The four of them ran towards town. When Myra was too slow, Davi hefted her over his shoulder, despite her protests. They dashed at a full sprint, at least for a couple yards until Zilly went down. She immediately got to her feet again, but couldn’t hide the limp.

Now that he thought of it, the giant had slapped her straight out of the air a couple times. “Are you hurt?”

“I can still run,” said Zilly, which was a yes. She demonstrated the run, but it was more of a quick hobble. She’d sheathed her sword, and clutched her side with one hand while the other arm hung limp.

“Broken ribs?” Brin asked.

“And an arm, I think. The ankle is just sprained.”

He holstered his spear, picked her up under the legs and swept her into a princess carry. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to manage like this, but if he swung her over his shoulder like a potato sack it would drive those broken ribs into her lungs.

“No. Brin, not like that,” said Zilly. “Here, let me–” She shuffled around to his back, nearly pushing him down in the process, and then hung on piggyback. Right, this made more sense. He should’ve thought of it.

Marksi moved from his shoulders to Zilly’s. Brin wanted to shout at the little guy to get down, but they’d only just made up and he didn’t have the heart. Besides, his slight weight wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

His legs started burning immediately, but he was determined. What was the point of all those early morning workouts if not for this? He kept his legs pumping. He might not have Davi’s endless well of stamina, but he had enough. It would have to be enough.

Davi saw the way Brin was holding Zilly and then looked like he was having second thoughts about throwing Myra over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He pulled her around to his back as well.

“No, Davi, come on! Put me down! I can run!”

“Not fast enough,” Davi said firmly.

“They’re close,” Zilly said through gritted teeth from the pain. “No, they’re here.”

A line of undead stood between them and the town. They were closing in from the sides as well. Brin didn’t think the [Witch] who’d set up the ambush had expected them to beat her giant, but she’d clearly still had a backup plan.

“Up! Let me on your shoulders!” Myra said. She hiked up her skirts and then clambered up onto Davi’s shoulders. “It’s easier if I have my hands free.”

Despite everything that was going on, Davi still couldn’t hide his blush at having his head between Myra’s thighs.

“Don’t stop! Just run straight through!”

Brin was panting so hard that he couldn’t yell back an agreement, so he nodded his head and kept running. It felt like it was a suicide charge; the undead got into defensive positions while Brin and Davi ran straight towards them, weapons holstered.

At the last second, Myra thrust her hands forwards and used [Manipulate Thread] to pull the closest undead away by their clothes. It was a far cry from Tawna’s explosive power, but it was enough. She disabled the undead long enough for Brin and Davi to run straight past them. The undead chased after them from behind, giving further motivation for Brin to keep his burning legs moving.

They weren’t quite faster than the undead, but every time one of them was about to catch up, Myra tripped it and granted them a few more seconds.

Brin ran on, arms burning from holding Zilly’s legs, his own legs on fire. His vision started going gray, and he started to phase out everything except what he needed to do. Keep running. Don’t drop Zilly. Since he was in no state to pay attention to anything else, he used [Directed Meditation] to wring every bit of strength he could out of his body.

Marksi must’ve noticed he was lagging, because he hopped down and started scampering alongside him. The slight lessening of his burden gave him the little bit of help he needed to keep going, just a little longer.

He almost didn’t notice when they came out of the treeline, into the fields around the town. There was blood in the air, and shouting, and Skill-enhanced torches illuminating the night. The undead were mostly to his left, fighting near a break in the walls, but that was all he had time to notice.

Dozens of undead lay in wait between them and the town gate.

Almost immediately after they left the trees, explosions rocked the scattered undead in their way. The gates opened and a group of a dozen men shot out. Most of them carried greatshields, all except the one in the lead. Zilly’s dad.

He blew a line of holy fire straight towards his daughter, and coincidentally, her wayward friends. He threw so many fireballs that by the time his group reached Brin’s he collapsed from Mana exhaustion and had to be carried. Firm hands took Zilly from his grasp, and Davi finally let Myra down.

Looking around, Brin saw that Davi’s dad, Alvir, was among the rescuers. He’d been the one who’d taken Zilly from his arms. Zilly's and Davi’s dads must’ve been watching the tree line this whole time, waiting for some sign of their children. It was lucky they had.

They ran back towards the gates, but the undead hardly bothered them; the army was distracted by something else.

There was a loud, roaring growl as something fought near the break in the walls. In a brief part through the crowd of undead, Brin saw Ferir. The black wolfhound was riddled with wounds, fighting for his life.

Even as Brin watched, a cadre of undead spearmen surrounded him and thrust together, pinning him to the ground. He let out a pitiful whine, and then an ax-wielder chopped into his head, silencing him.

Brin looked away. The last thing he wanted to see today was another dog dying. Why was Ferir fighting alone?

Then he saw something else. A monster. It was vaguely humanoid, but it had the snout of a dog with wicked teeth, dripping with the blood of the undead. Long arms, strange hands that ended in clawed fingers as long as sword blades. Its legs were dogs legs, except with dangerous-looking talons jutting unnaturally from the paws.

The creature fought the undead in a berserker rage, striking down one enemy after another, shrugging off wounds that should have killed anything alive.

It wasn’t until it spoke that he realized what he was looking at. “…killed her! You killed her! My only! Precious! Daughter! Taken from me…”

“That’s Clementine’s voice,” said Brin.

“She went mad when Luiza died,” answered one of his rescuers. “Turned herself into… that. Dark days, to learn that we had a [Witch] hiding among us this entire time.”

Brin felt a shocking sort of emptiness. Luiza was dead? But he’d just talked to her today. How could she be dead?

Even as he watched, Clementine grew larger and more monstrous. That was the [Witch]’s solution to their personal vulnerability–they could transform themselves into monsters. Hogg had told him the danger in that: if they changed too much they’d never be able to turn back. From the looks of things, Clementine didn’t mean to. She fought and killed and took terrible wounds.

Brin didn’t see her death, the undead blocked it from view. He heard, though. One last roar of rage, then a scream of pain and fear. Then nothing. Another [Witch] dead. How many could he lose before that protective spell stopped working?

By then, the section of wall where Clementine had been fighting was repaired, but Brin and his group were already nearly there. He stumbled the last few weary steps through the gate, and men slammed it shut behind him.

In one last burst of strength, Brin lurched to the side of the street and then collapsed onto the ground.

He was tired. He lay on the ground, feeling sweet relief. He was safe. They’d survived that stupid mission. He was sprawled out on the dirt next to the boardwalk, but he didn’t think he’d ever been in a bed that comfortable.

There was no chance of him getting up, at least not until he caught his breath. But when he had caught his breath, he still didn’t get up. What would be the problem if he took a nap right now? The gates would hold for another day. Sure, he should probably go to his own bed, but he was tired enough that it was starting to feel like a good idea to just drift off right here…

He sat up in a panic, remembering something. If Luiza was dead, then who was going to convince Kevim not to surrender? It might not be a coincidence that she of all people had died, especially not if the enemy [Witch] could read fate, too.

Luiza might be dead because of Brin, because he’d convinced her to talk to Kevim and that made her a liability in the [Witch’s] plans. He’d gotten her killed. Her mother too. Clementine had gone mad with grief and committed suicide by zombie, and she’d taken Ferir with her. Add one more to the list of people who’d died for Brin’s mistakes.

Groaning, he got to his feet, and started walking.

He found Kevim in front of the gates, and surprisingly, no one stopped him when he approached. Kevim was huddled together with a [Woodworker], an elderly [Farmer], Elvira the [Trapper], and Balbi.

“Send a team to find any other vulnerable places,” Kevim was saying. “We need to know how many wall repairs we’ll need to make before morning.”

“With all due respect,” said the [Woodworker], “that’s everywhere. The walls are failing.”

Kevim rubbed a hand through his hair. It looked thinner than it had been in the morning. Brin was tired, but he knew it was nothing to how Kevim was feeling, just going off how he looked. Kevim had dark bags under his eyes, and his skin seemed to sag. Still, when he glanced at Brin, his eyes were alert and focused. “What do you want?”

“Don’t surrender. We have to hold out,” said Brin.

Elvira sniffed. “We already know that.” Hogg had mentioned the [Trapper] as one of the most dangerous people in town, but she didn’t look it. She had graying blonde hair, large eyes, an overbite, and a small jaw, like an upside-down pear. “Surrender is quite out of the picture.”

“You do? It is?” asked Brin.

Kevim chuckled darkly. “Hey, you know how I felt when Balbi first told me that I shouldn’t surrender? Relief. I thought that meant that someone would try to talk to us soon. If someone is going to ask for our surrender, then that means there’s going to be some sort of dialogue. That would be a welcome change.”

“No one has contacted you?” asked Brin.

“Of the [Witch] directing this army, we have seen neither hide nor hair,” Elvira answered.

“How is that possible? Tawna was certain—“

Mention of that name seemed to breathe some life back into Kevim. “Oh, Tawna! I see!” he snapped, sarcastically. “Well if Tawna said so then of course we should all scurry to obey! Let me ask you this: how accurate have Tawna’s predictions been the last couple days?”

“Not the best,” admitted Brin.

“Oh, not the best, you say? How interesting. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. We can’t surrender if the only surrender is death. So we hold on. We hold on and hold out,” said Kevim firmly.

“The walls won’t hold. I don’t know if we have hours or minutes until the next breakthrough. What I do know is that by morning, the undead will be streaming in from every direction,” said the [Woodworker].

“Then we go with your plan,” Kevim said to Elvira.

“What’s your plan?” Brin asked her. Everyone ignored him.

“Can your men repair the walls if we give you some breathing room?” Kevim asked the [Woodworker].

“They’re already in place. Give us some space and we’ll have the problem spots fixed in a jiffy.”

“How long do we need to evacuate the town?” Kevim asked.

“It’s already done. Everyone is huddled together in the square. We’ve got the barricades coming up,” answered the elderly [Farmer].

Kevim rubbed his face again. “Then… then I suppose we’ve no time to waste. Spread the word. We’re opening the gates.”

The group split apart, each of them marching in different directions, except for Elvira.

“What? But I thought you said you weren’t going to surrender!” Brin called after Kevim, who ignored him and kept walking.

Elvira answered. “We’re not surrendering. Do you think I’ve been idle this entire time? No, my dear. I’ve been fitting every inch of this little town with examples of my craft. Traps. You see? All this time, we’ve been fighting for Hammon’s Bog. Don’t you think it’s about time Hammon’s Bog fought for us?”

They strolled away from the gate, stopping a few hundred feet down the road, where they turned around to watch. A hundred defenders stood with them, most of them Lantern-men. This group was just here to witness in case something went wrong. According to Elvira, if her traps worked as planned, a hundred was too much. If they didn’t go off for some reason, then a hundred was much too little.

Several people told Brin to leave, to go to the town square where most of the town was gathered, but he ignored them and no one moved him by force.

He was supremely interested in watching this go down. His first kills in this world had been with traps, and [Trapper] is one of the Common Classes he’d be most interested in, if he had to do things all over again. He loved [Glasser] for its flexibility and for all the things he could create during peacetime, but the combat potential for [Trapper] was off the charts.

“Who’s going to open the gates?” Brin asked. Everyone had evacuated the area, and he knew they weren’t planning on waiting for the undead to tear the gates down this time.

“Kevim. The town has a Skill for it, and he can use it as acting Prefit,” said Elvira.

Minutes later, it happened. He didn’t hear or see Kevim; whatever method they used to activate town Skills was shrouded in secrecy. The result, however, was obvious enough.

The gates flung open and a storm of ravenous undead charged through the gap. They gnashed their teeth and raised their weapons, heads swinging, looking for prey and finding none. Emboldened, they ran faster, pushed by the undead behind them.

The gate was only wide enough to fit eight men across, but the undead didn’t move like men. They didn’t need to breathe and had no concept of personal space. They squeezed through in a tight mass, like water spraying from a leaky pipe.

In what felt like an instant, hundreds of undead filled the street. Seeing the group of defenders, they didn’t look to the left or right and charged straight down the street at the men and women with Brin.

As they charged closer, Brin started to feel a bit nervous. He saw more than one defender draw their weapons and check their grips.

Then, when the first undead were only a hundred feet away, they exploded. Gouts of flame blew up from under the street, destroying the front line and burning away the undead who charged in after them, pushed by the weight of the charging army.

Behind them, the ground gave way, a pitfall trap—only, it looked more like the ground had suddenly turned liquid. The undead sunk into the mud and disappeared. The ground firmed up again, but none of the undead behind them dared to walk on it.

The boardwalks exploded, sending stakes into the remaining undead, decimating their number. A few with shields blocked in time, but many died and the majority of the attackers took wounds, slowing them down and sowing panic.

Fewer undead came through the gates, and they moved more slowly now, more cautious. Most of the undead that came through stayed right near the gate, grouping up. A furious chorus of clicks sounded through the army as they coordinated and came up with a plan.

It took a while for them to decide on a course of action and start moving again. This time, the attack was slower and more methodical. Instead of a mad charge, the undead moved in groups of ten. The defenders started pelting them with arrows, and then they had to go even slower to avoid the arrows. They went from house to house with greatshields, triggering every trap, and only moving on when they were certain the area was secure. It was slow going, as the undead were slow to give orders and slower to understand them.

Minutes turned into an hour. An hour turned into two. The undead cleared the entire street, and Brin’s group slowly moved back.

The undead smashed the houses they cleared, breaking windows and furniture, throwing clothes and bedding on the street, cracking dishes, destroying all they could. It was difficult to watch, but it was just stuff.

In return, the town got time. Time enough to hopefully rebuild the most damaged sections of walls, although Brin had no idea how things were going on that front.

No one talked about what was going to have to happen once the walls were fixed, but Brin could put two and two together. They were going to have to shut the gates again and then kill all the undead who were currently in the town. It would be a big, bloody mess. Hundreds of defenders would die, if they succeeded at all.

“Well, this is where I drop off. The rest of you should head towards the town square with the others,” Elvira said. She moved to walk off towards a very fine house. “Unless you’d like to come inside with me?”

“Why not go with everyone else?” asked Brin.

“My home, the place where I’ve invested much of my attention, the place I’ve lived for years, is probably the safest place in Hammon’s Bog. You understand?” She crooked an eyebrow suggestively. “Traps”

“No, yeah, I got that,” said Brin.

Even with knowing the traps were there and being ready for them, the undead still took casualties on a quarter of the traps they sprung. They weren’t all the same things. Here, it would be the floorboards exploding into flame, but in the next house the roof would launch spinning blades.He saw one house where the curtains wrapped themselves around an undead and then melted to acid, burning straight through its armor. Brin had no doubt that the undead would find Elvira’s house a tough nut to crack. He was almost tempted to take Elvira up on her offer to stay with her and let them try.

“You know, it’s a little strange to me that this is the first time we’ve met. I’ve heard so much about you,” said Brin.

“Hm? No, this isn’t the first time. We met a few days ago in the public house when you tried to get me to allow a surrender.”

Brin froze, feeling like his blood was going cold. He didn’t remember that. As far as he remembered, he hadn't been in the pub since before Hela got caught up in the curse. If Elvira was right, then someone had been screwing with his memories. It was violating, and terrifying. At the same time, he couldn’t help the smile that crept up on his lips. Finally, a breakthrough.

He stood right there in the road and searched his stored memories of glass. It didn’t take long until he knew exactly who the [Witch] was.

Apparently he wouldn’t be bunkering down with Elvira or joining the defenders in the town center. He had some preparations to make, and then it would finally be time.

It was time to kill the [Witch].