When I wrapped up Marked Map, my attention shifted to the next tale for my patrons, a horror. Naturally, my thoughts turned to Solomon, my relentless monster hunter. I wanted to continue his journey after Defiant Tests and began shaping an idea that could stretch into a long, evolving arc. Where it will ultimately lead, I can’t yet say, but I’ sure it’ll be a thrilling ride to write and share.
Some battles are fought in the open, under the clear light of day. Others unfold in corridors where the air itself feels heavy, where every flicker of light suggests something waiting just beyond sight. Within these walls of steel, silence weighs more than machinery, carrying with it the dread of what should never be released.
This isn’t a story of mere survival. It’s a descent into an environment where science blurs with nightmare, where containment is no promise of safety. Each moment pushes against fear and resolve, asking what it truly costs to face threats that refuse to remain bound.
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After the initial assault, Solomon delves into the compound to see what else is lingering…
Solomon scraped his boot as the vampire’s body dissolved, low growls filling the corridor. The sound built into a growl that rattled the walls. Dust shivered from the vents and spun in the flicker, throwing skeletal shadows across the hall. He dragged the werewolf’s corpse aside and glanced back at the door leading to his friends.
He found Sandra’s pale face in the doorframe, pressed against Jacob’s chest. Her hands clutched him as though he could anchor her to safety. Solomon brushed his bloodless knuckles and peered into the room. He shepherded them inside before ripping the console off the floor and dragging it into the opening.
“Don’t move this barricade!” Solomon’s voice cut through the area. “If I’m not back soon, escape without me!”
Sandra flinched while Jacob nodded stiffly. Solomon turned away before either of them could speak. His breathing steadied, each step measured, as the alarm continued blaring. Iron and smoke burned his throat, but beneath the burn lingered the foul odor of wet fur, a stench that didn’t belong in steel corridors. Claws scraped the walls, shrieking like knives on bone. Solomon’s gaze snapped to each flickering shadow.
Reaching the end of the hall, he found an undamaged entrance. It loomed over him, and somehow despite fitting inside the frame, the slab appeared warped. The hunter pressed a palm against it and leaned in, listening. He heard a chorus of voices, all deep, guttural, and eager.
.
.
.
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