CHAPTER 18: NEW PLAN
They moved through the marsh, each step sinking heavily into the wet ground. Boots squelched as mud clung stubbornly to their soles, dragging at their ankles and sucking them in greedily as if the earth itself wanted to keep them trapped. The sound was loud in the silence, a silence no one dared break.
The fog followed close behind, and it was not passive. It coiled around their legs, slid over their shoulders, and crept into the spaces between breaths. Damp and suffocating, it pressed in until distance became guesswork and shadows turned into threats. With every passing minute, the marsh seemed smaller, as though the world itself were folding in on them.
The dead bodies were gone—dragged into the mire, swallowed whole—but their absence weighed heavier than their presence ever had. At the front, John walked with a pace that was steady, almost unnaturally so. Each step was measured and controlled, the stride of a man afraid that if he slowed even slightly, something inside him would split open. His shoulders were drawn tight, tension pulled taut beneath skin and muscle. His jaw was clenched, teeth grinding softly, but his eyes stayed fixed forward—unblinking, refusing to betray the storm beneath.
Behind him, the group fractured into quiet distance. Malric kept a few steps back, his spear resting across his shoulder as his eyes swept the fog with the same practiced calm he had shown in every fight. His movements were efficient, controlled, yet the faint twitch of his fingers against the shaft betrayed a restlessness he could not suppress.
Nico stayed closer than usual, his scythe dragging shallow grooves through the mud with a soft, constant scrape. His gaze never left John's back, not once, his posture tense as though holding a question he had not asked—and perhaps did not want answered.
Liora walked stiffly, her jaw locked and knuckles white around the hilt of her rapier. Her steps were sharp and clipped, restrained only by discipline, while anger coiled beneath her calm like a blade held too tight.
Thalia moved with her head lowered, lips faintly moving as if whispering fragments of memory or theory to herself.
Elowen followed close behind, her hands folded tight against her chest, face pale beneath streaks of mud and blood. Her eyes darted constantly, catching shapes that weren't there, bracing for sounds that never came.
Kaelen lagged near the rear. His eyes were unfocused, distant, replaying something he could not erase no matter how hard he tried. His steps faltered occasionally, not from exhaustion but hesitation, as if part of him wanted to stop walking altogether. Thunder rolled in the distance—low, distant, almost subtle enough to ignore. Almost.
They walked for several more minutes before John slowed, then stopped. The group nearly collided with him.
"Stop," John said quietly. The word was not loud, but it didn't need to be. It cut through the silence cleanly, decisively. He turned, the fog clinging to his outline and blurring the edges of his silhouette, softening the sharpness of his form. Yet his eyes were clear—focused, exhausted.
"We're not doing this."
Malric frowned slightly. "Doing what?"
John exhaled slowly. "Pretending nothing happened." The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
"We're burning time walking like ghosts," John continued. "That helps no one." His gaze moved deliberately, stopping on each of them in turn—on Elowen's trembling hands, on Kaelen's lowered stare, on the exhaustion etched into every face.
Finally, his eyes dropped to their wrists, to the glowing bracelets. Numbers hovered faintly in the air, some stable, some flickering.
"We've had the worst of it so far, and I know it's been hard," John said. "Knowing you can die at any moment. Knowing this trial is waiting to pick you off, one by one." Elowen swallowed hard. Kaelen's fingers twitched.
"But that not happening," John said, his voice steady. It did not rise, it did not tremble. "Not while I'm here." A sharp scoff cut through the fog. Sera stepped forward, her eyes burning. "So what—are we supposed to believe you can work a miracle and save every one of us?"
John held her gaze without flinching. She barked a harsh, bitter laugh. "People are dying, John. We're dying. Do you really think saying 'I won't let you die' changes that?"
"No," John replied, calm and even. "I can't do it alone. But ... we can—if we stop waiting and start acting."
Nico shifted, the scythe scraping another shallow line in the mud. "Then tell us," he muttered. "How do we get out of this place alive?"
John nodded once. "We have to change our plan."
Sylas smirked faintly. "Finally coming to your senses? I knew you would come around."
John turned to him, eyes cold. "I still stand by my decision. We are not hunting other people." Sylas held his gaze for a moment, then scoffed and looked away. Thalia crossed her arms. "Then what have you come up with?"
John inhaled. "We farm."
The single word rippled through the group. Malric tilted his head slightly. Liora looked up. Kaelen blinked. Elowen frowned. "I meant beasts, not people," John clarified. "We stop chasing monsters—and instead make them come to us." Nico frowned. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of John's mouth—barely there, but real. "Glad you asked. Do any of you remember Rauk's training?" Nico visibly shuddered. "The one where he made us run until we puked our lungs?"
"Yes," John said. "But with the monsters as motivation."
Amara scratched her head. "Okay… I am not following. What does that have to do with this?" Nico was deep in thought when suddenly he froze. His eyes widened. "You're not saying we use … the baiting method, right?" John nodded, like a teacher confirming the right answer. "That is exactly what I am saying."
He crouched and dragged his blade through the mud, sketching rough shapes—funnels, choke points, movement paths. "Two teams," he explained. "One group acts as bait. You provoke the monsters, keep them moving, and herd them into narrow terrain."
"And the second group?" Liora asked.
"Finishes them off," John said.
She crossed her arms. "But that means one team earns points while the other keeps losing them."
"That's only if the teams stay static," John replied.
Kaelen looked up sharply. "You mean—"
"Yes. The team with fewer points takes the first kills. Once they pass a hundred and stabilize, we swap and repeat until the trial's over," John finished.
Elowen hesitated. "That could work, but there's still the location problem. If there isn't a narrow choke point, the monsters could overwhelm us."
John opened his mouth to say something—
"The ruin zone," Thalia cut in.
Everyone turned toward Thalia.
"There are narrow corridors there," she continued, her voice steady despite the fog pressing in. "They extend inward far enough that zone shrink won't matter. As for drawing monsters, we can use hit-and-run tactics—provoking them into attacking us while we lead them to the trap zone."
"That seems like a solid plan to me," Nico said.
Thomas leaned on his staff, his tone calm but firm. "So we are heading to the ruins then."
John nodded. A beat passed in silence before Sylas spoke again.
"That's idiotic."
The group turned. Sylas stood half-hidden in the fog, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "You'll all exhaust yourselves," he said, calm as ever. "And when something bigger—something you can't handle—shows up, you'll die."
John straightened, his voice even. "We don't know that."
Sylas's smile was thin, almost mocking. "Oh, I know. Did you forget there's a sadistic organization watching us, waiting for the perfect moment to twist the knife. What if they intervene—add a rule, drop something vile into the mix? Or Daren shows up with another ambush? I could list a dozen ways this plan could fall apart. Face it—you all know as well as I do, nothing ever goes according to plan. And the Covenant? They're not about to let us have it this easy."
Nico scowled, frustration sharp in his voice. "Do you always have to bring the mood down? It's like you can't stop disagreeing."
Sylas's face hardened. "I'm trying to keep us alive by being logical. But you know what? I don't care anymore. Walk into your deaths if you want to—I like being alive. Good luck with your stupid plan."
He turned and walked away. The silence that followed felt heavier than before, pressing down on the group like the fog itself.
Nico swore under his breath. John closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. Elowen moved as if to speak, to stop Sylas, but John cut her off. "Leave him be. We proceed—with or without him."
No one argued.
***
Time passed. And the plan worked. Not perfectly. Not cleanly. But it worked.
Hours stretched into days, each one dissolving into a haze of movement, blood, and breath.
The fog transformed into a battlefield, its shifting veil hiding threats that seemed to materialize out of nothing. Shapes emerged from the mist—monsters drawn in, provoked, and carefully controlled by the group's tactics. They came in staggered waves, each heavier than the last, each testing the group's resolve.
Malric and Liora handled positioning. Malric's spear carved arcs through the mist, steady and precise, his stance unshaken even when mud sucked at his boots. Liora's rapier flashed like lightning, her precision sharpened into steel. Every thrust was clipped and exact, her weapon finding rhythm in the fight.
Nico disrupted. His scythe dragged wide sweeps that carved space between allies and beasts, the blade singing through fog and flesh alike. He moved with a strange calm, though his eyes never stopped shaking.
Thalia coordinated. Her voice cut through chaos—short commands, sharp corrections. "Left flank—now." "Pull back—two steps." "Kaelen, strike!" She stitched their movements together, weaving order from panic.
Elowen and Kaelen finished. Their blades struck when openings appeared, hesitant at first, then steadier as kills stacked. Elowen's hands trembled, but her strikes landed true. Kaelen's eyes stayed haunted, but his blade remembered discipline.
Numbers climbed—slowly, unevenly, but steadily. Every kill brought a faint glow to the bracelets. Every glow was a breath of relief.
But injuries accumulated. Scratches became cuts. Cuts became bruises. Bruises became pain no one spoke of.
John fought at the center. His blade moved with controlled violence, each strike measured, each parry exact. He wasted no motion, no breath. He absorbed the rhythm of the fight and forced it into order. His presence was gravity—pulling chaos into orbit.
Thunder grew closer. Rain began to fall. At first, it felt normal—cold, heavy, relentless. But the earth changed under it. Mud deepened. Fog thickened. The sound of rain merged with the sound of battle until it was impossible to tell which was louder—the storm or the clash of steel.
Time passed in fragments. A beast lunged. A weapon struck. A scream cut short. A bracelet glowed. The cycle repeated.
By the time the final wave of the day broke, the group was drenched, exhausted, and bleeding. The fog was streaked with steam from their breath, the ground littered with carcasses half-submerged in mud.
Malric exhaled slowly, wiping blood from his cheek. "We could actually make it," he muttered, surprise threading his voice.
John nodded once. "Ya." Relief flickered across their faces—brief, fragile, and gone almost as soon as it appeared. The moment of calm did not last. It wasn't long before they began to notice something was wrong.
"They're not right," Malric murmured, his voice low and uneasy.
"They don't feel pain," Nico added, leaning his scythe into the mud as his eyes narrowed.
Nyara hovered a little higher than usual, her brow furrowed in concentration. "They're more aggressive. Faster, too."
The twins moved toward a fallen carcass, their boots squelching in the thickened mud. Orion squinted at the rain streaking across the beast's hide, his expression uncertain. "Is it just me, or is the rain… darker?"
Lucian snorted. "It's blood, genius."
Thalia froze, then crouched, fingertips skimming the water pooled in the grooves of the creature's armorlike skin. Her face went pale. "No," she said slowly. "He's right."
Orion stuck out his tongue. "Hah, I knew it. You're the idiot."
Lucian's tail flicked; his brows twitched. "Lucky guess."
John kept his blade in hand and stepped closer. "Explain."
"This rain," Thalia said slowly. "It's contaminated. Some kind of substance is mixed into it. It's making them more berserk."
Elowen whispered, her voice trembling. "You mean—"
"I think it's the Covenant trying to make our life harder," Thalia said.
Thunder cracked overhead, sharp enough to rattle the ground. John straightened slowly. His eyes moved across the group, measuring their exhaustion, their wounds, their bracelets.
"We're running out of time," he said. He looked around. "Anyone still below a hundred?"
Liora's gaze swept the group—then stopped on John. "…You. Malric. Nico."
John nodded. "That is good. Only three people. We will rest and continue at dawn."
As they prepared to go to their resting place, somewhere deep in the fog, something answered. Low. Massive. Hungry.