The deployment finally reached the outpost, their journey coming to a brief pause. The settlement wasn't much—a fortified encampment with stone walls, reinforced by layers of ironwood barricades and enchanted spikes to ward off lesser horrors. Watchtowers lined the perimeter, their guards ever-vigilant against the abyssal monstrosities that lurked beyond.
Despite the exhaustion from their march and ambush, the soldiers moved with practiced efficiency, unloading supplies, tending to wounds, and reinforcing their defenses.
Garron stretched, rolling his shoulders as he glanced at Kalem, who was checking over Onyx, making sure his hooves and harness were undamaged.
"Well, it seems like your worry was unfounded," Garron mused, watching the younger warrior inspect his black bull with a focused expression.
Kalem ran a hand over Onyx's thick hide, feeling the creature's steady breathing. "Until we return to the city, don't let your guard down."
Garron raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you being too paranoid?"
"Paranoid? No. Not having much faith in bureaucrats? Definitely," Kalem replied dryly.
Garron chuckled. "Life will be difficult for you if you keep thinking like that."
"I said little faith, not no faith," Kalem corrected. "Trusting blindly in authority gets people killed. I prefer to judge actions over words."
Garron hummed in thought, scratching his chin. "Fair enough. Still, not every order is made with incompetence in mind. Some secrets exist for a reason."
Kalem didn't argue, but his expression remained unmoved.
A few days passed without incident. The outpost remained quiet, its fortifications untouched, and the soldiers went about their routine patrols without trouble.
However, that peace was always temporary.
On the third day, it was time for a sweep—a necessary but dangerous task.
Kalem adjusted his armored gloves, flexing his fingers as he stepped out into the open. Garron was already waiting, gear in place, casually leaning against a supply crate.
"So, what's the drill today?" Kalem asked, grabbing his own crate filled with provisions for the scouting teams.
Garron smirked. "We're going to sweep the outpost's surrounding area and kill whatever we find. Simple, brutal, and effective."
Kalem nodded, placing his crate onto Onyx's cart. "Sounds straightforward enough."
"Let's hope it stays that way," Garron muttered.
Kalem noticed the slight tension in his companion's voice. "You worried?"
"Not exactly," Garron admitted. "But I don't like how quiet it's been. The attack on our way here felt… off. If there were creatures this close to the outpost, they should've either attacked already or retreated into the deeper Maw."
Kalem thought back to the ambush, the way those creatures had rushed toward the supplies instead of fighting with their usual ferocity.
"They were after something," Kalem said.
"Yeah. And we still don't know what."
The scouting teams spread out from the outpost, moving in carefully coordinated sweeps. Kalem, Garron, and a small unit of soldiers and mercenaries took the eastern sector, where a series of jagged ravines and crumbling ruins served as natural chokepoints.
The air was still, the only sound coming from the distant echo of footsteps and the occasional rustle of shifting gravel.
Kalem walked beside Onyx, occasionally patting the bull's side to reassure both the beast and himself. Something about this entire mission felt wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.
After an hour of slow movement, Garron spoke.
"Notice anything?"
Kalem shook his head. "Too early to tell. But if the creatures that attacked us before are still in the area, we'll find something soon."
The group moved deeper into the sector, weapons drawn, senses sharp.
Then, Kalem stopped.
Onyx let out a huff, his large frame tensing as if sensing something ahead.
Garron noticed. "What is it?"
Kalem knelt down, brushing his fingers over the dirt and stone. His sharp eyes caught something—a series of deep claw marks, but the pattern was strange.
"They weren't just running through here," Kalem muttered. "They were fighting something."
Garron frowned. "Another group?"
Kalem studied the markings, trying to piece together the battle. "Maybe. But there aren't enough bodies."
That was the strangest part. If there had been a battle, there should have been remains—corpses, bloodstains, shattered weapons.
Instead, there were only signs of struggle, as if something had either dragged the bodies away… or devoured them whole.
A chill crept down Kalem's spine.
"This isn't right," he muttered.
Garron reached for his sword, his instincts aligning with Kalem's unease. "We should keep moving. Stay sharp."
The group pressed forward, unaware that in the depths of the shattered landscape, something was watching them—something that had already feasted and was waiting for its next meal.