The morning came over the Voss farmstead, a pale sun in a sky heavy with gray clouds, and the snow from last night packed hard underfoot.
Elias stands by the truck, his breath fogging in thick bursts, with his shotgun slung over his shoulder, the stake in his belt and his knife sheathed at his side.
His hands are steady despite the ache in his bones, and he notices the barn's fresh claw marks as he adjusts the strap of his canvas pack; carrying salt rounds, a flask of holy water, and matches.
Daniel is already at the wheel, the engine rumbling steadily, the iron shard pouch tucked into his coat, and his jaw set under the bruise that has darkened to a mottled purple.
Mara steps out with her rifle in hand, her bandaged arm moving more freely now, though her face remains tense; her eyes flick to Elias with a mix of pride and worry as she climbs in beside him.
The drive west is quiet; ten miles of gravel and frost under the tires, with the woods drawing closer at every turn.
Elias watches the open fields give way to bare trees: oaks and pines stripped by winter, their branches reaching upward.
By mid-morning, the truck jolts to a stop, parked off the dirt track from yesterday, with the edge of a clearing visible through a tangle of brush.
Daniel cuts the engine, and the silence settles heavy as he steps out, shotgun raised. "We're ending this; whatever it is. Stay tight, and move fast," he warns in a low, rough voice.
Mara nods, rifle at the ready and gestures for Elias to move forward. Together, they slip into the woods.
The clearing opens before them as a ragged circle of blackened earth and jagged stones, with brambles choking the edges and frost glinting underfoot. The air shifts; pine gives way to a sour sulfur tang that sends a prickle up Elias's spine, recalling the barn's bell from last night.
Claw marks scar the trees: some weathered and old, others fresh with wet sap, their cuts deep. Daniel circles the charred dirt, his boots crunching the frost as he kneels by a stone, brushing it clean. "This is where we burned it in '84. It's the same spot," he says.
Mara scans the tree line, her rifle trained. "They've been back plenty. Look at these marks, they are newer every time we come."
Elias edges closer, his pulse thudding as he scans the thorny, dense brambles that seem to hide something dark.
As he studies a fresh claw mark, the ground trembles and a low growl rumbles up from the north, while the sulfur scent spikes hard enough to choke.
Daniel reacts immediately, firing salt rounds into the trees and scattering shadows. Three figures burst from the undergrowth; hunched, black-eyed with gleaming nails, bigger and meaner than before.
Mara swings her rifle, and an iron shot rips through one figure's arm, sending black blood splattering on the frost.
Elias plants his feet, aims and fires his shotgun; salt rounds pepper the second figure's chest and it staggers, its furious black eyes flashing.
The third creature lunges at Daniel, claws raking his coat and drawing a thin line of blood across his shoulder.
He grunts, rolling clear and reloading quickly as salt blasts its side.
Elias pivots, firing again; the recoil jars his arm while the attacker reels, black blood dripping into the frost.
Suddenly, a fourth figure steps out from behind the trees; a taller, colder presence with black eyes. It grins, voice harsh as it declares, "Thirteen years, hunters. You cut our roots, and now we cut yours."
Daniel fires, but the salt scatters uselessly off its tougher hide. Mara blasts another iron shot, tearing its shoulder and drawing more dark blood, yet it barely flinches as its claws flex.
Elias's heart slams as the leader's words of thirteen years echo in his mind, a detail that tugs at an old sketch in Daniel's '84 journal.
The ground shifts near the charred circle as Daniel kicks at the dirt, uncovering a pile of blackened, cracked bones tangled with more iron shards that pulse faintly red in the frost.
"This it?" he yells, raising his shotgun and dodging a claw swipe. Mara, grim, nods. "Has to be, burn it!"
Elias drops his shotgun briefly and yanks the flask of holy water from his pack, splashing it over the pile. Steam hisses as the red pulse flares then fades, and a low wail cuts through the air.
The leader roars and lunges at Elias with nails slashing, but Mara fires again and drive it back with another iron shot, and her arm trembling with the recoil.
Daniel strikes a match and tosses it, and the fire catches quickly as the flames lick up the bones and heat the iron shards until they glow.
The attacking figures howl and stagger, and soon their bodies slump lifeless in the snow.
The leader snarls, black eyes locked on the fire and then on Elias. "It's not over," it growls, retreating into the woods as the wounded attackers fade behind it.
Silence falls as the sulfur thins and the clearing remains scarred by battle. Elias stands with a heavy chest, holy water dripping from his gloves and his shotgun back in hand.
Mara pulls him close, her grip fierce and her breath ragged. "You're okay," she murmurs, though a fresh scratch on her cheek smears her coat with blood.
Daniel limps over, his shoulder still bleeding, the iron shard pouch secure in his pocket. "Thirteen years," he mutters, watching the fire as bones crack in the heat. "That's '84; our job. They're tied to it."
By noon, the truck rumbles back as the clearing's flames fade into a smudge in the rearview mirror. Elias sits with his shotgun across his lap and his knife steady by his side, the leader's taunt of thirteen years and roots cut kept repeating in his mind.
Mara breaks the quiet, low and resolute: "We got part of it, bones and some iron. But it's not all of it."
Daniel nods grimly, wiping blood from his coat. "Yeah. They'll come for what's left; our place next."
Later, back at the farm as dusk falls, the radio crackles with unsettling news—"…Colorado, kids gone missing…"—before Mara switches it off, her eyes fixed on Elias.
The salt lines gleam and the scars on the barn glint as the impending fight draws closer.