her. She smiles back. They are the first smiles I've seen in days.

He strides out into the cold and greets Sogloff with a salute. Great God, it's good to see you again, sir. The officer grunts and nods and returns the salute, nodding to the woman in turn. She drops her own salute, and her eyes go to mine, looking me over with curiosity. I squirm beneath her gaze. I look away, and the American man turns to me. Pity flashes across his face. First to look to you, man.

He says, don't let your guard down in there. He makes a movement as if to place a hand on my shoulder, then decides against it. Thanks, I reply awkwardly. I'll, uh, keep then in mind. And then I watch, bewildered, as he hoist his backpack up higher on his shoulders, and so Glove starts to head out, back across the outposts ground. towards that low little wall, back presumably down the side of the mountain.

As they walk away, Sokolov turns to me and points. I will return two weeks, time when duty is done. Do not die, he shouts, and that's all the goodbye I'm given. Away he goes, and two men fading gradually into the fog. I slowly turn back to look at the woman. She's still regarding me, head cocked at a slight angle. She's about my age, maybe a little older. After a beat, she sticks out her hand for me to shake.

April, she says. Hi, yeah, nice to meet you, Adam. She nods. Come with me, Adam, welcome to the outpost. She glances at a watch as she leads us inside, shutting the gate uptight behind her. We have about an hour till sundown. Maybe enough time. Maybe not.

She shrugs and sighs. She looks tired. Christians in the tower right now, but the others are all around. I'll introduce you. Right, so am I the only new person? What's the deal with this place? The deal? She gives me another look.

How much did they bother telling you? You into the supernatural Adam? I laugh, though there isn't much humour behind it. The supernatural? Nope, can't say I am. Hmm, is all she says. Classic. The outpost has several interlinked corridors

and several defence-style turrets jutting out through the walls with sections of thick, dark glass or mesh that I hadn't noticed from the outside which would allow one to peer out over the rocks below. She shows me the various rooms, the storage facilities, the kitchens and the comms room. One of the rooms is just stacked full of alcohol, vodka mostly. So how many people are stationed here? I ask after a while.

Russians and Americans, together? What's that like? She shrugs. It is what it is. We're civil, I suppose. They keep to themselves mostly, the Russians. There's only citizens. Six of us.

Six? Six people? For all this space and equipment? She nods. Only six. Eleanor tells me that there used to be more, but it didn't quite work out. She makes a noise. I don't know what to make of Eleanor.

There's something not quite right about her. Eleanor? April nods. Yeah, she's one of the Russians. They've been here longer. The Russians, I mean. Their command makes them stay for two months at a time, whereas NATO only need to do two weeks. I think Ellen has been here, a little longer than that, though.

What makes you say that? April again does not respond. She leads us into a wide hexagonal room, six walls. My mouth drops open, and I'm forced to compose myself as I look around. Three of these walls are comprised of hard glass, framed to be. and reinforce with concrete. They look out over incredibly sharp, steep drops. It's difficult to tell how far they go down from my current position in the room, but it looks pretty down far to me. Pillars of cracked rock and narrow, unstable-looking mountain arches lead

away into the mist. A person could probably walk across one, if they were brave to jump across the gaps and go foot in front of foot. There are stairs built into the walls here. leading up to what appears to be a higher level. I glance up to catch a glimpse of the edges of further defensive turrets. The room is lined with weaponry. There are crosses nailed to the walls. I count multiple maps. One of the surrounding mountains, one of Russia and one of the world.

This map is intersected with dozens of gently curving, glooping lines. There's a collection of framed pictures on the wall. Most seem to have been taken in or around the outpost And in the room centre On an old wooden table Is a pile of what appear to be Bibles And as I consider this

I find myself being searched by three pairs Of interested eyes Two men have looked at me from their game of cards One has the Russian insignia The other has British The Russian man's expression does not change, but the Brit raises a hand in greeting. Hello, mate, he says.

Pleasure to meet you. Hey, I reply, how's it going? Drogoy Americanet, the Russian mutters. His interest already lost, returned to his hand of cards. This is Charlie, April says to me, pointing at the British guy. And that's Yuri. A woman near the back of the room rises to stand. Hello, she says.

Her accent thick, welcome. She does not sound particularly welcoming. Her tone is ice. I take her in. She's tall, long-bund hair kept mostly in a ponytail. It goes all the way down her back. I don't know how old she is. 30s maybe.

She is beautiful, I decide, but for a curved, brutal scar across her face. It goes down her right cheek, through both of her lips and finishes at the edge of her chin. And her eyes. Her eyes are piercing, full of icy judgment. She mutters something in Russian, and Yuri chuckles around his cigarette in response. Don't be an ass, Eleanor.

Charlie chides, though there is no heart in his words. And yeah, that's Eleanor. April gestures to the woman in question without looking at her. Eleanor holds her stance, arms crossed, and staring right at me. Christians the sixth, but, as I said, is up in the tower right now. There always needs to be at least one person in the tower, duty five. So what is all this, I ask, unable to keep my frustrations held back any longer? I've done nothing but get bustled around from place to place all damn day.

I'm tired, I'm scared, and I want to know what the hell I'll be doing. What are our duties? Who's in command? There is no command here. We are the outpost. Elena replies before April can answer. Our orders are constant. Command, defer to our judgment.

duties, there are five. Five duties? She lists them off. Five, keep constant presence in the tower. Four, do not leave. outer ring of the outpost after sundown. Three, do not use weaponry beyond outer ring. Two, do not engage verbally with the enemy.

One, defend outpost. Do not allow enemy into the outpost. I listen as she goes through them. So, who's the enemy then? I ask, looking from face to face. The Chinese or what? They seem to find this amusing. My question creates a ripple of laughter around the room.

The Chinese, Eleanor repeats. Charlie chuckles and grins wide. Dolbib, Yuri mutters, shaking his head as he flicks through his cards. There is no point in telling you who the enemy is, Eleanor says, the grin quickly fading from her face. You won't believe, they never believe. You will have to see for yourself. She holds up her hand and raises her forefinger. First night, you stay out of the way.

Observe and watch, yes? April turns to me. Probably for the best Adam. Oh, she announces this to the group. This is Adam, by the way. No one responds. You hear me, yes? Eleanor asks again.

Watch, observe. Do not get in way. Sun will be down soon, lads. Charlie murmurs, checking his watch, and reluctantly conceding his game to Yuri. Better get to our stations. Come to my station tonight, Adam. April says as the others climb to their feet, sorting their equipment.

And here, do me a favour and take this. She draws from her pocket, a cross on a silver chain, and she passes it to me. Oh, I'm not really all that religious, I reply. Eleanor snorts as she walks past. You will be, she murmurs. I really don't know what to make of all this. So I accept the gift of the cross and prepare my weapon, as I'm not sure what else to do. The minute tick by, and before I know it, I find myself perched on a station of the outpost roof, shivering with cold and blood-iced.

April sits next to me. I can just about make out Charlie, or perhaps Yuri, at one of the other stations a little further out into the darkness. But I cannot see Eleanor. Below us and out to the sides are the vast drops of the mountain, like a gaping moor looming up from beneath, ice and snow and shadow. The mists have cleared somewhat, and the starlight-tipped edges of the mountains glimmer warningly far, far away into the distance. As I regard the abyss, a slow, cold terror begins the creepest way into my bones, a terror I find hard to describe. They'll be coming up now, April whispers, in a voice that sends goosebumps shivering of my spine. And away, in the darkness, a deep, low voice begins to sing.

As the wind blows, the sound of the song across the mountains, April lifts a cross of her own from her neck and places it briefly against the lips. You wearing yours? she asked me. And I lift it out from the front of my uniform to show her. She nods. Keep it on. We should be fine, she whispers. Though I got to admit,

it's nerve-wracking having somebody new here. Changes the dynamic a little. The balance. She moves into position against the little wall on the edge of the roof. And with a grunt, she hoists up a mechanical contraption of some kind, connected to the outpost itself. The thing clanks into place. It looks like a mix between a battered old spotlight.

And an M4. What is that music? I murmur. April, come on. What is happening? How does the song sound to you? She asks me, staring down the sight of a curious weapon. Does it sound good? I consider heart pounding.

I can't make out the words, but the cadence to them, the language. They sound ancient. The tones fade in and out, layered, liquid in their fluidity. From deep, low rumbles to higher-pitched melody, male to female and back. Yeah, it does, I reply. It sounds good. And although it scares me. This song, I cannot deny its beauty.

I tried to work out the source of the music amidst the mountains. You're trying to work out where it's coming from, aren't you? April says in the pause. Yeah, I just... That's how it starts. Then you just want to get a little closer to hear it better. Next thing you know, you just have to go and find the singer yourself. And then you never come back.

April clenches a jaw. Give it a few days. The song loses its appeal. Approaching! Comes a sudden, sharp voice through the darkness. Charlie, it must be. My right! And so...

The night begins. With an almost impossible speed, April hauls her amalgamated weapon around with a mechanical clank and it slams into place. She takes quick aim, and I am treated to... the sight of this weapon in use for the first time. It's quite something.

I'm forced to shield my eyes as an intense and fiery blast of immediate, controlled light is sent rocketing out from the weapon's barrel. This is no spotlight. This is an intensity beam, the likes of which I had never seen. It sparks with dangerous crackling energy, as the beam is sent like a laser out and down towards the abysmal. bus, pushing aside the remaining traces of mist as if blown with a great breath. Jeez! I shout out loud, and the beam is swung round to the left. I cannot help but remember the enormous rifle attached to the outpost's roof,

the one I saw when I first arrived, and I wondered if its effect is the same. And if so, what the purpose for such a monster of a weapon could possibly be? April pulls down on a lever attached to the contraption side, and she launches the beam again. Little crackles of electricity jump between its gears as another sphere of light bursts from its brow and screams down into the darkness. I blink as quickly and as rapidly as I can, do my best to dispel the streaks of color that now dance across my field of vision. Through this kaleidoscope of confusion, I see to my heart. horror, a shift in the shadows far beneath, like living wind. It snakes and slithers from stone to stone as it approaches.

Down below, I shout an alarm, April. And in response, the weapon is swung around and angled down. And again, the light is sent tearing into the abyss below with a high-pitched electric scream. The rippling wind is obliterated. into shards and little dark shapes, too far down for me to see what they are, but they rattle on their way back down the mountainside as they fall. Like lightning, the lights burn and flash all around me. My hair is whipped away from my head in the wind, and it feels as if I'm in the eye of some terrible, twisted storm. The beams from Charlie's position are clear, and I see

the lights fire out from the tower way over to my left. Further, brilliant flashes in the night jump up and illuminate the edges of the mountains all around, and I can only presume that these are Elean's or Uri's. A new voice rises up through the sound of the song. It comes from nearby. April. It whispers, a sinister, serpentine voice in the shadows. Damn, she mutters, pulling temporarily back from the weapon. Adam, there should be a pile of bibles behind you. Beside the crate, you see them? Bibles?

I turn, frantic, scrambling around the nearby crates in the darkness. Yeah, I got one. Open it up and read one of the highlighted passages. You want me to what? Which one? Anyone, but be quick, please. April. Oral, comes their voice again.

I start in terror as it sounds like it comes from right behind us, but turning to look reveals that there's nothing there. I see what lurks in your heart. You will take this new one with you. Deliver him unto us. When the voice says us, it is as if two voices are speaking at once. One says us,

and one is saying me. It makes both sounds together. I feel something caressing the side of my face. I turn again in panic. But as with before, there's nothing there. The wind blows and the night flashes. Come on, Adam, April says, a little more urgently as she fires off another beam. This one, however, seems thinner than the last, not quite so bright.

a little less full of life in its energy. Right. Thumbing through the book with trembling hands, I catch sight of a highlighted passage, and I read it out loud. The thief comes only to steal and destroy. I manage my voice weak in the wind as the battle rages. Shadows drift and dance in the dark.

A collective sense of clamouring, of scuttling and of writhing, is shivering its steady way up the mountainside. Yeah, no, try another. April shouts at me as she swings the weapon around. I desperately flick through the pages, ducking instinctively to avoid the shadowed hand reaching out towards me. But when I look for it, as with before,

there is simply nothing there. I find another passage. When you... When you go to war in your land against the adversary who attacks you, then you shall sound an alarm with trumpets, that you may be remembered, come on Adam, with heart, people shouts as a circle of wind rises up between the mountains, swirling and crackling with terrible storm-like energy in the night. What the hell is happening?

But I get the message. As I said before, I'm not a particularly religious guy. I don't know if I believe in God or any. of that, and I don't really know why I'm leaving through a battered old Bible on the side of a Russian mountain in the middle of the night. But we do our duty. So I roll back my shoulders and take a deep breath. I hear that whispering begin again, but I don't allow myself to listen.

I project and I bellow out into the storm, the beams flashing like lightning as the mountains come alive with shadow and fire. When you go to war in your land against the adversary who attacks you, my voice carries loud and clear through the frost-tipped air. April cannot help but shoot me a quick glance with eyebrows raised before returning to the weapon. She brings it quickly round with a clank, and an arc of light is sent rippling through the night.

Then you shall sound an alarm with the trumpet that you may be remembered. At the word of trumpets, where before I conjured in my mind something meek and modest, like a school marching band, one that I might well have taken part in as a child. I now see an army of golden horns, aimed up to the heavens amid swirling dust, blasted loud and charged in their energy. The light of the beams glitters bright in the edges of my silver cross, flailing and waving in the wind, and a terrible clambering shadow is resolutely obliterated into clattering, rattling fragments, and lost to the rock of the mountainside below. And so it goes for the longest night of my life. The hours crawl by, the shadows come and the lights flash,

and it's not until the first slither of light appears, welcomingly, on the far horizon, to we crash back against the crates and the walls. here on the outpost roof, April and I. She looks over to me, eyes bloodshot and hair streaked with sweat, sweat that quickly freeze across her face, if not wiped away. Well, there you go, Adam, she says. Welcome aboard. I don't respond. Wearily, with grunts and grimaces, she clambers to her feet to the sound of clicking bones.

She stretches her arms and turns to the left and to the right, cooling down the muscles. She raises a hand to someone, though I do not have the energy to turn and see who she's waving to. Charlie probably. Come on, she says, lowing her hand and offering it to me. I take it and allow her to help me up, and we head through the doors and back down the stairs. She shows me through a corridor towards the sleeping quarters. And we pass by Yuri coming the opposite way.

One of his hands shakes, and the motion draws my eye. His knuckles and fingers are all scratched, scuffled and scabbed. He stares right through us as he walks by. For a moment, I think that April isn't going to say anything. Then, at the last second, she says. Good job, Yuri. Yuri grunts in reply, not slowing. or stopping or even turning our way.

I have a thousand questions, but they can wait for now. Despite the rising of the sun, I am fit to crash. And so, once April has shown me to my room and she shut the door behind her, I haul off my uniform and collapse into bed. A modest little thing,

but right now it feels like the most comfortable place in the world. I fall into immediate sleep My questions are intertwined with my dreams And they are realistic and unsettling My sleep is deep and long I awake much later in the day Unsure of where I am I tried to push away the nightmares of the demons in the dark

Only to realise that they were not nightmares at all The wind blows beyond the windows I grogly roll over to check the time 3.45pm. I've slept about 10 or so hours straight. Impressive. I guess I really needed it. I rub my face and groan. So, this is actually real.

This is all happening. I clamber out of bed and head to the sink, preparing for the new day. If you can call it a day. A handful of daylight hours left to go, and then... And then what? The same hell all over again? What is this place?

I arrive shortly in that wide, hexagonal room. The room I have taken to be the main one. Yuri is headed right towards me, jaw set and cigarette between his lips. Hey, I say to him, Good work with the... The attack last night. He does not slow his pace and he strides past, but he squints and shoots me a sneer.

He divveno, he mutters as he shoulders past me. All right then, I say to no one in particular as he heads down one of the adjacent corridors. The others are in here. April reading a book, Charlie tidying up a box of cards, and Eleanor stood watching the sky and the mountains through one of the windows. No one is jumping up to explain this place to me. So, I say it straight up, loudly and clearly. This place is messed up.

Charlie and April glance up to me. Eleanor does not turn around. I feel like I've been pretty accommodating, I reply. But come on, for real. I would really genuinely love a brief explanation or something. I mean, the Bibles, the shadows, light guns or whatever? Help me out here, people.

What's going on? Tell me straight. It's just a prank, mate. Charlie replies after a beat, and I stare at him. He laughs. Eleanor, at last, breaks from a position at the window and walks down the edge of the room. Adam, come see here.

Tentatively, I head over. She regards me with those icy eyes, then points me to me to. the world map, the one intersected with a series of gently waving, looping lines. One of the lines arcs up to the United States, and she points to it. Where you were born, Adam? Somewhere along this line, yes? I look at the map. Well, yeah, actually. Just here. How did... We were all born on one of these lines. She points to a place in Russia.

Not many born here Harder for our government to find Russians Americans invited as part of international agreement Their lay lines April chimes in Looking up from over a book You heard them Adam People born on the laylines

Have greater resistance to the supernatural Greater resistance to the supernatural I repeat But the supernatural isn't Real right There is a pause. As I said fella, just a big prank. Charlie says to himself, and he leans back in his chair.

But we're defending an outpost from... From what? Demons? I laughed nervously, but no one else joins in. Demons, really? So does that confirm the existence of hell? Or what? Heaven? Is God real?

Is it all real? The gravity of our situation begins properly settling in for the first real time, despite everything. My breathing shallows as the panic starts to rise. April rises from her seat and comes over to me, placing a hand on mine. Hey Adam, it's okay. Eleanor shakes her head with frustration. She grimaces, and the gristly scar that cuts through the side of her lips is pulled tight. See, this is the problem with NATO soldiers who only do two weeks shift.

We have to explain this over and over and over. Hey, Charlie calls out. I've been here for a month, Elena. Don't you forget it? Yes, but you're not typical, Charlie. Elena replies in a thick accent, You are crazy, man. I gather myself.

I'm a soldier, God damn it. Pull yourself together, Adam. So, the Russians stay for two months? why is that April replies before Eleanor has a chance to respond because the Russian command don't value the lies of their soldiers

of course Eleanor fumes and makes a noise of frustration she closes her fist and marches towards us she only takes about two steps but it's hella intimidating the woman is taller than myself Russians stay for two months

she says pointing a finger because our command are faith in us to do job well, because we are reliable. Russian's chosen, Americans had names picked from a hat. Hey guys, comes a new voice from behind. The accent is one I recognize immediately from my time in Badufus. As Norwegian. I turned to look at the voice's source.

A man about Eleanor's age comes walking into the room. He's bundled up in fur coats. the outermost of which bears the Norwegian flag. Curls of red hair poke out from beneath his winter hat, and he approaches me at once, smiling. Hello, friend, he says shaking my hand. My name is Christian. Pleasure to meet you.

He jerks a thumb back in the direction he just came from. I've just come from the tower. Uri says he did well last night. I'm surprised by this. Did he? As a pause, Christian scratches his beard. Well, no, but he didn't say anything bad about you, so you must have done pretty okay. Right.

Christian walks to the nearest of the walls and straightens one of the picture frames, taking a moment to admire the photograph within. What happened to this tradition? He says after a moment. Eleanor, what do you think? maybe we should get ourselves a group pick. Eleanor snorts and falger arms. No, is the quick response.

He murmurs and scratches his beard, as if in deep thought, turning back to the photograph. So, I continue. Yeah, it's nice to meet you, Christian. I'm kind of still getting brought up to speed here. This outpost, what's its purpose? Like, why did the demons watch? want it so much. Why is it so important to defend? I think about my own question. And they are demons, aren't they? The shadows at the night. Or are they?

The tone shifts, and Christian turns to me, his eyes sparkling. You may call them whatever you like, my friend, he says, but they are the enemy, and why they seek the spot exactly we do not know. We can make guesses, though. He walks across the room to the maps, pointing first at the map of Russia, then at the map of the laylines. You see where we are, he asks, pointing. I nod. The outpost intersects three laylines. He says, it's an important place, this.

The outpost was built upon it. We have it for one primary reason, so that the enemy may not. There are other such places I should think. He points to a couple other places. across the map where multiple laylines meet. Wait, you mean there are more outposts? I ask, bewildered. More places like this?

I should think so, yes. Christian replies. There is one in Australia. This I know. Perhaps one in India. He points the three intersecting lines. Maybe others. I put my hands to my head.

This is insane. This doesn't make sense. It makes perfect sense, Eleanor says. Then she sighs. Americanette, she mutters, flicking her eyes from me to April before turning away. Hey now, Christian says good-naturedly. We are all friends here. Comrades and coalition are the spirit of this outpost.

He bats me on the shoulder. You are very welcome here, friend. Come, I will teach you how to use the weaponry this afternoon. How the hell is this? This guy so cheerful is all I can think, as he leads me from the room and out into the cool afternoon air, up to one of the garrison posts stationed around the outpost's roof. This one, like April's, looks out over the expanse of mist and rock and a steep, deep drop down the mountainside. So, Kristen begins with a pleasant smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he does so.

The weapon works as follows. Crank here. Turn here to move. Aim with the sights. You saw how it works, yes. I nod. Yes. Yes, he continues. They are modeled after the M4, so you should be okay. The light is powerful, but not all powerful. Do not hold its concentration for too long or the demons might adjust to the light. So that's what they are then? They are demons. I shake my head. I just, don't understand, the implications of all this, best not to think too much about it, he chuckles. Think good thoughts. It really does help. He taps the side of his head. Before my time, this next little story, but according to Eleanor, there was a Sikh guy stationed here once. He locks out over the edge. The cross did not work for him, nor the Bibles. He had a rough few days.

How rough exactly, I risk asking. Christian sighs. I do not know. According to Eleanor, he lost his sight, and then the next night, whilst the waiting rescue. He simply disappeared. He lost this sight. Went blind, you mean, then vanished?

Yes, sadly. I dwell on this, as a gust of the breeze sends a shiver down my back. I followed Christian's gaze. The view really is beautiful on a clear day like this. Beautiful and terrifying in its isolation. Christian goes on. But whilst he was here, Eleanor tells me that the demons were...

Different. The things they said, the things they tried, they... were unusual. How so? He shakes his head. I cannot say. I do not say.

No, you would have to bring the topic up with her. How long has Ella been here exactly, I ponder? I know that April doesn't really trust her. That much is plain. She has a suspicions about the woman. And as I said, the Bibles didn't work for him either, Christian says. They are supposed to work relatively well for the Abrahamic religions at least. We talk on for another hour.

the first hour to actually go by quickly since I set up from part of us. He tells me about the others, about himself. He asks questions about me and where I'm from. He really is a nice guy. He tells me that Eleanor is friendly once you get to know her, which I find hard to believe, that April was worse than me on our first day here, and that Yuri believes that there is only one demon

and what we see are but puppets or appendages of a greater hole. We talk a little longer, and we eat together as a group, a large evening meal, though our day is really only just getting started. I am to be manning the turret on the outpost tonight. This very idea sends a ball of anxiety in my stomach back into its rapid cycle of tightening, tensing.

It's a painful physical ache that comes in quick, awful cold washes. Washes that become more frequent as the hours pass and the sun creeps lower. But one cannot stop the ticking of the clock. The shadows draw in. The wind rises. And I find myself at my station, squinting out into the wind. You remember the duties, Christian had asked me. Yes, I had replied, and I listed them off.

Five, keep a constant presence in the tower. Four, do not leave the outer ring of the outpost after sundown. Three, do not use weaponry beyond the outer ring. Two, do not engage verbally with the enemy. One, defend the outpost. Do not allow the enemy into the outpost. Christian had nodded. Duty one is the key, Adam.

We defend the outpost. We do not allow the enemy into the outpost. I say to myself now, at the edge of the mountain in the midst of the wilderness, the wastes, the vastness, and the ice and the cold. There are still so many mysteries left to solve. What are the heart of the outpost? Why do the enemy want it so bad? Is it really all just about supposed laylines?

And why would so few soldiers be stationed in so large an outpost as this? I wonder if there are still things I'm not being told, and if I can truly trust my teammates. But these questions have to wait. Do not allow the enemy into the outpost, I murmur out loud. My fingers trembling against the sights of the weapon, as the sun sinks slowly below the horizon. Oh, this weekend, I'm from wagtz. I'm all moose, I'm all moose, I'm not on thinking. Oh, that to seeer that morning off-moot,

I'm all mooh as I'm just on think. Oh, this is I'm all moose, oh, I'm on moose, oh, I'm a moose, if I're not on think. Have you it mollick, on upgure, macshot, liquid? Give yourself then a boost with biocure, macshot liquid. Three upheppending plants, magnesium, iceer.

An energy booster, to make-ne-meer to can't getllamble. Bio-Cure Macshot Liquid. Fooding supplement, forcry-mere-by-to-the-apotteker. Night falls and the wind bellows. The verse melodic notes of that sinister song are carried across the mountains towards me, and a wave of cold fear shivers through my veins.

I have a couple of Bible passages memorized, and it still all seems so bizarre to me. But I mean, hey, if it works, it works. I mutter them to myself over and over, as I watch for any signs of an approaching, an approaching what exactly? What am I fighting here? Demons, I suppose, or demon, if Yuri's theory is correct? But are they?

Are they really demons in the way that I'm supposed to assume they are? That same, singing from the previous night ebbs and flows with the tides of the wind. A deep, low line of voice that rumbles the bowels the bowels. bones, interspersed with harmonious, beautiful chords. It's different tonight, though. It's ever so slightly sharper. It sounds just a little less like a song I'm simply hearing, as opposed to a song that is being sung to me.

But for the first two hours of the night, nothing further happens. A modest tumble of stone across the gorge sends my heart rate into temporary overdrive. But nothing approaches. Not yet. The tension builds almost unbearably. It isn't until well into the third hour that I hear Eleanor's voice carry across the wind. Sighted, she shouts, and across the outpost a blast of dazzling light tears suddenly into the sky. Here we go, I wince, knuckles white on the weapon.

A part of me is almost really. believed to have that brutal, building tension finally crack. It's a far clearer night tonight, and I can see further down the cliffside into the abyss. A ripple of dark wind crashes like water into the mountain down below, and this wind carries with it a shadow, clambering with speed and determination up the rock towards the outpost. Damn, I shout out loud as I angle the weapon down with a clank, hauling up the lever to the side and taking quick aim. Despite the cold, I'm sweating, and the forearms on my jacket are currently rolled up to the elbows. The hairs across my forearms all react to the crackle in

sudden electricity as I fire. The hairs across my forearms all react to the crackle in sudden electricity as I fire, and the spotlight gun sends a blast of concentrated, sun-like-styled energy down towards the approaching assailant. I miss and the creature draws closer. I catch glimpses of disturbingly human-like arms and hands bursting from the sides of the demon's form as it tears up the mountainside. I bring the weapon round with another mechanical clank and the beam passes right through it, bursting the creature into shadowy flakes and smoke.

Pieces clatter from the obliterated demon and rattle back down the rock and the night is clear. enough and the monster close enough for me to actually see the cause of the rattling this time. They are bones. As the demon is destroyed, burnt bones are sent clattering out from its ruin, ribs and pieces of spine and others too. They vanish back down into the shadow pretty promptly, but they were bones all right, I'm sure of it. And so it goes. I do my best to keep the demons in the dark at bay. This is my task. This is my duty and these are my orders. I cannot help but recall particular words of Christians

as I blast these monsters the kingdom come. There was a siege stationed here once. He lost his sight and then the next night he simply disappeared. Disappeared. How and why? What exactly happened to him here on the mountainside? One of the enemy below screams with the wind as the night tears into a thousand pieces. And as the night progresses, as we enter into those hours the furthest from the lights of dusk and dawn, I watch as something clambers steadily up the mountainside, opposite. Not the drop directly beneath me.

I mutter a phrase from Corinthians, and aimed the weapon up high with a series of mechanical clicks and clanks. Electrously jutters through my veins as light is sent soaring out towards it, but this demon acts differently to the others. It is difficult, almost impossible, to focus on these creatures, such as the fluidity of their forms, but this one is more difficult still. It spreads out wide into the shape of a circle,

and the beam passes harmlessly through its center. I direct the weapon this way and that, but each time the entity on the opposite mountain distorts and shimmers through various dreamlike shapes to avoid it. And by doing so, my faith in the weapon's ability falters. Sweat leaks in little rivulets down my back, and a voice I recognize whispers into my ear. The voice,

is my brothers, made all the more alarming by the fact that my brother has been dead for ten long years. I miss you, Adam, he says. No, it's not him, it's them. My heart pounds in pain and longing, fear and anger. I give anything to call back to him, to talk to him one last time. But I cannot, of course. I cannot.

Two, do not engage verbally or physically with the enemy. I shout out the passage from the previous night, the one with the trumpets, a passage of defiance. Adam, lay down your weapon and come to the edge. The dwellers in the outpost are lying to you. You seek the truth, and I can provide it. As with before, when my brother's voice says, I, it comes as too long. words, sounding as if he's saying, we, with the exact same breath. I grip my teeth, eyes wide and knuckles cracked, as I mutter the passage again and again,

over and over, my breath clouding in the blasts of the beam. My brother's voice whispers further, I know you are scared, and I'm sorry for the fears I've caused you, but ask yourself where the true enemy lies. I seek nothing but safety. sanctuary and peace. But I do not listen. I push aside these intrusive words and battle on through the night, keeping at bay every creeping threat to the outpost. The beam from another turret comes to my aid.

I do not know who it is, Christians perhaps, but it strikes through the shadowy, shape-shifting entity directly across the great gorge, and together with the ray of my own light. The demon is obliterated into the night with a share of smoke and dark, clattering bones. So the demons can see inside our heads then, they can access our memories? The prospect is a terrifying one. I am now decidedly unnerved and panicked, hearing my brother's voice again,

coming from something other than a recording on an electronic device. It has set me on a new and precarious edge. I thought I had a basic grasp of these creatures, but I am realising all over again that I don't have a clue what they're capable of. Anything could happen now. Lights flash in the dark. I hear a voice carried from the roof of the outpost by a sudden gust of wind. Female, Russian. Eleanor, no doubt.

And I feel a step of bitter frustration as I swing the mechanical weapon. She's been around with a clank. She's been here for a long time, that much is clear. How long exactly, I'm not sure. But it could be anything up to two months, potentially longer. Charlie's been here for four weeks, that's what he said, and is NATO so, so surely he should only be doing two. And April seems to be under the impression that Eleanor has some secrets to hide. I shake my head and mutter a curse under my breath.

The system here seems to be in all sorts of shambles. Perhaps our respective commands don't really give a damn, all things considered, provided that the outpost fulfills its most basic quota of six warm bodies to defend it. But I digress. Eleanor has been here a long time. Yuri likely as well. Why didn't they warm me about it? all this. They've barely helped at all. What have they done

for me exactly? A soldier putting his life on the line in the face of such unearthly terror. I've been given a brief lecture on lay lines from Eleanor and scarcely a handful of words from Yuri. Maybe they're just blinded by anti-American propaganda.

But surely, up here on the mountain side, they tried to put that to one side, right? Surely, in the face of such greater evil. My forearms ache as I tense them up and swing the weapon down with another mechanical creak and clank. Electricity sparkling as I fire a beam into the darkness below. Destroy all those who curse my soul, I recite with jaw clenched.

In service I am yours. Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war. Mechanical booms of thunder are sent rippling through the valley and the mountains, as the lightning-like flashes alight their rocky edges in the darkness. The Lord, of course, was not quite the one who trained my hands for war, however. I have the army of the United States of America to thank for that.

And not so benevolent Lord, if there ever was one. Less Jehovah, more Mars. But I try not to think about this. Such thoughts I have found weaken the effect of the weapon. I tried to follow the advice given to me by Christian. Think good thoughts. It helps.

The same advice given to me by the Russian officer who dropped me off on my first night. That first night was two days ago, Adam. You've scarcely been here for two days. Feels like a damn lifetime. But the night goes on and the battle rages. and as before, as always, thankfully, the darkness recedes, the first glorious shimmer of sunlight rises above the jagged horizon and the edges of the mountains are washed in faded gold. I collapse away from the weapon, my back up against the metal railing behind me.

I look down in my hands. They're covered in grime, shaking, and several other fingers are locked into their positions. To move them causes me pain, and I wince as I try to work the blood flow back into them. And after a concerted burst of effort, I clambered to my feet and head across the roof of this section to the outpost, make my way down the metal ladder and returning into the building. In a dreary days, I pass by both Charlie and Christian on my way back to my dorm. I nod at both of them. Charlie nods back. Christian even gives me a smile and a clap on the shoulder. As I do before, I shed my uniform and my coat, and I collapse into my bed.

I do not even bother to draw the curtains, though it doesn't particularly matter. The daylight streaming weekly through the window is not sufficient to wake me from my slumber. And my sleep is deep. deep and as with the previous night unsettling. I awaken with a groan at 2 p.m. earlier than yesterday. There's no blissful ignorance as I return to the land of the living this morning, afternoon I suppose, and I am instead instantly aware of where I am and what my purpose is here. and what I'll need to do again tonight.

I grown a little louder, rubbing my hands across my eyes, smelling the grease and grime across them as I do so. I need to start washing a little better before bed. This can't be healthy. I clean up and dress for the day, leaving my dorm and heading through the kitchen canteen to grab some breakfast. A generator hums quietly in one corner as I cook some eggs and beans and bring them through to the main room, to the hexagon.

Eleanor is in here, eating something out of a bowl at the side of the room. She glances up from her crossword at my approach, but does not make any kind of greeting. April is in here also, at the room's opposite end. She's fiddling with a small radio, the pieces of which lay scattered across one of the tables. "'Hey, Adam,' she says to me. "'Good sleep?' "'No,' I reply. "'Not really, but it served its purpose.'

"'That's the spirit,' she replies as she tinkers. "'Say, you aren't an engineer, are you?' "'No, sorry.' "'No worries. "'thought he was worth asking. "'Here he is, but, you know, he is miserable.' "'Eleaner looks up again and swallows her mouth full of food.' She jabs the hand with a spoon in it

Over to where April is sitting Yuri'll fix your radio Get off your high horse and ask him He'll do this April snorts and shakes her head Now he won't You'll swear at me in Russian And leave me to suffer

He isn't a good person Eleanor seems to take offense to this Yuri does what is best for the outpost You need him to fix the radio He will fix radio This is Russian good person. American good person means fake smiles and hollow laughter all 24 hours. Very cliche, I mutter.

A Russian with an anti-Americanism complex. Ellen is cold, pale eyes flicker over to mine, and I get the uneasy sense that a great weight was just dropped on top of me. She puts down a bowl and gets to her feet. A slow motion. One that serves to draw out the tension. But this woman does not scare me, not after the horrors of the night. You are not typical recruit we get sent here, Adam, she says.

I note that this could be the first time she's addressed me by my actual name. No, I ask. No, she replies. You are timid. You have angsty aura, unsettled, childlike. You are putting the outpost coalition in danger with your presence. I stare at her, irritated, but doing my best not to seem phased. I force out some laughter and fold my arms.

You've got me all wrong. How am I putting the outpost in danger exactly? I just help successfully defend it. You know how many demons I destroyed last night? Eleanor doesn't respond. She only watches me, searching me with those arctaw guys. I shift uncomfortably. April chimes in.

Oh, leave him alone, Eleanor, you bully, is doing his best. This seems to make a particularly angry. The bully comment. A flash of genuine fury crosses a face, and I watch her body twitch. Her fists clench just for a moment. My throat dries, and I get a quick, modest burst of adrenaline. But nothing happens. Eleanor crosses her eyes and takes a breath

And then she simply strides from the room Down one of the corridors And towards another section of the outpost I untense my muscles And bring myself down to a sit Near April with a grunt To actually go ahead and eat my breakfast We sit there for a while in comfortable silence

Me eating and April working away at a radio She presses a button and it cracks and fizzles. She sighs. These things are temperamental at best, she says, shaking it in a hand. They don't work like they're supposed to appear in this environment, and mine's died completely. I look at her. April, tell me, how long have you been here exactly at the outpost? Just over a week, she replied.

just over a week and Charlie's been here for four is that right she nods but I thought NATO personnel were only required to do two yeah she says uneasily but you know how it is they tell you one thing and then they change it and to be fair I think Charlie actually volunteered to stay longer I think he wants to do two months like the Russians What? Why would he want that? April shrugs again. I think he just likes the thrill.

The thrill? I shake my head. And what about Christian then? So Christian's been here before. He's only on his second week right now, but he keeps coming back. I think he's been more or less alternating groups of weeks for about a year. A year? Yeah, maybe more.

Even. Yeah? Why would he do that? Why would he keep coming back? Is this of his own choosing? Or are his superiors forcing him back all the time? Our superiors, I guess. So, what about Eleanor?

You sure ask a lot of questions, Adam? Well, maybe that's because no one tells me anything. Okay, okay, geez. I don't know how long Eleanor's been here. She won't tell me. don't really know anything about her, but she hates me. That much is pretty obvious. The thing is, though, Adam, I think she's been here for a long, long time.

Like, really long. You can tell in the way she speaks to Christian that the two go way back, but I think she's been here longer than he has, and I'm not convinced she's taking any time off either. There's something that scares me about that one, and I'm not just talking about that nasty, scar. So Christian won't tell you anything either. Why not? I don't know. I think he and the Russians are keeping secrets from us, from the Americans. I don't get it. Why would they do that?

And Christian is a nice guy. He's a NATO soldier for God's sake. April just puts out her hand. Listen, come take a look at this, all right? She stands up and checks down the corridor that Eleanor left through before beckoning me over to the side of the room to the section of wall with a little frame photographs across them. You want to see something really weird? I don't know what could be possibly weirder than what I've seen already but sure, go for it. She leads me through a door in the wall to a small backroom. It's basically a storage unit with lots of shelves and is full of dusty photographs, many of which have been framed. Some I kept in stacked piles. Others hang on the limited wall space. She points to one such photo. Take a look at this

one. You recognize anybody? I squinted it. It's a picture of a squad of six people out the front of the outpost. The enormous weapon on the outpost's roof can be seen in the background. In the foreground, stand three people, with three others crouched down at the front. Five men, one woman. They're all grinning in this picture, which makes the woman initially quite hard to identify. The quality is unusual also, quite grainy looking. But the scar...

Once you think to look for it is obvious. It's Eleanor, all right. Her hair's different and she seems a bit younger, but she still looks pretty much the same. Oh, it's a picture of Eleanor, and the rest of the team, they're all different people. Yeah, but that's not the weird part. Check this.

April again glances around, peering back out through the door, before moving to unhook the picture frame from the wall. She turns it over and adjust the clips until she's able to fully slide the photograph out from the frame. She flips it, revealing a scrawed line and pen near the bottom. Read this, she says, look at the date. I take it from her.

The handwriting is poor, but in thin black ink are a series of initials. and a date S-G-H 1987 S-G-H 1987 I follow my brow at her

1987 Think about it That would make this picture 35 years old What the hell are we supposed to take from that That Ellen has been here for 35 years At least And I mean, just look at her

You have to be 18 to join the the army right, so let's assume that in this picture she is at the absolute lowest, 18. Does the Eleanor you know look like a 53-year-old woman? Well, no, I reply uneasily. Obviously, Eleanor isn't 53 years old. Then what the hell is she doing in a picture from 1987? I consider this, flipping it over, looking from the picture to the writing and back. No way, I murmur.

This can't be right. There are loads of good explanations for this. Maybe it's not Eleanor. Maybe SGH rode the 1987 on the back for a joke. There's no way this pick is from so long ago. Why would anybody do that? April asks me, intently. Where's the joke?

Well, I don't know. Maybe it's a Russian reference. Did anything of significance happen in 1987? I shake my head. It's just pen and paper, April. You can write any old numbers on photographs. It doesn't mean they're actually from that date. April grimaces.

There's something they're not telling us, Adam. They're keeping something from us. And if I was a betting woman, I'd say it had to do with the outpost. I consider this as we return back to the main room. As April and I continue talking about our lives back home. She's from a little further south than I. She comes from a little town just outside of St. Louis. I don't think she particularly likes it there very much, based on the way she talks about it.

Maybe that's why she joined the army. Eventually, she heads off to relieve Yuri from his tower duty, and I decide to wonder the complex. I head from room to room, spending most of this period in an old equipment storage facility. It's full of musty, dusty, old climbing gear, harnesses, carabinas and ropes, all that stuff. I recognise one such set as standard US Army issue, and it's as I'm investigating these items that Charlie's head appears suddenly from around the doorway. I jump in alarm.

Afternoon, mate, he says with a grin. Then a bottle of vodka appears in his hand. He shakes the ball. bottle and the liquid sloshes about in the glass. Fancy a drink. I hesitate. I don't know, man, I tell him. Is that really such a good idea? Come on, he says, just a little, just to wet the whistle, one or two. He gives the bottle another tempting shake. I hesitate. Sure, I reply after a beat. Why not? A few hours pass.

These hours comprise myself, Charlie and Christian, sharing one or two modest drinks in the hexagon. Yuri partakes too, though he keeps to himself and sits by one of the room's windows, nursing thirstily from a bottle. He mutters something in Russian as he finishes it off, dropping the bottle to the floor with a glassy clank and staggering up and out of his seat, stumbling towards the low little table at Christian, Charlie and I are sat around to grab another to take away. But that's just... just the thing, lads. Listen, I'm serious. Listen. Charlie slurs as I knock over a can of questionable Russian beer

with the back of my hand. Christian interrupts with his best impression of Charlie's accent. For real, lads. I'm not kidding. It's a bloody mess, all right? Alcohol splirts for my lips as I struggle to hold back laughter, and Charlie slams her fist down onto the table with rich amusement, sending the hordes of glasses and cans rattling and knocking into each other. One or two of the empty cans fall on their sights and roll to the floor. If you weren't such a nice bloke, I'd knock you out, Christian, he says just a little too loudly. Christian shakes his head and wipes some froth from his beard.

Then waggles his finger in Charlie's face. No, no you wouldn't, my friend. Such violence is not for the good vibes, yes? He corrects himself. Such violence is not good for good vibes. Disturves the demons. Or demon, singular, right, Yuri? I say, leaning back and calling over to the Russian in the corner.

He spits on the ground and waves a hand, then mutter something in Russian again. My mood sours. I throw out a hand. What's your problem, man? Why don't you like me? Give me a chance for goodness sake. I'm doing my best here.

Hey, chill out, mate. Charlie says, putting out a hand. A drunken blink rolling across his face from one eye to the other. Don't be so American, you know. The hell's that meant to mean? I ask him, as Yuri staggers to his feet. Hey, nothing personal like. Charlie says, his eyebrows shooting up as he reaches for another sip of vodka.

I just mean like, you know, needing to be lightened that. Don't stress it. It'll warm up to you in time. I'm not sure he will, I sigh. But whatever, just trying to create a sense of coalition, looking out for my fellow man, unity, etc. Uri snorts on his way out of the room. I reach for another bottle and take a swig.

Charlie chuckles. Russians think they're hot because they've been here so long. Well, we'll see. I'm going to break Yuri's record. I promise you know, lads. What about Eleanus? I ask him. The man shakes his head vigorously. No chance, pal.

She's been here for years. So it's true. Years? Charlie shrugs and leans back in his chair, burping. I don't know, mate. I could be exaggerating. Christian knows it better than I do.

I turn to him. Christian, what do you think? We'll tell him this story. Christian scratches his beard. She's been here a long time, yes. Since 1987, I whisper anxiously. 1987? What?

I stare at him. He stares back. Then laughs, taking another big swig of beer. You're joking, right? I doubt she's been here since 1987. Not possible. Really, actually. So, how long has she been here then?

He sighs. She prefers me not to tell you. She's a private person. Mysterious. She has lots of history. I think she finds peace up here, away from the world. Peace? Up here?

on Demon Mountain? Demon Mountain, Charlie snorts. I like that one. Sounds like a ride at Bloody Disneyland. And think about it. Demons. We're fighting demons up here. I shout, throwing out my arms

and knocking a bottle to the floor with a clatter. Why haven't we all acknowledged how crazy that is? We have, mate. We've just been through what you're throwing. Damn, going through already. Charlie says, pointing his bottle at me and clapping me on the shoulder. You're doing good, mate. Just keep the demons out. Don't let them into the outpost. Don't use weaponry outside the boundary, etc.

A demon spoke to me in my brother's voice last night. I mutter quietly and the guys share a quick glance. What did he say? Christian asks. He told me that it only wanted peace. that I should ask myself who the true enemy are. You didn't respond, did you, mate? Charlie asks in a sudden panic. Of course he didn't, Christian interjects. You think we'd be sitting here so casually right now if he did? So, so what happens if we do respond?

I ask nervously in a low voice. If they do get into the outpost. I lean forwards. The two others do likewise. They look at each other as the wind blow, beyond the walls of the complex. It snowing this evening. Might be a cold one tonight.

A demon got into the complex once before with you, didn't it, Chris? Charlie asked the Norwegian. And the man nods. That was a terrible night, Adam. One of the worst nights of my life. He sighs and sets his bottle back onto the table. And believe me, I've had some low-quality nights. Eleanor was there also.

It was like taking away the mosquito net by the banks of a tropical river. Charlie nods somberly and takes another sip, staring off into space. Poetic, mate, I press him.

And how long ago was this worst night of your life? When was this exactly? Christian rubs his fingers over his eyes. I'm not sure. Two years, maybe. Two years? So you've been here that long?

I ask him. No, he replies. I come and go. I consider this. So that confirms some of what April was saying earlier. Christian comes and goes. Eleanor has been here for at least two years, quite likely longer. I need more.

I need more information. And Eleanor. I begin with. whispering now, though Charlie seems amused by this. It's all right, mate, he slurs. She ain't going to hear you. Speak your mind. He winks at Christian. I certainly know what's on my mind, lads.

He puts his hand out in front of his chest, making the international gesture for massive boobs. This sets Christian roaring with laughter, and I cannot help but join in. Charlie, Christian laughs. You're a bad man. You shouldn't speak like that of our comrade. What? Charlie says defensively, giving us his best innocent face. I'm just saying, I'd love to have a go on him. He help us me.

Yeah, wouldn't you, Adam? I laughed drunkenly and shrug. I'm not sure, man. She kind of scares me. This sets the guys laughing even harder. Though, I suppose. I put on my best British accent. She does have.

have a lovely pair of knockers. What the hell is going on in here? Says Eleanor from just behind me. And the three of us shout out an alarm and stagger up to our feet in an instant. Bottles and glasses clinking and knocking and tipping, rolling noisely across the little table

and clattering to the floor. She stares with fury at the enormous collection of bottles and emptied cans across the table, chairs and floor. She looks between us, her gaze sharp and terrifying. You stupid, stupid assholes, she shouts in a thick accent.

What the hell have you done? The looks she gives the Charlie and I convey, basically a disgust. But the glance she gives the Christian is full of disappointment. I cringe from the second-hand disapproval. Christian chuckles awkwardly. Look, Eleanor, maybe this got a little out of hand. Do any of you idiots know what time it is? She asks, throwing a hand out towards the window.

We have one hour until sunset. One hour. Tension ripples around the room. No, Charlie mutters, squinting and blinking at his watch. He is the only one wearing one. Oh, we've got ages, haven't we? I made it at least three or four. He trails off.

Eleanor does not say anything. She puts her hand to her head. Where is Yuri? She asks quietly, with her eyes closed. Tell me he did not have access to this alcohol. No one replies. Damn, she shouts. Well, all of you need to sober up, quickly too.

She claps her hands in our face. Move. And move we do. Stumbling and tripping, trying to keep out the sudden panic attacking the back of our minds. Damn, it's all I can think, as I feel the alcohol sweat starts to be. bud across my body.

Damn, damn, damn. What the hell was I thinking? I asked myself as I splashed cold water into my face. Am I really so irresponsible? Charlie, that man can drink like a fish. How could I have allowed myself

to get so swept up? I rent my hands through my hair, rub my thumbs over my eyes. No, no use placing blame. This is just as much as my fault as it is. his. An ice-cold shower follows. The water like needles across my body. A crate of some weird Russian soft drink is discovered in the back as I dry myself off. A curious green gatorade-like juice with a Russian label. I pop the cap and chug one down, as do the others. Taste okay, I guess,

though I don't know how long it's been here. The electrolytes, if indeed it has any, but should do me good. I can hear Eleanor arguing with Christian in another room, though I cannot make out the words. Ah, I take a look at myself in the mirror, and my bloodshot eyes, the guilt in my expression. I gave myself a light slap across the face and head toward my station,

with a few parting words to Charlie. He raises his eyebrow at me and grimaces, but says nothing. Time's up. Our revitalization hour has passed. The night cometh. I clamber up my ladder and wince as my head breaches the gap in the ceiling, the wind blowing cold and fierce into my face. Eleanor shouts up at me from below. I turned down to her, pausing on the final rung. What? Yuri! she shouts again angrily.

Where is Yuri? "'Crap. "'I didn't—I don't know. "'I haven't seen since earlier. "'He's not at his station?' "'No,' Elena replies. "'He isn't, and the sun will be down in a minute or so.' "'She draws a radio from her belt and up to her mouth.

"'April, April, come in, please. "'Have you seen Yuri?' "'Oh, Eleanor,' I call down, "'April's radio is still broken. "'She won't be able to hear you.' "'Eller swears loudly. in Russian, slamming the radio back into its clip on a belt. What is wrong with you, people?

She exclaims, swiveling on the spot and marching off through the complex. Shivering, I return to the ladder and ascend up and onto the roof, heading over to my position by the gun and dropping down to a crouch, looking through the sights at the mountainside all around. Another clear night tonight. I blink rapidly. trying to force away the dizziness. The bitter cold of the air helps somewhat.

I'm aware of the gravity of my mess-up. But still, I do actually feel a little braver tonight. Brave? No, you're just stupid. Idiot, you're still drunk. The sun sinks behind the mountains. I wipe a sheen of alcohol sweats from my forehead, glancing away and up to the sky.

Cloud swirled softly overhead, and little flakes of snow begin to fall, one by one. I wonder how long it'll take for the demons to show up this time. Last night gave us three hours of steadily building tension. Could it be a similar story tonight? More maybe? My question is swiftly and brutally answered. Even before I had time to allocate significant brainpower to such a line of thought, They appeared.

To my utter dismay, the demons arrive, at the very instant the night begins. The tip of the sun sinks beneath the horizon, and the song begins to shiver its way through the night from peak to peak. Discordant tonight, jarring, sharp notes where one does not expect them, like nails on a chalkboard. I grip my teeth. Dark, void-like air crashes in the form of waves into the cliff far below, right where the rocky slopes are lost the darkness. And up they clamber. Two to begin with. Shadowy, near formless shapes.

Those long shimmering arms reach out, grabbing hold of the rock and hauling themselves up towards me. The arms vanish back into the air as more are thrown out. an endless cycle of grabbing hands and clawing feverish limbs. I suck some mountain cold air in through my teeth and angle down the weapon. The great contraption clanking and creaking as I fire the first chaotic stream of screaming light. Down tears the beam with an electric shudder, an arrow of gold in the gloom as it burns right past the demons directly below. I curse and try again.

This blast too going wide. Come on, come on. Third time lucky. I feel the juddering in my forearms as the light is sent searing down and the demons are both caught together. They burst into wisps of smoke and shards of clattering bone

and I bring the weapon around firing again as the next of the abominations appears over to my left. This is not good, this is not good at all. Where the hell is Yuri? Is Eleanor even at a station yet? She was trying so hard to make sure that the rest of us were already. Why did the demons have to arrive so early tonight?

Damn! One of the creatures gets frighteningly close. Adrenaline surges as the shadow ripples up the mountainside towards me, reaching up and out with a desperate hand. And at this range, I swear I can see the rough outline of... Of something in its shadow. A head and a pair of shoulders, perhaps, a jaw that stretches from one side to the other, opening wide as the darkness spills out.

I cry out in horror and slam down the weapon, releasing a beam directly beneath, temporarily blinded as the blasts thunders out and tears down the rocky wall below, destroying the demon with a screech and a clatter of bones. One of these bones, a piece of rib by the looks of it, flies up and over my head. I duck to the side as it flies behind me and strikes the wall, tumbling down to the ground below. Too close, too close.

Come on, Adam, come on, don't let the enemy into the outpost. I blink some more as the colourful streaks of retina-burned light flash across my vision. I groan and my stomach lurches. I found a way to somehow make my experience on this outpost even worse. Your comrades' lives are at stake. Wake up, soldier. Wake up, Adam, whispers the voice of a demon into my ear.

I jump in fright and squat the air instinctively. But there is, as always, nothing there. Wake up and see the truth. I require entry to the tomb. I do not want to hurt you, but I will do what I must. I have been waiting for a long, long time.

I grit my teeth and swing the weapon around, firing off concentrated bursts at the approaching targets. What the hell are these things? I muttered to myself, blasting the weapon again and again. The alcohol has provided me with some temporary resistance to the cold it would seem. The wind, despite the shock of the initial cold, does not seem quite so brutal. But the trade-off, in turn. of accuracy and sense of impending doom were really not worth it. Not worth it in the slightest.

Many of my shots go wide. The demon clambers ever closer to my position, streaming constantly up the walls. And every time that they reach a certain distance away, my terror flares up, the fear of the unknown. I still don't know exactly what would happen if such a creature were to breach and make their way on to or into the outpost. A shout way off to my right draws my attention. I shoot a quick glance over

to the roof and catch a blur of movement at the wall's edge. Lightning-like flashes in the darkness all around illuminate the edges of the cliffs and walls. And my comrade, Yuri, my blood, freezes.

The man is a mess, stationed on a section of roof across a gap over to my right. He is shouting belligerently down and into the shadows below. I watch in horror as a pair of hands grabbed the wall by Euro side.

It's difficult to see from this distance, but there is nothing else they could be. Yuri bellows in Russian and staggers back to his weapon, grabbing it, taking careless aim and then swinging around the thing, around in a chaotic arc, a blast of light tearing towards me,

right past me in fact. as I shield my face from the rush of heat, slipping and stumbling backwards and striking the section of wall behind me with a thud. Jeez, I shout. Yuri, what the hell? But he cannot hear me. Either that, or he is simply failing to listen.

The light goes wide again and again as the man struggles with the machinery. He wipes his eyes with a sleeve and slurs a long string of words as he sways from side to side. I reach for my radio and bellow into it. Eleanor, are you there? Yuri's up on the post right beside me, but it is a mess.

Something's going to happen. Something bad. And as I speak, I watch as a dark shape grabs a hold of Yuri's arm. Yuri swears and draws a knife from his belt, hacking and slashing at the smoke. It seems to do little, however, and more of the substance envelops him. A moment more. And he's falling. The shadows drag him over the edge.

I watch with eyes wide, as everything in the moment begins to play out in slow motion. Yuri slips from the wall and tumbles down the cliffside into the darkness below. Lights flash at the edges of my vision, and the snowflakes. fall thicker all around. Yuri! I shout. But the man has vanished. I draw my radio up to my mouth and try and report this handshaking.

He's... Yuri's gone over, I shout. He's gone over the edge. But my radio only crackles with static. I look down over the edge, peering into the darkness. hastily I returned to my weapon, launching a beam in a wide, axe-like arc directly below, obliterating a group of demons and illuminating. For a moment, Yuri, trapped on a rocky outcrop below, his back against the cliff,

darkness swirling around him. Damn, Yuri! But the man does not respond. And sure what to do, I spend a further few moments. blasting demons away from the rock below, shooting a few wide to try and keep Euro's immediate area free from them, and, in a moment of brief respite, with the cliffside below entirely empty, I make a decision. I abandoned my post, aware of the critical importance of the first rule, but still there is a man in danger. I scrambled down the ladder in haste and sprint through the

complex corridors towards the equipment room, the room that Charlie found me in as it happened. I burst in and look wildly all around. Where is it? Where is it? And yes, in a rack stashed in a corner is just what I found earlier. Standard U.S. Army issued, covered in dust. A set of old climbing gear. I run over and grab it up into my arms, running as quickly as quickly as,

as I can back through the halls over to the room and ladder that will take me up to Yuri's post and I climb. Up I go back into the wintry world above and dumping the equipment onto the ground in the snow. I jumped to Yuri's weapon, angling it around and feeling the electric crackle across my skin as I send a beam out, dagonly down the side of the cliff. Demons burst and steam with shattering bones, and I swivel in the spot, grabbing the equipment and getting myself into it as quickly as possible, binding an anchor to attach it to, all while simultaneously trying to protect both my own and Uri's section of wall. I swear to myself over and over, sweating and shaking in the snow, my hands alternating between the straps of my gear and the mechanisms of the weapon attached to the wall. I try the radio again for a second time.

I try simply shouting as loud as I possibly can. God, I should have called to someone when I was in the complex. Why didn't I think of that? But it's too late now. Yuri, I call down, and the man looks back up at me. His face illuminated briefly and faintly in a distant flash. A demon slithers up on the rock by his feet, and he kicks at it in alarm.

I jumped to the weapon. Duck! I shout, firing a prolonged beam down into the shadows. Yuri shields his face as the demons about his feet are obliterated, and I bring the beam across the chasm below. I jump for a Bible, of which there are several piled up against the wall, and I flip one open, rifling through the pages for a good passage. But it's pointless.

It's all in Russian. I can't read a single word of this. Oh God, I shout, and I lean over the edge and throw the Bible down to Yuri. He reaches up to catch it, but misses, and it lands unceremoniously at his feet on the ledge beside him. I'm coming for you, man, I mutter, finally finishing affixing the climbing gear to myself and the outpost. And, with a breath, clambering over the side, and stepping clumsily down into the dark. The sensation is hugely, hugely uncomfortable.

It's like the air is thick down here, wetter almost. It becomes harder to take in breaths. But down I go, step by step down the rock, praying that the demons will stain the darkness beneath just for a little longer, long enough for me to grab Yuri and haul him back up and over the wall. I reached the man and put out a hand.

He stares at me, eyes bloodshot, forearms all scratched up and bleeding. He says something to me in Russian, staring in utter disbelief. Come on, I shout to him. No man left behind, God damn it. Yuri swears in Russian and grabs a hold of my shoulder straps. We're going up. Come on, help me here. You have to climb.

I tell him, grabbing a hold of his jacket and making the whole of his jacket and making the whole us both back and up the side of the cliff. Back up we go, blood pounding in my veins. And I can only watch in dismay, despite my bitter hopes. A demon slithers its way right past us. I get the closest view of one of these creatures so far. From this angle, it looks vaguely, ever so slightly... Human.

One comprised of rippling smoke and mist. its arms move with such speed that it's impossible to tell how many it might have been. An arm stretches up, grabs hold of the rock to drag the demon up, and in the very same second another arm comes up to replace it, and another then another. No, I shout out into the night, as the demon rushes right past, grabbing hold of the lip of the outpost wall up above

and clambering over the side, and onto the roof out of sight. "'No!' "'Yury, come on!' I shout to the man. And together we climb back up the rope, faster than I would have thought possible. But we reach the summit and fling ourselves back over the edge and onto the outpost.

I take a deep but shaky breath, throwing myself at the weapon and bringing it around, light releasing into the darkness. I grabbed the man by the front of the uniform. "'Are you okay, Yuri?' I shout. can you man this thing? He nods, bewildered. He shoves me away and returns to his station,

reaching for a Bible and flipping through the pages, and I make to unfasten myself from the climbing harness. I grab my radio again, bringing it up to my mouth. Attention, I say into it. A demon. There's a demon in the outpost. I tear the equipment off and clamber unsteadly down the ladder, darting through the complex,

looking this way and that for any sign of the intruder. I don't know what I'll do if I actually find it, however. Everything is a blur. I just know that this is partly my fault, my responsibility, and so I have to be the one to deal with it. Shadows lurk and creep in the corners of the complex. Light flashes through the thick glass of the windows as I race between the walls. Hey, I shut down the halls.

Hey, show yourself. A voice crackles through my radio. Eleanor's, two words. Where? She says. Then, when? I grabbed the thing and bring it up to my face. Five minutes ago or so, my side of the outpost, with Yuri by Euro Station.

The radio crackles. And where are you now? she replies. Inside the complex, near the kitchens, trying to find it. No, return to your station. Do not engage. I will deal with this. The ice in a voice makes it difficult to disobey. I falter. But then, just do as she says, running back through the complex, expecting to get jumped at any second, returning to my post and ascending the ladder. A part of me is waiting for a demonic hand to reach out below me, to grab me round the ankle and drag me down and away into the shadows. But no, nothing happens.

I climb back up and out into the snow, shielding my eyes as a beam lights up the area immediately before me, one of Uri's. Bones rattle and clatter down the mountainside, and I return to my weapon, carrying on with my duty, but fear like a fire within me. Eleanor's voice comes to the radio again. Barricade entrances to outpost immediately all. Draw up the ladders if possible. Do not return into the complex for any reason.

We must wait and hope for the rising sun. And so I do. I reach for a nearby crate and heave it across the roof in order to block the little passage back into the outpost. I draw up the ladder with a clatter and block up the entrance as best I can. Is this really our plan? I can't help but wonder. Leave the demon inside to its own devices.

What happens at daybreak? Will it simply die? That's what I'm hoping. But it's too chaotic right now to formulate any kind of serious alternative. I just do my best to keep any further demons from breaching the walls. Rule number one. Do not let the enemy into the outpost. Damn, oh hell.

And I was doing so well too. What's going to happen now? What's going to happen to the outpost? To us. I remember Christian's words from earlier about the last time the demons got into the complex. It was like

taking away the mosquito net by the banks of a tropical river. I grimace and the night deepens. The demons become more and more numerous. Whereas in the previous nights and in the past few hours, hours, it was the occasional assailant, clambering up the cliffside in ones or twos.

They now appear thick and fast in hordes. Constant, an endless stream of monsters in the dark. Sweat pours from my body. I can feel it freezing across my skin. My hands ache and burn with exertion. The muscles in my shoulders and upper back scream in time to the blasts of the burning, blinding light. The song from the mountains is almost in touch.

highly lost, beneath the endless shiver and rattle of ribs and spines and bones, as demon smoke billows in all directions. My silver cross is gripped tight to my left end. My voice repeats a nonsentical tale of ceaseless, disjointed, vaguely appropriate Bible verses until it's hoarse, and still I shout out into the shadows. The whispering becomes worse, and the things they say. Adam, you are no first man. Stand aside.

You cannot stop the tide. You're a good man, Adam. You do not belong here. End this. Just let me pass. I won't hurt you or your friends. I promise. Let me in before it's too late.

I can save them if you let me. Your brother would understand. Just stand aside. Tricks. All of it tricks. I have to believe this because any alternative is too dangerous to even consider. So I do my duty. The outpost and surrounding mountains are flashed with light and fire and smoke,

all the long way through till the sparks of the morning. I do not collapse with instant relief as the first flicker of sunlight appears on the horizon. I do not even notice it. My eyes are shot with retina-burnt streaks of colour. Every blink is like a firework show. My hands are white and frozen. Yet still they tremble violently, grip tight to the sides of the weapon. I angle it this way and that, then back again, searching for demons,

still repeating the verses over and over. But after several minutes of no further approaching creatures, I finally risk a quick glance up to the sky. I see the light, the natural light of the day, not whatever terrifying light it is that we create here with these accursed weapons. I gasp and stagger backwards, unclenching the fingers of my left fist,

slowly, listening to them crack, and I carefully pry the silver cross from my grip. A deep imprint has been left in my flesh. the outline obvious and I returned a little cross to my chest eyes still wide shivering in a dream like days

I push aside the crate and the other items I used to barricade the entrance to the rooftop lookout I send the ladder back down with a metallic rattle the noise like the bones of the demons against the rocks I turn and step by shaking step I descend my muscles failing me me on the final few wrongs and I crashed down into a heap at its base groaning as I tried to climb

back up sleep I need to sleep it's weird my mind tells me I need to rest but my body remains on high alert heart pumping since is primed despite my weariness it's very difficult to describe and I know I'm going to get shouted up by Eleanor too something I'm really not looking forward to, Helena. Damn, and the demon. There's still a demon between these walls. Christian appears at the end of the corridor, rubbing his forehead. Christian, I croak out, raising a hand and walking towards him.

The light from the sun has yet to do more than allow the breaest trickle of light through the glass, and the walls are still thick with shadow. Christian, hey, is it safe? Do the demons all disappear when their sun rises? Is there anything we need to do? Christian sighs as I approach. He brings up a second hand to rub his eyes. Christian, I say, in a voice barely above a horse whisper.

You heard the radio right. The demon, the one that got in? Is it gone? What do we do? Is it safe? The man removes his hands from his eyes A dark human-sized silhouette at the corridor's end A warm body between these cold, sterile walls

And he turns to me Slowly His body remains perfectly still however As do his shoulders And only his head makes the turn Turning slightly Ever so slightly further Then it should.

I stare at him and hear it I. He steps from the shadows, and I am able to see his eyes in the dim glimmer of light. The colour in them has completely vanished. There is only white, with the tiniest pinprick of a pupil at the centre of each. I take a slow, horrified step back. Christian?

The black of the man's pupil's dialogue. they expand and then they expand further still until the entirety of his eyes are washed over in black. His body cracks as he moves it around to line up with his head. And step by step, he begins to make his way towards me, shambling through the shadows. For a long, grim moment, I am stuck fast with shock. As Christian shambles his way, through the corridor towards me. Several of his shadows are cast out in impossible directions. They flicker and jolt with his movements, and he opens his mouth to speak.

The spell is broken as I take a hasty retreating step. Christian? Like a sudden sword in the darkness, from seemingly out of nowhere, appears Eleanor. She throws out her hand and stands in front of me, tall and defiant. Idiot, she mutters to me, shooting me a quick, cold glance. Do not engage verbally with the enemy. The enemy? I whisper in reply as Eleanor raises a rifle. The silvery light of the morning catches in her hair and reflects in the dark void-like pools

of Christian's eyes. Christian's jaw falls open and a myriad of conflicting voices pour out, slithering through the air. The sound serpentine. Adam, don't let her hurt me. We aren't so different you and I. They lie below. Let us return to them. Adam, don't stand in my way.

A loud, sharp shot rings loud and painful down the corridor. I catch a flicker of recoil. Alan's weapon jumps up ever so slightly. And with a flash, Christian drops like a stone to the ground. What the hell? I hear Charlie shout above the ringing in my ears, and then he appears beside me from an off-shooting corridor, watching an alarm as Christian strikes the floor. The man lands into line with the window. The first rays of the day's sun fall across his skin.

Eleanor, he mutters, writhing on the floor, blood leaking and pulling beneath him. I can't see. and a second later the man starts the steam the process takes literally seconds one minute he's there whole and the next his mass begins to drift away in the form of thick dark smoke it sticks to the walls like tar and condenses on the ceiling

and all that remains behind is a blackened charred skeleton Ash, blood, and a thick, viscous semi-solid, connecting it all with unsightly strands of inhuman gristle. We stand there in horrified silence, Charlie and I, and beside us, Eleanor, like a statue. The ringing echoes in my ears, and I turn to her, to this mystery that shut down the demon, and I notice that she has started trembling. ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, but she shivers nonetheless. She swivels on the spot and marches away, shove me to the side as she does so, and I catch the briefest glimpse of tears streaming down the sides of her cheeks.

She disappears round a corner, leaving the Englishman and I in the corridor. Alone with Christians remains, Charlie wretches. Then he turns away. I'm sorry, mate, he murmurs under his breath. Then he passes me by. We'll deal with this later, Adam. He says bitterly, just go to bed, get some sleep. Get some sleep, he says, as I try and fail to comprehend this horror.

Christian, is that all? Is he dead, just like that? unless Charlie I shout out turning to look the way he went That was a copy right A demon clone or whatever

Tell me that thing was Christian's copy That wasn't Christian, right But Charlie does not respond And I do not go after him I look for one final time that morning At the smoldering remains in the corridor centre and then with a grunt of frustrated anguish. I pass it by, carefully sidestepping and walking to my room.

Don't think about it, don't think about it, just do as Charlie said. Get some rest, recuperate, sleep at him. And somehow I do. I crash into bed and the dreams and nightmares blur sickeningly with my reality. They're disjointed and chaotic. And in my head, I hear them speak to me. The demons, begging and pleading with me to allow them entry to the outpost. Amongst their voices is Christians.

I awakened to the sound of shouting. I groan and turned to my side, the light from my window suddenly intense across my eyes. Christian, I mutter, still half asleep, as the shouting began. becomes clearer. I can't understand what's being said. It's all in Russian, Eleanor and Yuri by the sounds of it. I sigh and draw myself up and out of bed. There's work to be done.

I follow my routine, regimental, and the shouting only goes on and on as I do so. It does not falter until I enter the hexagon room, eyes still bleary, head still pounding. Eleanor is right up in Yuri's space, though she leaves and be and marches right up to me upon my arrival. Yuri sighs and slumps down into the seat, fumbling for a cigarette, but Eleanor jabs a finger into my face. Her outer guise bore into mine. Her scar pulled grotesquely as she snars at me. Understand impact of your actions, she hisses. Your idiocy has cost Christianist life. He was a good man. He was an idiot like you, but he was a good man. He deserved better, so much better. A focus flickers from my left to my right and back. It's deeply unnerving. I don't even know what to say. So that confirms it for sure then.

Christian is dead. What? I begin quietly. What do we do now? Now we wait. Charlie has dealt with Christian bones. We have gotten radio through to command. Urgent backup requested. But who knows when they'll arrive? Two days, three days, more.

We will face very hard conditions tonight. And next night, the outpost needs six. Five is suboptimal. We will struggle to defend, and it is your fault. Her lips pull back from her teeth in a dark sneer, and she turns, points to Yuri as well. Your fault also. She then shouts out a string of obscenities in Russian.

Yuri doesn't even look over. He just lights up his sig and takes a drag. Eleanor raises a hand and I flinch, but she only points behind me, back down the corridor. Go relieve April from the tower. That is where you'll be stationed today. April will fill you in on what to do.

Small tip, don't get drunk and mess it up. She shakes her head, and medicare nuts. And then she simply strides away, leaving me to wallow in my guilt. I run a hand through my hair, as gentle snowflakes fall beyond the glass, flittering down the rocky gorge beyond. You good, Yuri, I asked the man. He stares out the window. He makes no noise or gesture in response, and I let out a sigh.

guess I'd better go take over from April then. She sure missed quite the night. I head through the complex and pass the sight of Christian's demise. I pause there for a moment. The floor is stained, and there are residual marks and splatters of an inky-like substance in the window frames and in the ceiling's corners.

But it looks like Charlie clean the bulk of the mess up himself, I swallow. I'm sorry, man, I murmur into the dreadful silence. I'm so, so sorry. Then I turn away and continue down the corridor. The exit that will lead me to the courtyard and the tower beyond is just ahead. But as I approach the complex's rough centre, a voice calls out to me. Charlie's,

Hey, he says, and I stop, turning down. to the voice's source. Yeah? He peers at me from around a doorway. There is no mischievous grin this time, no foolish shaking of a vodka bottle, just exhausted, bloodshot eyes, a grim face.

He gestures for me to come over, and I do so. Following him into the room, he nods down to the ground by our feet. I don't know what this room is used, for. Wooden flooring, a low stage. There are some chairs stacked up by the walls. Could be a meeting hall of some kind, but all that's irrelevant really, as the object of interest is quite obvious. In the middle of the room is an ugly, roughly human-sized hole in the ground. The boards and planks

have been torn up and ripped. The floor around it is covered in scratches, and the rock and concrete have been cracked and chipped below. Some granules of the stuff had been scattered about the floor. The hell is happening here, I ask, murmuring. Charlie gestures to the hole. Some assholes been in here, trying to get down. He crouches and runs a hand over the splintered wood, the claw marks by the look of them.

He turns to me. The demon was in here, and it decided that this was a good place to start to start. digging. It doesn't look like he got very far. The hole is noticeable, but it hasn't gotten that deep, to be honest. Maybe about four feet or so. I sigh and rub my forehead. Charlie, tell it to me straight, man. What else do I need to know about this place? No secrets, no hiding stuff. Just tell me. He stands up and brushes the dust from his knees. The outpost has always been staffed.

Always. Russians do two months. Outsiders do less. I don't like that. I wanted to stay and beat Uri's record. He rubs his nose. I don't know. She never talks.

Uri might know. But I swear she's been here for years. I don't know why. Can't imagine why someone will want to live in a hellhole like this. Maybe she's been ordered to stay. punishment for something. Maybe for whatever God of that scar, I don't know. He shrugs.

He kicks some of the dust across the floor. Demons. We fight demons. I'm not convinced that's what they are to tell the truth, but since religious stuff seems to work against them, it's a good guess as any. But not all religious stuff, right? Christian...

I pause as I mention his name, involuntarily. Christian told me about a guy here before us. Seek, I think. Didn't believe in any of it. He said that the demons were different. Yeah, that's right. I wasn't here for it, obviously, but I've heard of the incident. Don't know what happened to the guy in the end.

He just vanished. But the demons. Christian said that when the Sikh was on duty, the demons often took the form of shapes. Shapes? I. Sveed. cubes, cones, weird stuff like that.

He said they all shared a vision of an endless rain of coins across the mountains that the outposts was smothered in it, drowned in it, drowned in metal. And then the next thing they knew, the vision passed. Who was this? Christian was there with Eleanor and four others.

No clue who they might have been. Similar group to ourselves, I should think. I shake my head. I still don't get it. Why only six? Why six people? It's like the basis of a ritual or something. A ritual?

I don't know, mate. Just a guess, I sigh. I don't think it's anything like that. I think that it's more to do with the fact that we don't want to broadcast a location. Too many warm bodies in the water. Don't want to broadcast a location? I laugh dryly. The outpost has a time.

tower? Have you seen the gun on the roof of the building? Charlie Shakespeare said, I don't mean like that. The demons don't care about any of that stuff. It's just us lot that interests them. The humans, with our human fears and thoughts. They think they can use us. They can use us to get inside the outpost. To get inside the outpost, I echo. And why in God's name would they want to get in here? Charlie shrugs again. Well, that's the question, ain't it? He glances to his watch. You're on towel duty, right?

I nod. He nods in return. You better get off there then, before Eleanor gives you a rolligan. But first, take a look at this. A little clue for our burning question. He gestures to the hole. Take a look down there. I glanced down into it.

it. There's nothing there, Charlie. It's not even that deep. He shakes his head, interrupts me. No, get right down there and press your face against the concrete. There's a tiny, tiny little keyhole-sized crack in the rock beneath it. Really look. Cautiously, I do so. I cannot see the hole which he refers to at first, and I grunt and wince as the dust blows about my face. I feel like an idiot, with my head and shoulders down this hole in the middle of the floor. But at last, I see what Charlie is referring to. This is it?

Yeah, he replies, and he passes me a small flashlight. There's another chip in the rock to your left, a little narrower. You see that? Press the flashlight against it, and look down the hole below and tell me what you see. I take the light from him and do as he says, closing one eye and pressing the other up close to the little crack. The glow is feeble, and it takes my vision a moment to adjust, but... But yes, I think I can actually see something, or the edges of something, some things I should say. What the hell are those? my murmur.

Beats me, I hear Charlie reply. But there's something down there all right, and I'm guessing that's what the demon wanted, what they all want perhaps. I squint a little harder. It's difficult to explain what I can see, but I'll try. Way, way down there, in the darkness below me, the faint shimmer from the flashlight through the hole illuminates the very edges of a series of repeated uniform shapes. It's difficult to gauge their size, as I don't know how far down they are. But I had a guess, I'd say they were no smaller than myself. The things appear to be stacked in rows.

I can only see the very edges of the tops of these things, but they descend down into the murky darkness beneath. What are they, God damn it? What are they? I can't see well enough. I draw back, coughing with a sudden inhalation of dust. Any theories? Charlie shakes his head.

Not a clue. We'll ask Eleanor when she's cooled down a little. When she's cooled down? Charlie, I don't know the intricacies of their relationship all that well, but it seems to me like Helena just lost a pretty close friend last night. And let's face it, it's largely our fault. Eury is too sure, but all of our faults nonetheless. If you're waiting for it to cool down, you might be waiting a long damn time.

Charlie considers my words. He clenches his teeth and stares off into space, but says nothing further. He looks away and strides off down the corridor, his head down. I think about calling after him, but there's no use really. I just stand back up and continue my little journey. April's waiting for me. Tower duty time, I suppose. Across the courtyard as flakes of snow drift lazily down to the gravel that crunch beneath my feet.

I pass by the ruins of the water tower and head for the tower still standing, the one at the very edge of the cliff looking out far across the mountains. I'm still yet to actually step foot inside it. I clamber up the concrete steps and slide my way through the tower's door. Rule 5, I hear in Christian's voice. We must keep a constant presence in the tower. I see in my mind the crinkles of his eyes as he smiles, and I grimace, blurring the image away.

The interior is dark and gloomy. I'd have expected nothing less, but my eyes are instantly drawn to the great, framed to paint, painting hung on the opposite wall. It has been painted in shades of brown, of grey, of white and of gold. It depicts a woman in the midst of a windstorm. Her robes blow about her shoulders and she stares fiercely out at something unseen. Just above the painter's point of view, she has in her hand a shining silver cross and

she stands defiant as the snow is whipped about her being. I glance down to the little plaque nailed to the varnished wood at the painting's base. There is a small line of text in Sibilik, but her name is given as Olga of the Russe, Olga of Kiev. Beside it on the wall is a small passage scrawled with chalk in French, and then another passage below scrolled in English. I'm no linguist, but I would guess they probably do. say the same thing. The English passage has a number of words crossed out. Olga's Tower, for her sacrifice, for the anchoring, crossed out, anchor, crossed out, tethering, and the walls. 899 to 969 AD. Hmm. I consider this, with one last

parting look up to Olga's eyes, her expression fixed, yet alive, with passion, and I continue on along my way. Up the ascending stairs that line the inner walls of the tower. They carry me up about halfway, and plastered across these walls are a number of things of vague interest. A crude chalk doodle, some infographs in Russian, there are schematics of the tower itself, and of that enormous gun on the outpost's roof, and one very very very, very, very, very much. realistic, very disturbing sketch of a demon, clambering up the tower wall right beside me.

The stairs come to a stop on the floor with a modest, crappy bathroom, one lined with leaking pipes, and beside the door to this bathroom is a steel ladder, one which will presumably carry me up to the very top. With a sigh I continue my climb, my boots rattling and echoing against the rungs. The ladder leads me up to a little platform that encircles the inner walls and I cross over to another. Another ladder I mean. This one that finally carries me up to the top. The highest room with a vantage all beneath it.

Grunting, my head breaches the floor level of the uppermost room. And at last I find April huddled up against the wall. She stares at me with shadowed eyes And we regard each other Her against the wall An eye paused at the top of the ladder Is it true Adam She asks quietly

Is Christian dead I glanced to her right There sits a radio A little light on the side flickers in and out of focus I guess she got it working To a degree or someone else has been up here to visit her. A visitor with such a climb?

Not damn likely. Yeah, I mutter, guiltily. Yeah, Christina's dead. Her demon got him. April says nothing. She just brings her hand up to her eyes and allows herself some silent sobs. Her shoulder's shaking as she turns away.

I find myself struck with a little. rush of sudden, unprocessed emotion of my own, and I complete my climb, slumping down against the wall opposite and looking into my hands, slowly opening and closing my scratched, scarred fingers as the wind blows beyond the walls. How did it happen? April asks me after a while. I sigh and rub my hands across my face, inadvertently smearing myself with grime from the ladder as I do so.

I don't know really He was possessed I saw him I called out to him I think he heard me as he started walking towards me Or the demon did I guess And then I pause

Eleanor shot him He fell into the light and And that was it He was gone Eleanor I can't see I swallow I don't share his final words with April.

God damn it, she says, shaking her head. Damn! She stands up and clenches her fists, then heads to the ladder and begins to climb away down. Hey, I say. Wait, what am I supposed to do up here? Just check the line to sight. Two of the weapons in here are the same as the others,

but the large one has more of a kick, so be careful. I got to go. enjoy there's ration boxes in that corner someone will relieve you tomorrow does you radio work do you have it on you i yeah i have it good she says just before her head disappears from sight below the floor see ya and away she goes the ladder shaking as she clambers down the wrongs i fumble for words for a second and then just let them go with a sigh fine Use the weapons, follow the lines of sight. Seems simple enough, I guess.

I grunt as I get to my feet and I walk the length of the room. There are several vantage points and the wind blows through them and into the room. It is cold and it is miserable. The three weapons are all echo distant and they provide lines of sight way down to the courtyard below, to the outer wall of the complex and the sun. snow and the mountains and the rockscape beyond. I study these weapons. Two of them are essentially exact copies of the weapons I've been using so far,

stationed around the outpost's roof, but the third looks more like a modified javelin. I pair around it. The barrel splits into four at the end, and I give the weapon a shake. The mechanism's clanking as it judders from side to side. I peer through the sights and flick between two fields of view, a wide range of the landscape below, and a closer, narrower field a little more zoomed in.

Well, doesn't this look fun? I murmur, glancing at my watch. Still got a few hours to kill before nightfall. My anxiety spikes. Nightfall, the living nightmare. and were a man down. Memories of the previous night flash through my head, considered in the cold light of day. I see myself, lips cracked and bleeding,

eyes wide and burnt with streaks of weapon flash as the demons scramble up the walls. I see Yuri tumbling over the edge. I feel a second-hand strain across my upper body, and I see Christian crashing down to the floor and bursting into buildings. glowing smoke. I close my eyes and just take a moment to recover. Calm down. No more deaths, no more. Just focus, focus Adam. I take a deep breath of cold mountain air. All right.

I kill time by doing stretches, by sorting through the ration boxes and make myself a cold, grim meal. I ensure my water bottles are full and stationed in places. for quick access if need to be, and I read the Bible that has been stashed up here. I flick through the pages and find a passage in Psalms that has been circled several times in pencil. I read aloud to myself in a quiet voice as the breeze blows beyond the walls of the tower. He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, my refuge and my fortress,

my God in whom I trust, for he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you in his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge. His faithfulness is a shield and buckler. You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day. I do not know what pinions are, but a little annotation made beside the word reads, the feathers of God's wings The cold chill ripples up my spine And I turn the page

I wonder briefly who made the annotation April a few hours ago Or someone else perhaps Someone stationed in this tower 50 years ago maybe Or more 60, 70, 100 The shadows deepen as the sun sinks low It won't be long now

My radio crackles The unexpected noise breaking my train of thought And making me jump Night four soon lads Comes Charlie's voice He sounds worn Stations I think he says something else too

But the radio becomes fuzzy with static And I miss it I crack my knuckles And head to the weapon that looks out And away from the outpost The view from here really is staggering. The tips of the mountains disappear way off towards the horizon, and the white of the snow caps glint with amber and orange

as the sun drops lower and lower. A bead of sweat buds on my forehead. Another follows, and then another. I wipe them away with my sleeve. This is the worst part I've decided. This anticipation, this waiting, the gnawing, grinding anxiety, the trembling in my hands, cracked and calloused. Yet to be warmed by exertion and adrenaline, my sweat is slick and grim and icy. I wipe my palms on the sides of my uniform and then minutes later feel the need to do so again.

The sun disappears behind the mountains and the last of the day's light begins to steadily, trickle away. The clouds darken overhead, and the shadows begin to merge across the ground. An hour goes by, a long, cold hour.

Eleanor comes through on the radio twice to ensure that we are all focused and in position, and at last, the tension spikes before its break, as the song begins to jump between the distant icy peaks towards us. The song is as discordant as it was the previous night, worse even.

The melody is almost entirely gone. A wail, a broken chorus. I swallow, my throat already dry, and I reach out for the nearest bottle of water, taking a quick, clumsy swig. I drop it in fright as a voice whispers clear and cold right into my ear from behind. Adam, you are fewer, no more need to be taken. Allow us entry. I spin around to face the voice's source, but the tower room remains empty.

The Bible is open where I left it, and a breeze sends a few the thin pages flickering from cover to cover. The song grows sharper, the voice is clamoring against and atop of each other, and the demons begin to appear in the distance. Dozens of them. Dark, shadowy shapes rippling and scrambling through the cracks and crevices in the mountains towards the outpost. Their arms moving at such speed

as they give them the appearance of spiders scuttling over the dark, snow-lined rocks. I grab the radio and shout into it. Northwest, demons approaching. Dozens of them. Be ready. I reach for the weapon. The metal is cold against my hands as I clank it up and into position, and deliberately conscious

of the silver cross resting against my chest. I fire the first beam, flickering it out into an arc and feeling a warm burst of recoil as the light thunders down like curved lightning into the darkness. It tears through three and sends a fourth into a shower of dust. There's so many. How are we supposed to fight against such a tide? Why are you doing this, Adam? Asked the voice of a demon in my left ear.

A female voice, though not one that I recognize. You don't want to hurt you or the others. Please, will you just stand down? No, I mutter through clenched teeth. My voice grim in his defiance. And, in that very same instant, the demons in the mountains below me promptly changed direction. All of them. Where once they were set to stream right past towards the outpost proper, they have now diverted their roots to me instead.

To the tower. To my left and in the corner of my eye, I think for a second that I see the source of the voice. A woman of ever spilling, cascading water-like. shadow, her eyes two pinpricks of glowing embers. I shout out loud in terror and scramble away from my weapon, turning to face her. But she's gone. I am alone. The Bible flickers through another page, and I hear Christian's words in my head in his

thick Norwegian accent. Rule two. Do not engage verbally with the enemy. I hear that. Same phrase again, this time in Eleanor's voice. Idiot, do not engage verbally with the enemy. My blood freezes in my veins. I jump to the weapon and peer through the sights

as the demons scuttle their way towards the Tao's position from all directions. Damn it, damn it, Adam, what have you done now, you idiot? And why not, Adam, comes the voice of the demon. She sounds a little more solid now. less ethereal. I can almost see her or some sick aberration of her in the edges of my vision.

But every time I turn to look she vanishes. Are you afraid of ending up like Christian? I'm sorry for that. Truly, I am so, so sorry. But we were getting desperate. We needed him. Why? I wanted to ask.

But I bite my damn tongue and turn away. returning to the weapon and firing bright, beam-like blasts out into the icy darkness below. The courtyard and the outpost itself are illuminated with firework-like flames as my comrades face their own battles. I stretch and reach out of hand for my radio, shouting into it again, ignoring the whispering in my ear. More firepower on the tower side of the outpost, urgent! I shout as the erratic device crackles and fizzles. I'm not cut out for this clearly.

Maybe Eleanor was right. I just can't seem to stop messing up at every opportunity. I clenched my jaw and murmur the Bible verse as I send out the screaming blasts of the weaponized light. My hands tighten the machinery. My refuge and my fortress. I see myself in the top of the tower, a beacon in the darkness as the froth and surge of the demons below go off. stronger and stronger.

My God, in whom I trust. Please, God, whatever, wherever you are, just save us, save us from the darkness. My eyes widen and my eyebrows furrow with a burst of brutal, fiery determination. A sudden surge through my shoulders and down my spine. For he will deliver me from the snare of the fowler and the deadly pestilence.

I will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day. I cast away the demon that slithers around the tower, and my hair is blown back from my face as the light spirals down and around the courtyard and the rocky drops of the mountains. The demons are burst into clattering, smoking bones as their cries of anguish become one with a taunting, in harmonious song across the range.

The battle goes on. On and on it goes, as the night stretches out and away. and the demons just keep coming, the endless shadowy spiders far below. The lights flash in a man-made storm, the snow falls. I take to the third weapon, the larger piece with a split barrel, and with a judder through my bones and a rumble through the walls, I watch as four glass-like spheres of intensely glowing light are released from the end.

They tumble and drop like stones over the side of the tower, falling for a second, for two. And then they are light like fire, screaming out in the direction they were aimed, spreading and splitting further apart, then further, a rain of light across the gorge. And all the while, a darkness grows in the mountains opposite,

steadily increasing as the hours pass, amassing, writhing. It reminds me of that curious, twisted sun. circle from the other night, but this is no abstract shape. You have to focus to really see it, but the shadows are formed in the shape of a man, hunched over and huddled against the mountain. Whenever my focus is elsewhere, I could swear that I see two mist-like eyes watching me from afar. But, as is typical with these things, whenever I turn to look directly at it, the image is lost. It becomes just another rough shadow between the peaks. A voice comes screaming through the

radio. April's by the sound of it. Adam! Tower! I grabbed the device and shout back down it. What? What did he say? What is it? But nothing further comes through. The device cuts out. out. I run from weapon to weapon, checking all the sights, looking in all directions. But I do not know why April called me. The tide of the demons continue, but... But then I see it. Out there in the mountains, the gathering man-shaped shadow, the colossus in the night. It is slowly, unsteadily rising to stand. One formless, smoke-like hand rests on the mountain. It looks at me, right at me, and I see it. I see its eyes, and again the tide converges. My hands freeze in the weapon. I cannot move, I cannot fire. My heart pounds, and like a slingshot from the void,

a long, dark-shaped rockets towards my position. It strikes the side of the tower and dust rains down from the roof. I watch as the demons flow towards me and I hear the sound of a terrible, almighty crack like thunder

in the darkness. I regain control on my senses and grab a hold of the modified javelin aiming the heavy weapon out and into the night. The great shadowy shape of the man between the mountains is way too far away to hit from here.

But I flick at the weapon's sights and do my best to aim towards the source of that thing that struck the tower. As I look, however, a second of the shadowy arrows tears through the air towards my position. I flinch, and quick as a flash, it strikes the tower in more or less the same place.

Just up and over to the air. my left. Brick and mortar is sent raining down with clouds of dust and smoke blasting out into the snow. Returning to the weapon with a grimace, I take quick aim and fire. Those four burning, glass-like balls bursting out from the barrel, tumbling down for a second, for two, and then shooting up and out towards the target, splitting into further projectiles as they rain that dazzling light out into the gorge. But this rain is too little and too late. There is a second thunder-like boom and the floor shakes. I release the weapon and alarm and push myself across the floor to the tower's opposite side as an enormous section of wall and roof simply breaks away. It collapses with a juddering thud

and then fall slowly to the courtyard below with an almighty crash and rumble. The wind billows with renewed power into the room and it chills me to the bone. Snow too is blown in great swaths as I consider abandoning my post. Rule 5. Keep a constant presence in the tower. Damn, damn! I scramble through the dust and debris to the weapon on the far side, only to realize that it has been lost. where the weapon was once fixed is now only bare crack stone. I grabbed the ledge and looked down over the edge, and I catch glimpse of the mechanisms smash the parts and pieces on the snow-swept ground far below. I lift my gaze and watch in horror as the demons begin clambering their way over the outposts

surrounding wall. Some of them seem to struggle with this, despite the fact that the wall is only waist-high. Some of the demons visibly diminish in size and form as they pass over. But, as more and more of these creatures breach the wall, the easier it becomes for their fellows to follow. They follow the paths made by the trailblazers, opting to cross the wall in narrow streams before spreading out again once they're inside the courtyard. I catch sight of movement on the outpost roof in the shadows. Either Eleanor or April has relocated, and new beams of.

of light I sent blasting down to the ground. The light tears through the stream of the demons, but there are simply too many. There are just too many. I grip my teeth and grab a hold of the javelin, bringing it around with a mechanical crunch and firing a new burst of four projectiles directly down into the courtyard. The air are lights with fire and the sparkler-like rain pours down across the shadow we spread beneath to a chorus of charred and rattling bones. A third of those dark, arrow-like shadows streak through the darkness and hammers into the side of the tower.

And this one, it's the surest. The entire structure seems to waver as a section of rock and brick is blown the hell to pieces, and another corner of wall simply drops down and away, exposing the upper floor almost entirely to the natural force of the elements. The wind whips back my hair and makes my eyes water as I grab a hold of the smaller of the weapons, firing off furious further blasts to the source of these new attacks. Demons clamber up the mountain sides. They spill over the walls. I watch with desperate anguish as they begin to throw themselves against the outpost. Rows of them are evaporated in the beams of the weapons. But there are always

more. Always. The endless, ceaseless horde. There is another rumble, and to my utter dismay, the section of floor I am standing on simply collapses. My stomach lurches as I am dropped. Stones clatter all around me, and the weapon tumbles forward and over the edge. I swivel on the spot as I slip and stumble, reaching out for something, for anything to grab. But my hands catch nothing but air, and down I go, over the edge. I shout out loud in panic, throwing out my hands in one last desperate attempt. My fingers scratched down the flooring, and I'm unable to get a grip. However, it slows my descent just enough for me to bring up my other hand,

and I managed to grab instead a ruined section of wall a little ways farther down the tower. I fall maybe seven or so feet from my position, muscles painfully pull taut as the brick and stone and the weapon continue their downward trajectory, smashing to pieces on the cold hard ground far below. My feet kick in the air for a moment as I hang there precariously. Then they find a section of broken stone and I am able to perch. I carefully release my grip to assess my current situation. I stand on a section of ruined tower.

There is just enough space for my feet. There is not enough space for me to sit down, however. I look around. There is a hole in the tower's wall, just big enough for me to put a hand in, as a kind of hole to help me support myself. But there is nothing else. There is nothing for me to grab arms.

to and nowhere for me to climb. No way back into the tower, no way back up and no way down. I am stuck here, weaponless and alone. The wind roars past my position and I lean back against the brick. Jaw clenched as I feel a smattering of loose rubble get brushed past my feet and sent tumbling over the edge. Damn it, damn it, damn it. All I can do is watch as the demons rush through the courtyard, as the beams of light tear

between them, as clattering bones are sent bursting out in clouds of smoke, and as the creatures continue their relentless assault of the outpost, slamming against the doors, against the windows, against the concrete. I can only catch a glimpse in the erratic flashing light, but I swear I can see modest cracks beginning to form, and the demons see this too. As soon as the first faint crack appears in the concrete, this becomes their new target. The tide of demons grow larger and larger, swelling and rolling like waves. I turn my head to the side, squinting into the screaming wind, watching as the enormous man

made of shadow in the mountains closes his mist-like silvery eyes. He grouches down and is lost to the shadows, his form returning to the darkness between the peaks and the billowing snow clouds. What are you? I whisper into the night. And in my ear comes a response and the spirit of my people. Ask yourself why you are forbidden to converse with us. They are afraid you will come to understand to lay down your arms. Adam, we must be a loud entry into the outpost. We are close now.

We have been close before. And unless this is the final attempt, the cycle of blood will continue. I seek only what is mine, Adam. For a moment, a long, cold moment. The song in the air is lifted from its chaos into a beautiful yet haunting melody. I do not recognize the language, but I can feel the emotional weight of the words nonetheless. It is an anthem I am hearing, I decide. An anthem from long, long ago, I closed my eyes.

For reasons unknown to me, I feel an icy tear slip its way down my cheek, and I see her. A vision in my mind's eye. The woman from the painting Come alive in swirling smoke like mists of gold and silver and black and white I cannot see her face as it is obscured by snow and fog and ash But she is surrounded by fire Her cross is held high glinting with amber and yellow In the firelight as sparks drift across my field of vision

She stands on a rocky hill above a clamoring, horizonless crowd. I hear screams, I see hands reaching out for her, scrambling and scratching at the stone as the smoke thickens darkly in the air. I hear the sound of thunder, the flashing of lightning, and the cracking and crumbling of rock. And as Olga of the ruse turns to face me, the vision is lost. I find myself stumbling. The air rushes past my face as I begin to fall. The dark swell of the demons beneath me draws closer.

The rope knocks past my shoulder. Rope? I swivel as I fall, twisting around and grabbing desperate holder this rope from the heavens. My entire body weight held in his proverbial arms as it tightens. And I shout out loud in pain as I am carried back to the tower, striking my side against the brickwork. hard. But I am alive. Stones tumble down below and I reorient myself, hands burning on the rope, feet squared against the tower's brick. I crane my neck to look up to the rope source,

way overhead. And there, in the storm, at the top of the tower, is Yuri. He stares down at me, his eyes wide and wild. He shouts down at me in Russian, and then, in a thick, almost indecipherable accent, he says something else. One more phrase, just about caught above the rush of the wind. No idiot man left behind. And with this, he starts to pull in the rope, hauling it up one hand over the other. Shocked back into life at the sound of clattering

bones way below. I try my best to help, to ascend back to the perch, then to clamber back up, using the rope to haul my weight as I do so. After several long, exhausting minutes, Yuri is able to reach out and grab the back of my jacket, and he hauls me onto the uppermost level of the tower. We collapse onto the remains of the Snow Street, row-ridden floor, catching our breaths as a light flash and the demons wail. How the hell? He snorts and spits, getting back up to his feet and looking down over the edge, examining the nightmare way below. Tara explode, I see. Abandoned Post the Save Idiot.

He sighs and shakes his head. Ruin. Rule one. We fail. We fail. I look around desperately. There are no weapons up here anymore. Most of the Bibles tumbled off in the explosions, though a couple still remain. A quick glance over the edge shows us that the courtyard has essentially vanished, disappeared beneath a black and shadowy tide. There is no way back to the outpost for us now.

We are an island in a dark, swirling sea, trapped. The attention of the demons has diverted from the time. tower, however, the focus is bent wholeheartedly on breaching the building. What the hell are we going to do, Yuri? I ask him. But the man does not reply. So, with a grunt, I stand up alongside him. And we watch as the demons battle the beams and the clouds drift and crackle overhead. The shadows and the lights clash with flurries of sparks and guises of smoke in steam. The silhouette of a woman on the outpost roof glimmers in and out of focus. Eleanor, it must be, but the night plows on. The outpost, to my utter amazement, holds for the bulk of it.

It holds against this furious tide. But 20 or so minutes before the sunrise, the walls finally break. A section of concrete surrounding the thick doorframe breaks through And as the dust pours in, the demons pouring Scrabbling and heaving over each other As they flow through the gap in the wall Dozens upon dozens, all dragging themselves inside, Arms and legs blurred into the dark.

The others continue the fight. Eleanor, Charlie and April, The weaponized light is temporarily paused as they presumably move to barricade up the roots into the roof. And then they resume, energy renewed, sort of gold in the wintry gloom, whistling, burning beams, and the growing mass of charred, blackened bones.

Hang in there, guys, I will to them, quenching my fist. Hang in there. They hold the line as best as they can. All light now focused on the gap in the wall. The battle rages. Then, at long last, the shadows start to peel back, and the sun rises. The snow and the wind ease off, and the natural light of the day is gradually returned to the world. The song quickly tapers off to be lost on the breeze,

and the last of the demons tear across the ruined courtyard to the gap in the wall, smoking and steaming as they do so. Some of them are slowed as if struck and entrapped And they melt away into oblivion That thick, tarry smoke drifting up and away into the air Others are successful and make it to the gap But all these stragglers are caught in the beams and evaporated Uri and ur and I exchanged the look

Some got in though Some definitely got in How many? It's hard to tell. But surely, surely no less than 50. More perhaps. There are no words exchanged. It's time to go and clear out the remainders and to assess the damage.

Reminders, I think to myself, as we descend the ladder, single file. We're not talking remainders here. We're talking a sizable, dangerous force. Will the sun clear them out, or are they still in there? What the hell could 50 demons achieve altogether? What have they done? My anxiety spikes with every step of the journey, as we reach the floor of the tower with that crappy pipe-leaking bathroom.

As we ascend the second ladder, as we make our way back down the stairs around and around. As we pass by the painting of Olga, Olga of Kiev, Olga of the ruse We push through the tower's door To the world beyond To wreckage and ruin

Broken rock smashed up stone And thousands upon thousands of bones Some more blackened than others But all charred to a degree They come up to almost our knees These bones And they rattle and clatter

As we try to kick and shove them aside He returns and heaves some ribs away with a loud rattling, swearing as he does so, searching beneath them for the remains of the weapons, the ones that tumbled from the tower's peak. I reached out myself and pick up one of the bones for a closer look. It's a rib piece, almost entirely whole. I look past it to the sea of bones beyond,

and really pay attention to each of the individual parts. ribs sections of spine but i can see them more clearly now my previous experiences with the bones involved me only seen them for a split second clattering down the mountainside out of sight in the dark but now they are laying right at my feet illuminated in the light of the rising sun they are stuck to each other with a thick viscous black tar-like substance, but they are quite obviously. Human, I realize. Human shaped and sized at least. There are broken hip bones, pieces of arm and leg, an almost complete arm and a hand, still loosely connected with that disgusting tar, rests on a charred, cracked, and

decidedly human skull right by my foot. I swallow, my mouth dry, my lips peeling from the icy wind. I look over to Yuri, and the man stands back up with armfuls of broken machinery, the bulk of one of the weapons from the top of the tower. Or, to be more accurate, it remains. He nods and grunts at me as we continue, heading across the courtyard. My hands going for my gun as we draw closer and closer to the, gap in the concrete. I scarcely had to use the thing so far, but images of Eleanor, shooting

down Christians possessed body, return to the forefront of my mind. The sound of gunfire from within the complex sends a hammer through my heart, and we break into a run, onwards in aid of our comrades. The morning light is clear now, bright and sparkling through the the thick, heavy glass of the outposts windows. Yuri dumps the equipment he is carrying at the crossroads in the corridor and begins tearing through it, rebuilding and reorganizing the mechanisms with his bare hands at lightning speed. He shouts something at me, but it's in Russian and I don't understand.

I get the idea, though, I think. I raise my weapon and move from wall to wall, check in the lines of sight down the corridors. The place is full of bones, of broken concrete, of thick, sludgy tar, splattered way up to the ceiling. I hear a crash and another series of gunshots coming from down the hall to my right. I know what's down there. It's the room that Charlie showed me, with the little holes scratched and torn away through the floorboards, the meeting hall or whatever it was. Yuri, I know where they are.

He snorts and spits and makes a gesture with his hand. Go on then, it seems to say. And so I do. I head down the corridor with careful focus, looking this way and that for any signs of a struggle before rounding the corner and glancing through the open doorway to the meeting room. There's a demon inside.

That much is clear. Eleanor and April are in there also. I look back at Yuri and make a gesture with my hand. He swears under his breath, nods, and grabs up the remains of the weapon with a few final adjustments. We breached the room loudly and clearly. Eleanor and April take hasty steps towards a pile of stacked up chairs in the corner, and the demon crashes from wall to wall like a trapped bird, sticking itself to the ceiling and slithering rapidly across the concrete.

It moves like water, with a consistency of smoke. Every now and then, the rough glimpse of a humanoid shape becomes clear in its form. There's a lot to take in at once. The room is a wreck for starters. Where once there was a small hole, barely even waist height, it is now enormous, cavernous, a huge, gaping dark void in the centre of the floor. concrete and wood has been thrown and torn up with reckless abandon and hurled to the sides of the room and to my utter and total horror there is movement down below movement in the dark

death time mutters yuri from behind me and he pulls back the trigger of the weapon in his hands it starts to burn brighter and brighter and using a makeshift kill catched that he is evidently constructed in the last few minutes, he locks the trigger in place and throws the weapon down into the hole. The beams blast out in a furious circle, whizzing and sparking and screaming with a brilliant white flame. My awe in the power of the light only seems to intensify it further, and I find myself being dragged from the room, along with Eleanor and April, as the fire burns and splatters the walls with shattering bones and great explosive bursts of that thick black tar.

We come to a stop around another of the corners, sweating from the heat, but even here the light is of an intensity I have not yet seen. It is dazzling, blinding almost. I have to shield my eyes, though, before I do so, I catch a glimpse of Yuri. with his eyes already closed, clutching his cross, muttering to himself under his breath over and over and over. The screaming of the demons grows louder and louder, the smashing, clattering of bones like a constant heavy rain. But, after a while, these sounds all start to die down. The light fades. The screeching of the demons grows weaker and weaker, until at least.

At last, it falls completely silent. Just four of us, breathing heavily in this battered, bruised corridor of the complex. Christ, April murmurs after a beat, her chest rising and falling as she looks between us. Eleanor swallows, sweat budding on her forehead, and she leads the way, returning to the room with her back straight and weapon raised. But the room is empty now. Now, there is no sign of life at all, or whatever imitation of life it is that the demons boast. The hall is covered in that disgusting tar and bones lit to the floor.

The great deep hole in the room centre is dark with his splattered remains, but there is no movement. Foot steps behind us bid us to swivel at once, though it's only Charlie. I'm relieved to see that he appears himself. His eyes are as they should be, and he nodded us grimly as he approaches. We didn't do so well last night, did we? He asks rhetorically.

He clasped me on the shoulder. Good to see you all right though, mate. I was worried about you, seeing that tower come down. Yeah, I reply uneasily, still shaken. Yeah, you're a... Well, I fell off after one of the explosions. Yeru was able to haul me back up. Eleanor's eyes flicker over to him,

and she asks him something in Russian. Yuri shakes his head in response and says nothing further. Time to check out what these things were after then, eh? Charlie mutters, reaching to his belt with his scarred, calloused hands, drawing out his flashlight and flicking on the switch. Eleanor clenches a jaw as Charlie angles the light down into the massive hole that the demons have carved into the rock beneath the outpost geez would you look at that he mutters what the April says with wide eyes Yuri raises his eyebrows and reaches for his own flashlight adding his beam to Charlie's

and we all peer down into the dark The hole is much deeper now, of course. I crouched down at his edge and squint into the gloom. I can see a little better what I failed to see the other night. The hole opens up into a wide cavern, an enormous hollow cavern right here beneath the outpost. A cavern filled with rows and rows of still and silent statues. They are all arranged in rows like some terracotta army. There are women and children amongst the men.

These rows of people made of stone extend away in the darkness on all sides. It's impossible to tell how many there might be. Yuri cast his beam over the only visible wall in the cavern down below. The light illuminates a series of runes carved into the rock. I squint. Beneath the lines of large text are what appears to be an early form of Sevilleik. Like Russian, but not quite. There's something inherently primitive about it.

Yuri mutters under his breath and stares at Eleanor wide-eyed. What the hell are those statues? April asks quietly, this is what the demons are trying to reach? Movement in the cavern below sends a tremor of fear through the group like electricity. It all happened so quickly. A man, a human man, rises suddenly out from the shadows, his hand on the shoulder of a nearby statue. He stares up at us and screams, spittle flying from a mouth of broken teeth.

His clothes are ragged and robe-like. ancient looking really and he wears a helmet of dull metal carved with two ram-like horns on either side he raises a hand in a quick blurred motion pointing towards us no not us at Eleanor and I have just enough time to cover my closest ear as Eleanor promptly raises a weapon wait Charlie shouts out but she does not A shot rings out loud and clear, and the mysterious man in the cavern below goes down like a rock. Dark blood is sprayed across the wall from the back of his head, and the light is lost as the attention of the flashlight bearers turn to Eleanor. She stares down into the dark, her eyes wide, her lips curl back into a sneer, tightening that ghastly scar.

Then she turns away and begins to walk from the dark. room. Charlie stumbles over his words. He calls after her. "'Eleaner, what the hell is going on here? You know something, don't you?' April's eyebrows furrow in anger, and she shouts at the Russian as she reaches the doorway. "'What is happening, Eleanor? You need to tell us what's going on. Enough is enough.' Even Yuri watches the woman in confusion. He cocks his head, he clenches and Unclenches his jaw and mutter something in Russian. Eleanor pauses at the door, and she turns back to us, such that only the good half of her face is visible.

Concrete mixes in the shed on the south side. Concrete chunks and rock can be moved to block gaps. Skeletons cleared. We work now for one hour. We sleep for five, then we work again. Wall sealed before nightfall, there will come again. You really are hiding something, aren't you, Eleanor? Charlie mutters, his eyes narrowing as he wipes some dust from his nose. Eleanor says nothing more. She simply takes a leave, and we listen to the sound of her footsteps as they gradually disappear down the corridor.

After a long, cold pause, I turn to Yuri. Yuri, I begin carefully. Please, man, is there anything you can tell us about Eleanor that she's hiding? I don't know what it is, but let's face it. Did she seem all that surprised by the discovery down below? I mean, statues of people in the dark beneath the outpost? I thought this was all about laylines or whatever. Yuri, is she hiding something from us?

The man's cheek twitches. His dark, shadowed eyes look between us as we regard to him. him. Then he sighs and spits onto the ground. He mutters in Russian and says in English. Work to do, fix wall. And away he goes, and that's that. As badly as the questions are now burning, the walls take priority. We spend the next hour in relative contemplative silence. Charlie and I mix rapid set in concrete April clears the bones in the blood I catch sight of Eleanor in the courtyard

carefully redrawing the various symbols across the walls in white chalk where the demons scrubbed them away I noticed that she seems to be focusing on the Christian ones the most We get those five hours of sleep And god damn are they badly needed They pass by far too close quickly, however. And like a zombie, I rise to return to work.

The gap in the wall is hastily fixed back up with the chunks of broken concrete and the sloppy mix of the new batch. The work is not aesthetic, but it might just do. Yuri searches through the bones for the remains of the weapons and disappears off to some workshop to try and fix them up. We are unable to entirely fix the enormous. hole in the meeting hall floor, but we do manage to narrow it down somewhat, and the area above it is heavily nailed over with ugly planks of wood, and with materials we are able

to locate in store rooms. What gets me is how poorly prepared the outpost is to fix up this damage. I mean, yeah, the concrete mix is available, but a variety of materials at our disposal is incredibly limited and I can't help but wonder hell to command even know what lies beneath this place my mind whirles as I work as supplies where Abel are restocked status beneath the outpost a man killed in cold blood he wasn't possessed was he he didn't move like Christian did he didn't send out a dozen voices at once the way Christian did either he seemed just

human. I rub my hands across my eyes. The demons are trying to get beneath the outpost. They're trying to reach the cavern. They're trying to reach the statues, right? Is that it? But why? What did the demons want with a load of carved rock?

I feel like the answer is right in front of me. I'm just missing one or two pieces of the puzzle. Eleanor. What do you know, Eleanor? I start to grow angry, like April was earlier. How dare she keep secrets from us? We're putting her lives at risk here for... For what?

Why are we defending this godforsaken outpost in the middle of the mountains? April is just beside me, and I slammed down a chunk of concrete with a cloud of dust, and I turned to her. She looks over and reads my expression, grimacing. What are we going to do about her? ask. It's obvious who I'm talking about. I don't know, she replies with a sigh. Do we just confront her? She scares me, Adam, the way she shot that guy in the cavern. I mean, who was he? Elena knows except what if she doesn't? Would she do that, kill someone in cold

blood without any information at all? What does she know? I think we should go find Yuri. Yuri, he's not going to help us. No, I think he might. He's changed these past couple of days, April. Ever since he was dragged over the edge, he's been unsettled for a while, and I don't think he and Eleanor are quite on the same page that we thought they were. April hesitates.

Come on, I say, let's go find him. He isn't in any of the places we check, however. He isn't in the workshop. he isn't in comms or anywhere near the tower. We start to become frustrated, then worried. I don't want to call for him over the radio because I'm a little cautious of Eleanor overhearing. But at long last, we locate him,

huddled up in the corner of an archives room, dusty old folders and files laid out before him, illuminated in the glow of an ancient lamp. Yuri, I mutter, and the guy glances up at me. What are you doing here, man? The Russian regards me. His eyes flicker from my face to April's. After a measured pause, he gestures to one of the folders on the ground, kicking it with his foot.

I share a glance with April, and reach down to pick it up, thumbing open the cover, to reveal a series of photocopies and art. articles, historical records. An Olga of Kiev, the woman in the painting. April murmurs something and carefully takes the folder from my hands, flicking through. Most of the content is in Russian, but some appears to be in English. Yuri, I begin cautiously. You don't know, do you?

You don't know what Ellen is hiding from us? The man considers me, then shakes his head. A pipe his is softly overhead and the lights flicker. There was writing on the wall in the cavern, in Russian. There was some in another language too. It looked a little like runes. But the Russian, were you able to read it? Yuri shrugs and grunts.

He drops the file in his hands onto the desk with a thud. Old, he says simply. Very, very big old, long time. Sealed away, they said, locked away. And what? He runs his tongue over his teeth. Drevillian. Drevillian?

Yuri nods. I don't understand. What does that mean in English? Devil? demon? He shakes his head. It means nothing. It's same in English as Russian.

Dravillian is word. Trevillian run the word through my head, but it means nothing to me. April suddenly reaches out her hand, and she grabs me by the arm. I jolt in surprise and turned to look at her, but the woman is staring intently down at the page. Her eyes wide.

Adam, she mutters. You gotta read this. There's something in here that's... That's... She's interrupted by a crackling on the radio. Lads, comes Charlie's voice, grainy and far away. I think you might want to make your way to the front door.

We have a guest. A guest? Too damn much is happening at once. The three of us don't need much convincing. We were up at once and marching down the corridors, quickly between the scarred walls of the complex to the gate at the outposts far side, the one I passed through on my very first day here. Yuri mutters to himself in Russian. A guest, I say out loud, is someone here? Ellen only called for back-up yesterday morning. There's no way Kristen's replacement could be

here already, right? She said it would take way longer. Adam, Abraises, I really, really do need to talk to you. But we reached the gate. Charlie is there, as is Eleanor, and they partway to allow us a view out into the courtyard beyond, into the grim, grey haze of the evening, and there, to my utter shock, stands a man I recognise. A man from my base, and a man I am more. well, well familiar with.

He stares at me, an eye at him. Uh, hi guys, the man says, with an awkward wave, his accent the same as mine. It's good to meet you, I think. He glances down to the pile of charred bones in which he stands. The name is Adam, Adam Smith, reporting for duty. The others look from him. to me and back. I fumble for words as the cold gust of wind blows into the outpost. You're the replacement for Christian? I manage, and the other item raises an eyebrow. Christian, he replies. Christian, repeats another voice. A grizzled man pokes his head inside from around the corner.

It's Sokolov, Officer Soglov. The same race. Russian officer that led me here. When exactly? A week ago maybe? Feels like months. Everyone inside salutes, including myself, and the man returns it, bidding us to ease with a grunt and a wave.

Eleanor steps forward and asks something of the man in Russian. He replies and gestures from Adam to me. I hear him mention Christian's name, and Eleanor sadly shakes at him. head with the response. Soklov sighs and looks to the ground. Shame, he says in English. I will miss that one. A big loss. Wait, sir, I cut in, stepping forwards down the corridor myself. You didn't know he was dead? Then what's Adam doing here? Well, I'm here to replace you, man, Adam says.

Turns out you were never supposed to be up here in the first place. I'm the one they wanted to send. Jeez, I reply, sucking some air in through my teeth. I knew nothing of Christian till now, Sarklov says. I do not deal with this. If replacement requested, then he will be here. I do not know where from. One of the others will be bringing them up when available.

He points at me. You, Smith, duty over. Congratulations. Time to go. Any half turns? expecting me to follow. The others turned to look at me. Charlie, April, Yuri and Eleanor, all waiting. I consider it, you know. I consider going with Soklov. I mean, why shouldn't I? I'd done my time. I did my duty. I answered the call when the call should never have gone to me in the first place.

It was all a mess up, a classic logistical blunder. I mean, I had my suspicions, but I really thought that with something like this, the above's would have been more careful. I guess I was wrong. But still, I can't just go. Not now. If I stay, sir, then we have six. The six required for the optimal running of the outpost.

I turned to Eleanor. That's right, isn't it? all this space, all these empty rooms, six is the magic number. That's what you said, six defenders. Eleanor opens her mouth, hesitates, then cautiously agrees. She turns the Sokolov. This is true, sir, she says. Then goes to say some more in Russian, and Sokolov regards her. Then me. And then. He just shrugs. You want to stay, stay. You are offered a way home.

Remember this. He takes a step back, his coat rustling in the wind. And I said, if you requested replacement for Christian, then there will be here within day, maybe two, maybe three. Weather depends. Goodbye. We stand to attention and salute, and he nods one back. Then, away he goes, turning on his heels and clattering back through the bones, scarcely giving them a second glance.

He does call back over his shoulder, though, one more time before he disappears into the haze. Shame about Tower, we'll inform command, hopefully fixed by end of this quarter. And that's that. I can just about make out his silhouette, clumbering over the little wall that surrounds the outpost, and then he furnishes, leaving the six of us in the open gate of the outpost. Adam Smith looks between us, perhaps catching a glimpse of the exhaustion, the ever-flickering, quietly burning fear that now shimmers in all our eyes. He looks down again to the bones.

He swallows. So, would anyone care to explain this, uh, situation? to a newbie like myself. He asks with a weak, dry laugh. No one laughs with him. And the man is led grimly through the outpost and into the hexagon. We sit. We sit in silence for a while, as Adam eats from a can of Russian meat mush of some kind.

His chewing and the occasional hiss of a pipe in the walls are the only sounds. Snow falls slowly and silently beyond the glass. Adam keeps his mouth open as if to speak, then deciding against it, choosing instead to simply shovel in more meat mush, unsure if he actually wants any answers, or if he'd prefer to live for a little longer in blissful ignorance. At last, he can stand it no longer, and he turns in his seat to face me.

Adam, what's going on, man? What the hell happens here? Russians and Americans together? What's the deal with that? Yeah, that too was my first concern when I arrived here. I scarcely even considered this international anomaly at all now. Compared to the surreal, nightmarish nonsense that is thrown at us here on the regular, the fact that we're working with the Army of the Russian Federation barely even registers as I flicker in my thought process.

I'm gonna level with you, man. I tell him, breaking the unofficial seal my comrades and I have been keeping. This place is dangerous. We fight demons here. Adam laughs. And as before, no one joins him. I stare at him, blank-faced. You're kidding, right?

He asks. Demons? Come on, man. Are you religious, Adam? I ask him. I don't think I've ever asked you before. Well, no, he says in response. No, not really.

You will be. April, Charlie and I murmur in unison. Demons? Is this a joke? Adam stands up angrily. Stop messing around. Do you have any idea what I had to go through to get here? A helicopter nearly crashed in a damn storm.

Eleanor herself rises to her feet. The other Adam is a little taller than myself, but she stands higher than even he, and I can feel the second-hand frost of arctic glare boring into this newcomer. Americanette, she mutters, glancing over to Yuri. Yuri, however, says nothing. To my great interest, he simply looks down to the floor. I catch a fleeting scowl on Eleanor's face, maybe even a touch of concern perhaps

but she lets it go Adam takes a step back awkwardly then strides over to me he gets right up in my face though I don't flinch Adam he says desperately come on what the hell is this demons we're not fighting demons

that's a joke what are we doing here I pause you know what maybe you're right adam maybe we aren't fighting demons at all perhaps you should be addressing your questions to eleanor here instead i look over to her my gaze heavy and i know that she can feel its weight the snow falls and the tension in the room tightened somewhat april stares at me i can see her in the corner of my eye her lips remains seen But the meaning behind a paranoid expression is clear. Adam, it says, are you sure about this? If we confront her directly, there might be no going back. We don't know what she's capable of.

The blood in my body begins the chill considerably as Eleanor's eyes bore back into mine. Her mouth twitches and it pulls that scar grotesquely across her cheek. I stand up. Elena, it's time to share with us what you've been hiding. We simply don't know what we're fighting anymore. I'm realizing that I never did. Please, just tell us the truth. What are we fighting?

Why have you dedicated yourself so wholeheartedly to this outpost? Why six people only? And who are you? Abel asks in a quiet, almost imperceptible voice. I do not know what you're talking about, "'Eleaner replies, Levely, all eyes fixed on the woman "'as the wind blows with a sudden renewed force beyond the walls. "'The snow is whipped into a frenzy.

"'We don't have long till nightfall now, chaps.' "'Charlie mutters. "'You remain seated at the back of the room. "'But, as with us all, all eyes are on Eleanor. "'Eleaner, come on. "'You know something. It's obvious. "'Just share with a group, and we could go. or move on.

I do not have time for this, Eleanor mutters, and she turns to take a leave. She finds herself blocked, however. Yuri, having risen from his seat, has stepped in a way, blocking her path from the room. This is ridiculous, she says, then points at Yuri and barks something in Russian. Yuri shakes his head, his hands by his sides. Eleanor scoffs and tries to go for another exit And this time she's blocked by Charlie Likewise rising up from his seat to stand in her way

You people are crazy We defend outpost that is our job With a sudden and surprising sob of anguish Eleanor reaches down to a belt To a gun perhaps Maybe not But every single person in the room catches the motion And before Eleanor's hand reaches a moment

waste, four weapons are drawn, cocked, and aimed directly at her. Whoa, geez, what the? Adam begins, but his surprise is lost beneath the shouting. Eleanor's face crackles with fury. It's an almost palpable electricity, a current running between the six of us. Yuri, she shouts into the man's face, her forehead thudding against the butt of the rifle. Let me pass. How could you do this, Diron,

comrade. Her words blow into Russian, rife with expletives. Sweat buds of my forehead and leaks in little trickles down my neck. Eleanor swivels to face me and the sweat freezes against my skin. Eleanor? Stand down, I mutter. I'm sorry. I don't want to shoot you, obviously.

Eleanor strides towards me and I raised the gun higher, stumbling in retreat, shouting now, "'Eleanor, stop. Stop now, or I'll shoot.' She hesitates, bears her teeth at me. "'I do not know the answers. I know nothing. I guard outpost, like you all.' Yuri tuts and shakes his head. He grunts something in Russian. Eleanor responds to this with a sharp 180, pulling back a fist and smashing it into Yuri's nose. Blood splatters against the wall, and Yuri scrambles backwards, shaking his rifle in Eleanor's face and shouting at her in loud, very angry Russian. We're all shouting again now, but Eleanor pays it no mind.

You will not shoot me, all too soft, need me to stay alive regardless. Kill me and all die. Why? I ask her, pleading in my voice. Why, Eleanor? Why do we need you to stay alive? What are you to this place? I lower my weapon with a sigh and slump back into my chair,

running a hand through my hair, the tension trickling away. It's pointless. Eleanor's right. We're not going to shoot her, and we all know it. We're putting our lives on the line. We came close to a total loss last night. The demons almost got what they wanted. Perhaps some of them did.

I turned to her. But we don't know what they want. How can we effectively defend when we don't even know this simple fact? It might be easier tonight with Adam here, but... But why? Why is six better than five? Is it better than seven? Eleanor clenches a jaw, regards me.

Come on, Eleanor. Please. Beguer's turn in Eleanor's head as she robs the bruise forming her cross. knuckles. Then she too simply slumps down into a chair with a sigh, one directly opposite me. Charlie and April cautiously lower their weapons, though Yuri does not. Eleanor glances over to him and shouts. Yuri mutters something to himself and reluctantly does, as she says, lowering his weapon. He keeps it in his hands, however, and chooses to take a seat at a fire.

distance. There are six needed the guard outpost. Eleanor begins, warily, her voice passionless. She sounds tired. So, so tired. No more than six. Too many people here is like pouring blood into the sea. All those heartbeats, all those thoughts, feelings, fears. The enemy comes like sharks. They came like sharks last night, Charlie says from his position. and there were only five of us. So what happened? What changed? They got themselves a taste of what it is they are after, driven to bloodlust, I guess.

They share a consciousness. You all saw it previous night. The shadowing mountains, the giant, the spirit of the... The enemy. Eleanor Wavers, then continues, We suffered so greatly last night because we were without Christian. Christian specifically. I don't understand, I murmur.

Why him specifically? We'll be okay tonight, right? We have the six. We have the new Adam. Adam Smith, Eleanor says, looking up at last to our newest member, how is your childhood? He regards her.

I'm sorry? Your childhood, good or bad, simple question. Well, good, I guess. Pretty damn good. My parents were... Yeah, she says with a dismissive wave. Didn't ask for your life's story. She sighs.

Tonight will be hard. Christian was good defender because he understood the truth of suffering. He and I were... We were good friends, I like to hope. Something shimmers in Eleanor's eyes, and she wipes them back with a bruised hand, half turning away. My childhood was not good. It was bad.

Very, very bad. I understand what it means to suffer when suffering was not deserved, more than most. Christian understood this too. We were shields, he and I. Shields against the enemy. The greater your understanding of suffering, the greater the strength of the outpost, the greater the resistance to the demons. She looks around the room.

Yuri, I know childhood was not great, but was fine, and you, Westerners. She looks from Charlie to April, to Adam, and to myself. You do not know suffering in its purest form. Your use here is limited. I tried to process this. But I thought we had spiritual resistance or whatever. L.A lines are real. The supernatural resistance, real.

That is why you're here. But even despite this, your use is limited. So, why don't command just send soldiers with terrible childhoods then? Abel asks, why don't our government just send people with awful upbringing? Because, Eleanor cuts in angrily. They do not know. No one knows. Except I know.

Christian knew. And now all of you know, too. You must keep it a secret. You must. If I believe you intend to share this secret with any, I will kill you. I'm not joking." She looks between us one by one.

Why? I ask. Why is this secret so important to keep? To pizza, Elena's eyes shaking ahead. Think about it. Governments want to defend outpost. What do you think governments do if they can defend outpost more securely with soldiers who have suffered as children? I open my mouth.

but say nothing. Eleanor continues. Government will create these soldiers. They already send soldiers from the laylines. If they know there would be better soldiers for having suffered, they will take them, they will make them suffer, and I will not allow this.

Never. No one will suffer like I did. No one will go through what I had to go through. They wouldn't, April murmurs. No government would do such a thing. I mean the Russians might but But the American government No, they'd never do anything so cruel

Her words hang in the air Wouldn't they Eleanor mutters quietly And we darkly consider this Alright I say slowly So, so that I suppose I can understand but

The enemy They're not demons are they They can't be There's just no way The more I think about it, we're not battling the forces of hell here, are we? But they respond to the religious stuff, to the Christianity. Why? Why is that?

Drevlyan. Yuri grunts, scratching the stubble across his chin. We fight Drevline, the word on the wall of the cavern. This is what Yuri was researching in the archives. What's he talking about? It's an accusation. He waits for Eleanor to confirm his words, and at last she does. She turns the look out of the window, and she nods.

Yes, the Trevlion. That's what we're fighting. Not demons, but people. A race of people called the Trevlian. They were all destroyed a thousand years ago, a name lost in time. They became slowly the Dreveld. the devils and then simply demons. The Dreblian, Charlie repeats.

Never heard of them. Who the hell might they be? And why do they want access to this building so bloody badly? Eleanor closes her eyes. She takes a slow, deep breath. She tells us the story of the Dreblian and of Olga of Kiev. The woman in the painting. The Dreblian were, so she says, an ancient race of people who lived in what is now Eastern Europe over a thousand years ago.

Vaguely Slavic in ethnicity, with their own customs, stories, aspirations and anthems. Eleanor believes the song we hear across the mountains at night might be the song of the Dreblian people. A man named Oleg of the Rus, led the dominant nation in the region at the time, and the Dreblians amongst the other tribes and peoples of Eastern Europe. They were expected to pay tribute and swear to him their loyalty, an oath of service in exchange for Oleg's defences. Upon Oleg's death, however, the Dreblian lords changed their minds. And a midnight council in the midst of a snowstorm,

it was decided that they would abandon the other peoples and choose to immediately halt their tribute, and all promise of fealty. Oleg's successor was a man named Igor, Igor of Keeve, a man who made many mistakes, a man misguided, but a good man all the same,

a man who did his best by his people. Igor, unsure how to approach the Dreblians, initially sent an armed force to their capital to demand what he was owed, and was met with indignation and verbal hostility, and he returned with a meagre tribute far less than what he was promised than what he was owed. Not wanting to escalate matters any further, Igor for his second attempt travelled to the wintry home of the Trevlians himself

to speak with their leaders personally and to fix what he hoped was little more than a frayed thread of diplomacy. Eleanor pauses for a moment as she reaches this part. she swallows and rubs the throat and she tells us that the Trevlians saw the situation a little differently they murdered Igor of Kiev by tying his legs the two birch trees the trunks bent and trembling and held in place with ropes and net once Igor had been secured and the Trevlin lords had boasted the breaking of their oath

the nets and the ropes were released the trees in all their minds might and power sprang back to their original opposite positions. And Igor was promptly torn into two. There are, apparently, accounts from those present that say that they saw his bones burst right out from his body. Though, of course, there is no way to verify now if such was true. Igor's death was felt across the region. But no one greater than his loving wife, Olga. Olga of Kiev, Olga of the Rousse, the woman depicted in the tower's painting.

Whilst the Dreblians celebrated their freedom, Olga's soul was twisted and burned into a driving force for vengeance, for revenge, for justice. The Dreblians emboldened by their newfound freedom gloated to Olga, and as the first female ruler of the Rousse, she was perceived as little more more than a pliable weakling. The Dreblians were wrong. They did not see.

They did not see the Arctic fire that burned behind her eyes. They did not see the frost that formed with her every waking breath. They did not see when the first train of her boastful ambassadors were buried alive, scrabbling and scratching and screaming in the perpetual darkness. They did not see when the second were tricked. and trapped in a locked and burning building reduced a little more than charred and blackened bones. They did not see when Olga, acting the meek and weakened woman, requested an overdue funeral for her husband, Igor, at the sight of his death. Her request was granted, and, as she wept

for what was lost in the Trevelyan capital, the Trevelyans drank. Drunkenly, they plotted their plans for the future. They wager. on who would be the one to marry Olga of Kiev. And as the night progressed, they were slaughtered in their thousands. Olga's Rusk killed each and every noble, garden soldier present, and the city was set ablaze.

It was only then that the Trevlians began to see. Ruse's reinforcements circled around and pushed their enemy easy, and one by one the cities of the Trevlion were raised. Every plea, every desperate request for peace and for surrender were met with little more than wind. Olga never ceased. She never stopped. On which she marched with the soldiers, driving the Drebliin ever back. On one late day of this slaughter, Olga halted and commanded her forces to wait. A message was sent out, the hearts of the embattled people.

of the embattled people leapt when at last, at long, long last, it seemed that Olga of Kiev would finally show them mercy. After all, their lords and nobles were all now dead, buried or burned or slashed to pieces, and the last of the Trevlinian people were besieged in the final city still standing, their lone bastion. Olga, promising peace, demanded one final tribute. Six birds. Just six. Six birds from each household as a promise of freedom and the war's end.

The Dreblians were relieved and they gladly accepted, and the tribute of the great flock was swiftly made and delivered to Olga herself. Olga had no intention of forgiving the Drebillon however. As she stood amongst this host of birds, she commanded a soldiers to attach to each and every one a string of sulphur and rags of cloth. Then, when the sunset that day, the sulphur was set light and the birds were released. The orange of the glow was said to shine in Auger's eyes as the sky began to sparkle with a hundred thousand air. The birds did as Olga knew they would.

They returned to their homes, to their nests, in the rafters and roofs of the houses and buildings of the Trevillians. And all at once, the wood began to burst into flame. The city was a burning wreck within the hour, and there was nothing the inhabitants could do but run, to flee yet further still. They were chased by all good soldiers for hundreds and hundreds of miles east, way across the wastes. And there, at the base of the Ural Mountains, and they could go no further, they banded together the Dreblians for one desperate final stand.

They were the men still standing. They were the women, they were the children, they were the elderly. They were not warriors or fighters, but they still numbered in over a hundred hundred people. over a hundred thousand and in those final hours they all felt the end and they all prepared to fight as only one backed into a corner truly can they still had their hope Olga however did not plan to fight she would not accept a single further drop of Roos's blood being spilled for these demons and so as the Trevliants were steadily encircled it came to pass that she

She burst from the shadows behind them, atop a rocky hill, her cross in her hand and shining in the reflection of the fire her soul just blazed in the dark. Her robes whipped around her body in the growing windstorm, and she stood defiant as she began to chant, as she raised that cross up high, and in the name of her god, she swore to tear the drevely and souls right out from their bodies, to tear them to pieces as they They had torn apart her beloved. She roared with the power the Dreblians had not yet seen. Christianity was unknown to these people.

They did not know the cross. They were afraid of the strength of her conviction in this foreign Abrahamic mysticism, and that in turn gave it a power unique to that moment of madness. Whether God himself was involved is not certain, nor the certainty of his existence. But on the Trevlians' final day, it was Olga's power, channeled through a cross, had led to the end of their story once and for all.

Their souls were ripped from their bodies and cast out into the waste as shadows. There would be no more peace for the Trevlians, no eternal rest or slumber. Only suffering. Endless, maddening, suffering. The only material substance that was left of the Dreblian people were soulless bodies of a rock-like chalky crust, and these husks were carried one by one way up through the cracks of the mountain, where they were sealed away in a dark, deep, near unreachable cavern. Olga made sure to carve into the cavern's walls the nature of their crimes, with a warning that they would remain here for eternity with no risk.

rest, and no respite. And there, the story ends. The scattered, twisted souls of the Drebillion eventually found their cavern, but the descendants of the ruse manned an eternal guard, the reason as to why, gradually lost through the centuries, an eternal guard that had largely held off the attacks on the outpost. Until now, that is, until me, With a mistake as idiotic as a mix-up with names, Eleanor trails off, and we all stare off into space, taking in the gravity of this outrageous knowledge. But what about the other outposts? I murmur.

Christian said there was one in Australia, India, he said. I know what he said, Eleanor interrupts. He said those things because that's what I told him. I lied. There are no other outposts. There is this and only this. There are no other outposts. So it's just this one then.

Just us six alone in the mountains. Adam and I were born in the same place, I say out loud, giving voice to another thought that's been nagging at me. We were both born on the same lay line. Our supernatural resistance should be the same. No. So why has everything gone to hell only recently?" Eleanor snorts.

I told you this at the beginning. You are not like the others. You are childish and immature. You simply have a dangerous personality. You are type to bring chaos and calamity wherever you go. You have not suffered Adam and are still too soft for this outpost. Yuri mutter something in Russian under his breath. Eleanor shoots him a look.

I think in that moment about my brother, about his death ten years ago. I push aside the false voice that the demon, the Dreblian, eased into my head, and I remember my brother's true voice, his presence, his warmth. I've done my share of suffering, Eleanor, I say quietly, but thanks, still. Maybe things would have been different if the correct item had been sent in my place. Maybe Christian would still be alive Maybe the tower would be undamaged Maybe the cavern beneath us would still be sealed away

I guess we'll never know now So why the hell are we doing this April asks pressing her palms against her eyes for a moment We're stopping the trevelling souls from reaching their bodies I get that but I still don't understand why Why don't we just let them return that this whole thing end, be done with it once and for all, then no one will need to stay in the outpost.

It can be decommissioned. For one simple reason, Eleanor replies, if a drevlyan soul returns to the body from which they were separated, they are flooded in an instant with a thousand years of hatred, of bitter rage, anguish. A being is not meant to exist for so long. Return to material, they would find themselves displaced, out of sink.

They are dangerous and violent and brimming with latent spiritual power. If Trevlyan successfully enter the outpost, reach cavern and find bodies, that is over 100,000 angry, mind-broken monsters released into the world. Bloodshed will return. Cycle of hatred will continue. She rises to a stand, and I get the sense her speech is drawing to her close. It's getting darker anyway. Not much time left now.

Night will be falling soon, and the new Adam still doesn't really have a clue what's going to happen. I stay here in this outpost because my presence here is greatest shield outpost could ever ask for. And second, to write the sins of the past. August's fury back then caused terrible pain and trauma to this part of the world. The story of the Dreblins is brutal, sad, complex. But if those souls return to the bodies, the terror unleashed on further innocence will be horrible. Iron in his brutality. But that's not right, Ellen replies, standing up herself.

These people, the Dreblians, these are innocents that were, they were torn from their bodies. That's what you said. Souls left suffering for a thousand years. It's not right. Who are we to stand in the way of allowing them to return to their bodies? for a final chance of peace? And there, Eleanor says, raising a hand in a half-point,

is why I keep secret, easier to battle demon than Drebliun, less moral compass dilemma. Bloody hell, Charlie says with a sigh. This is some heavy stuff. Jeez, something inside April snaps. She strides forwards and shouts directly into Eleanor's face. You are her, Eleanor.

She says, you are Olga of Kiev. My first instinct is the snort with surprise. The question is ridiculous. But as the question settles into my mind, I take another look at Eleanor. I conjure up an image of the painting and I try to place them side by side. No, surely not.

You know everything about her, April says, and I noticed that she's trembling. You look like the woman in the painting, though she doesn't have that scar. And you've been here for a long time, haven't you, Eleanor? A long, long time. Decades at the least. You're Olga, and you're trapped here now,

trapped in this outpost in a web of your own making. Eleanor stares at April. And then... She laughs. The sound is bright and clear, and we watch in shock and cautious amusement as she laughs and laughs and laughs, doubling over as she does so. You are kidding, she says, her face displaying a grin I've never seen her wear before. Joke, you think I am a woman who died thousand years ago?

April folders and takes a step back. She flushes. But, well, I thought, Americans are so funny. This is crazy. Elena snorts and wipes the corner of her eye. I am not Olga, April. April clenches her fists. She strides from the hexagon and into the little side room she showed me several days ago.

I hear her rummaging and a clatter of something being knocked from the wall, and she returns a moment later with a framed photograph in her hand. I recognize it as the one with S-G-H-9. I'd almost forgotten about it. She flips it, undoes the clips, and slides the picture out from the frame. She holds it up to Eleanor's face. Explain this then. You see what's been written on the back of this picture? SGH-1987.

Who is S-G-H? And how is there a picture of you at this outpost from 1987? You scarcely look at any different. at all. How is that possible? Eleanor's grin fades from her face and she shakes her head with a sigh. Her eyebrows furrowed. This is sad, April. You are smarter than this. She takes the photograph and points to the letters and numbers written there. What does this say, April? S-G-H, April replies, in 1987. Eleanor shakes her head. No, wrong. It says S-G-H-I-987. This photo was not from decades ago. It was taken in 2015.

April's confidence trickles away. But what? You know Samsung Galaxy, April? Samsung Galaxy tablets? I, yeah, I guess. Eleanor thrust the picture back into April's hands. This photo was taken with Samsung Galaxy. Samsung Galaxy SGHI-987. This is brand of device, not date or initials.

April's face burns bright red, and she chews a lip in thought. I too consider this development. The brand of the phone that took the picture? Is that all it was? It seems almost... Almost too stupid to be true. But then again, what the hell do I know? Nothing, apparently. Not a damned thing.

And regardless, thinking time is up, it would seem. The shadows deepen, and before long the sun will set. It's time to get to our stations. What are we going to do about the tower? I ask. It's weaponless, and we've broken the rule. No one's been in the thing for hours. We have no choice but to abandon it, April replies. we will have to survive the night without it.

Everyone to your stations. Adam Smith, you go with old Adam Smith. Defend the outpost. Rule number one, do not allow enemy into outpost. And away she goes. No one tries to blocker this time. Still reeling from the info drops, heavy with the weight of our newfound knowledge.

One by one, we depart for our stations. April drops a small, shining silver cross into Adam's hands before she goes. Charlie gives the man a nod and wishes him well. Yuri says nothing to anyone, vanishing silently down a corridor, bringing a cigarette up to his mouth before he disappears completely round a corner. Come on, man, I say to Adam, I guess you're with me tonight. And so, away we go. and into the snow to our station, doing our duty, manning the amalgamated weapons to keep

away the intruders, the fire in the darkness, keeping the drevelians trapped in their eternal cycle of darkness, despair and destruction. Armed with Bibles, using these Holy Books as weapons, as Olga of Kiev did herself 1,000 years ago, defending the outposts as we are all tasked with doing, as Americans, as Russians, as soldiers. The sun sets. The anthem of the Trevlians begins the play, quietly at first, floating note by note across the mountains, as thoughts within thoughts swirl as a maelstrom across the turmoil. If my mind, time passes, the song rises.

This anthem of the long-forgotten people plays, and the demons, no, the Dreblians, begin clambering up and out of the darkness. Adam Smith watches in abject horror as the hordes are sent crawling up the mountainside and towards the outpost. I call out the arrival of the enemy to my comrades, and the first beam is fired, As with every night previous, the battle begins to rage. Bones are sent bursting with clouds of smoke and fire

as the beams are cast in all directions, tearing through the shadows like blades through skin. Snow falls, the mists gather. My muscles ripple and burn with a strain as electricity crackles with the frost in the icy air. I task Adam with reading aloud from the Bible. As with myself, he falters initially, but he gets the hang of it pretty damn quick. He bellows like a preacher out and into the wind, and his voices carried out into the night.

To the Dreblians, his words must come as a painful, tortuous echo of the night they were lost. My heart goes out to them. It really does. But if Eleanor tells the truth, if these people became monsters, the minute they return to their bodies, and is what I'm doing right now the greater good, or am I just trying to justify this madness to myself? I'm no longer certain that what I'm doing is right.

I hammer the weapon down with a mechanical thud, and I send a screaming beam down directly below, tearing through a Drevlyan with his hands outstretched towards me. Its charred and blackened bones are sent flying in all directions. movement in the night to my left bids me turn my head and amidst the mist and fog of the night. I see him again. That enormous man made of shadow between the peaks, the spirit of the Dreblian personified, and with his arrival the hordes of the enemy are renewed,

thick and fast they approach, hungry for their prize, down in the cavern beneath the outpost. I stare at the great shadowy spirit, willing him to turn and face me, and with a slow, measured turn of his head, he does so. His eyes of silver lock with mine, and I hear his voice in my head. You know, don't you, Adam, I see it now in your head. You have learned the truth. You know our story, and still you fight. Why? Do you think we don't feel pain?

When you burn our people to ash upon the mountainside, Rule too, I remember. Do not engage verbally with the enemy. And as planned, I ignore this rule. I respond and I ask my question. It's true, isn't it? I whisper. And at once, a great search of demons adjust their course and clamber directly towards me.

It doesn't matter. I drop a device that Yuri constructed for me, a bomb of sorts that sends sparks of light spiraling in all directions as it disappears down into the darkness below. You are what's left of the Trevlion, and if you reach what you're so desperate for, then you'll only bring havoc and chaos

and further pain into the world. I grip my teeth and bring the beam round in an arc. Adam Smith is forced to shield his eyes As the rock below is burned temporarily white with the glare I'm sorry I really really am but I've had no time to think I don't know what the best course of action is in the long term But for now I can't stand back and allow you entry into this outpost

I cannot allow you to return Please forgive me The guilt comes in ebbs and flows It is cold, but not as cold as the bitterness of the night. I clenched my jaw and resume my battle, shouting out a verse of my own as the weaponized light intensifies. These are the people that use my brother's voice against me, the voice on my long-dead brother. These are the people that possess Christian and brought about his death. You're just like her, whispers the spirit.

I thought you were different. Perhaps we were wrong. We want an end to this. Just let us be free. Your bodies remain below this outpost, I mutter back. They must be there for a reason. There must be a reason that they haven't been destroyed. Maybe that knowledge has been lost,

or maybe it's just something that Eleanor refuses to tell us. But there is nothing I can do now but my duty. I am a soldier, and these my orders. I'm sorry, Dreblyan. We will not forgive you for this, Adam, and we will not forget. If all you want is peace, I ask, then why hide the truth from me, from all of us? Why possess Christian and make him a threat? We cannot reveal the truth until someone asks for it, replies the voice.

Christian asked. I do not know why, but in my. In reply, I showed him the vision of Olga of Kiev. Unlike you, he saw her face. He saw the hatred there, the hatred for my people. And Christian's heart was filled with nothing but sorrow and compassion. In this moment he was weak, and I possessed him. I took no pleasure in this, but I did what I had to for my people.

Why? shout out into the night. Adam Smith turns to me in shock, but he keeps reading aloud from his book. He cannot hear the voice. Why would you do that? I turn from the Trevelyan hoard below and look again at the great shadow with its silvery eyes. It slowly looks down at one of its hands with a sound like the distant rumbling of thunder. Because his hands dig faster than ours. Comes the reply, and I see in my mind's eye the hole that the Dreblians dug

with the shadowy fingers in the meeting room floor. You cannot be the spirit of your people, I mutter through clenched teeth. I refuse to believe it. I refuse to believe that the spirit of an entire race could be so callously cruel to trick a man into empathy, then using him and disposing him like a tool.

I do not know what you. are, but I will not grant you access to this outpost. Not tonight. I left my head and shout out loud into the night, my voice carrying above the storm. Now, Eleanor, now, fire the weapon. The so-called spirit of the Trevelyan, with his attention fixed wholeheartedly on myself, rumbles with that ethereal thunder and shifts its gaze over the roof of the outpost, its silvery eyes shining in the darkness. movement, however, as all its movements are, is sluggish, slow, far, far too slow.

And from the darkness, Eleanor, wrapped in robes of black to conceal her position, pulls back hard on two simultaneous handles. Handles attached to the colossal gun on the outpost's roof, an enormous mechanical crunch echoes out from the gears, and my teeth are set on edge with a sudden ringing. For a second or two, it seems as if the very wind itself is sent out in the opposite direction, and the scrambling of each and every Dreblian is halted, as the monstrous weapon finally fires. A blast of heat is sent out in an intense circle of energy. I feel it against my skin, and my hair is whipped back from my head as a ringing of light appears at the weapons barrel,

and a beam, unlike anything I've ever seen so far, explodes out like lightning, crackling and tearing through the night towards the mountains and the mist and directly through the heart of the great shadow. A twisted, crackling nervous system is briefly illuminated in white across the shadow's form and it starts to leak out into the air as ink leaks out into the water. A terrible scream is sent roaring through the mountains And the entire horde of demons below burst at once Into clouds of shadow and bone As the enormous spirit collapses down and into itself Wounded and destabilized Dust and steam is sent blasting out in all directions

Snow is disturbed and sent tumbling down the peaks But we do not leave our stations The Dreblyan Horde is displaced, and the giant spirit stays hidden away. But, after a few hours of interlude, the attackers do return. They do not come as tide, though. They do not flow like water. They come alone or in small groups. Their fight and their power has been taken away, for this night at the least, and they are easy to deal with.

Far, far easier. And we continue our battle until the rising of the sun. The outpost successfully defended and kept from even a single breach. I turn to Adam as the sun rises. He is white with shock, eyes wide, his hands trembling.

I clap him on the shoulder. The veins in my forearms all popped from the exertion. Good work tonight, men. Good work. Now come on, let's go. It's time to get some sleep. And... Away we go.

My story is drawing to a close now. Just a little more to wrap up. I remained at the outpost for another couple of days. I did my duty, and I defended the place as best as I could. The Dreblians did not return in any kind of number to equal the night that the tower fell, and I would wager that that that was. could be thanks to our successful surprise attack on the spirit itself. If indeed a spirit he actually is,

it would be more cautious in future. I remained at the outpost until Christian's replacement arrived, a woman from Missouri, and since my departure synced up with April's as scheduled, the two of us headed out together after saying our goodbyes. A hug from Charlie, a handshake, from Adam Smith, a muttering nod from Yuri, and even a flicker of what might have been a half-smile from Eleanor.

A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. I still struggle with the morality of my role in the outpost of what I did between those mountains, whether I was in the right by fighting back against the Trevelling Souls, or whether I should have just stood down and allowed them to return to what they crave so desperately. I still think about them, you know, are those cursed, forgotten people, trapped in their endless cycle of desperation, and the outpost guardians, likewise trapped in their own cycle of grim and gruesome defence, constant ceaseless stress, night after night, battle after battle on the mountainside.

I wonder how far the spirit of the Drebliam would go to achieve this goal. I wonder how far Eleanor would go to maintain hers. Hell, do the horde of Trevlin' souls even know what they're fighting for anymore? Do tonight's roster of the outpost soldiers, for that matter? It's been months since April and I departed together. Charlie will have left by now. Yuri too most likely. Not Eleanor.

I suppose she's still there, doing her duty. I looked back one final time as we departed. at the outpost, April and I, clambering over the waist eye wall at the edge of the courtyard. And to my surprise, the first thing I noticed was the flags. Upon my arrival, only the Russian flag flew proudly. The others, the American, the British, the Norwegian and the NATO. They were old and worn, ragged and weather damaged. But I realized then, At the moment of my exit, that someone had replaced them. I don't know who, I don't know when exactly,

but one of my comrades must have taken the time to replace them, or even to fix them up, perhaps. The flags waved proudly in the breeze, bright shades of red, of white and of blue, side by side, together. I mentioned this to April on the helicopter ride back to the Ural's base, And she nodded. Yeah, I noticed that too, she said.

But there was still something on her mind. I could tell, and I asked her to share it with me. Olga of Kiev, she said thoughtfully after a moment. I never got around to sharing this with you, but I read something interesting about her in that file. The one Yuri showed us. Do you remember the night we confronted Eleanor? I found something. Something very interesting indeed.

Oh yeah? I replied. What was it then? She changed the name, you know. Olga, I mean, as she grew older, so the record say. Is that so? I asked her cautiously. And what did she change it to?

April looked up at me as the helicopter passed over the peaks. To Eleanor. I considered this in silence. Silence, but for the monotonous buzz of the blades, wearing round and around as the helicopter carried us away through the night. It's a common enough Russian name, I replied uneasily. Yeah, Abel said back, shifting in a seat. A common name.

Still, I murmured. Still, she repeated. And we said nothing. further for the rest of the flight. I saw her that night in my dreams. Eleanor. She stood atop the outpost, commanding an enormous rooftop weapon

and pulling back on the handles, a powerful circle of light at the barrel, giving way to the dazzling blast of the beam. To write the sins of the past, came a voice as a whisper in the wind, and her robes were blown about her. as the snow was whipped up into a torrent. She looked to me, her eyes alive with glittering ice.

And in that moment, they were the same Olga of Kiev, an Eleanor of the outpost.