Chapter 5

The wooden gate groaned shut behind him, the heavy latch clicking into place. Rex didn't linger. He didn't want to invite any unwelcome guests. When he glanced down the empty street, a sigh escaped his lips. The roads were already swarming with more puppets than the last time he’d been here, their shambling forms twitching in the gray light.

A familiar knot of tension settled in Rex’s shoulders. He took a moment to loosen up, a few light hops and a slow roll of his neck and shoulders, feeling the ache of yesterday's battles. He was a hunter now, and the puppets, with their jerky, mindless movements, were prey. He strode forward, his pace confident, his heart a steady drum against his ribs. This time, there was no panic, only grim satisfaction as they fell before his bones. The fighting was methodical, a dance of practiced strikes and controlled movements. He had learned their patterns, their weaknesses, and now he was in full command.

The street was clear within the hour. Rex leaned against a broken-down car, wiping sweat from his brow. Riasha, appearing with a flicker of light at his side, offered her critique.

“Your follow-through is still a bit sloppy,” she said, her voice dry. “You’re relying on brute force instead of momentum. Remember what I told you. Your body isn’t a battery, Rex. It’s a conduit.”

He nodded, running a thumb along the smooth, worn bone. “Where to now?” he asked, his voice rough.

Riasha shrugged, a disarmingly human gesture. “Just keep going. When you think you’re done, keep going. I’ll let you know when you’re tired.”

He turned, his gaze drifting toward the park he’d passed on the way to his parents’ house. A tremor of unease ran through him. He feared what he’d seen then was real—the grotesque pile of bodies, the puppets littering the manicured green space. The image was seared into his memory, a horrific image of broken lives and mindless monsters. After the fresh nightmare with his parents, he had desperately hoped it was a trick of the light, a figment of a grief-stricken mind.

But as he approached, a new horror took hold. Puppets were actively pouring out of the park’s main gate, not just loitering as before. They were on the move, a tide of twitching limbs and vacant stares flooding the street. This was different. This was a direct assault. He slowly approached the horde, his knuckles white around his weapons, and glanced at Riasha. She met his gaze with a peculiar, almost mischievous smile. He made a shooing motion toward the puppets, and she only smiled wider. It freaked him out. Riasha's serenity in the face of such a scene was unnatural, a constant reminder of how vast the gulf was between their experiences.

Rex closed his eyes, drawing on the cold, hard anger from the node within him. It was a well he had learned to tap, a reservoir of cold fury. Instead of letting it overwhelm him, he focused it, channeling the energy into his muscles, into his weapons. He rushed toward them, preparing for a brutal, up-close brawl. The puppets were packed in tighter here than he had ever seen, their bodies a writhing, pulsing wall of flesh and bone. He’d never had to handle more than two at a time, but now four were charging him at once.

He handled them swiftly, a whirlwind of strikes and evasions. The weight of his guilt and grief from his parents' fate was a constant companion, a fire that fueled his assault as he pushed deeper and deeper into the group. He moved past the initial crush of bodies, past the line of chain-link fences, until he reached the park's entrance. The scene was worse than he’d imagined. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of puppets were ambling out of the park, and in the distance, Rex saw what had captured his attention before.

Bodies. They were everywhere. Some were still actively being consumed by the puppets, their skin flayed back to reveal bone and sinew. Others were little more than clean, picked-over skeletons. A silent scream tore through Rex's mind. The sight of it, the sickening reality of so much death, fed his anger. He poured more of the swirling energy into his body, a deep, resonant hum building just beneath his skin, growing closer to the precipice of his sanity.

A gentle hand on his arm brought him back. It was Riasha.

“No, control yourself,” she said, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it. “Feed it into your weapons, not your body. I know you feel justified, but losing yourself every time something bad happens is a good way to get killed. The rage will eat you alive, Rex.”

Riasha was right. He directed the flow of energy away from his core, focusing it on his weapons. The humming in his body lessened, and he felt himself step back from the edge. Still, he maintained a low flow, a simmer of rage just beneath the surface, enough to keep him sharp and ready.

Finally making his way into the playground proper, he saw that the horror was even more profound up close. The carnage wasn’t random. Many of the bodies had been collected, piled beneath slides and jungle gyms. He saw some of the puppets carrying still more away, deeper into the park, like insects hauling food to a nest.

Riasha watched him, her face an impassive mask. She had seen scenes like this a thousand times before. In a way, she felt nothing. They weren't her people, and this wasn’t one of her worlds. But when she looked at Rex’s tear-stained face, at the anguish etched in his features, she was reminded that this was, in fact, a tragedy. For him. She didn't know how to react to his grief. Perhaps that old coot had been right, she thought with a flicker of something she couldn't name. A bit of human grounding could be called for.

Rex, on the other hand, couldn't stop the flow of tears. So many people. So many kids. Gone within a single day. The thought of his parents, of their sacrifice, returned with a fresh wave of sorrow. But then the sorrow morphed, twisting into a hard, cold, and terrible rage.

“Where do you think they’re taking the bones?” Riasha asked, her voice deliberately flat, trying to redirect his attention away from the carnage and toward the mystery.

Rex looked to where a few puppets were walking away with arms full of bones. He gripped his own weapons tighter, the bone of his weapons feeling like an extension of his own fury. He stomped toward them, crushing every puppet that got in his way. He allowed one of the hauling puppets to live, using it as a guide.

The puppet veered off onto a narrow biking path. Rex followed like a starving hound. The path was heavily wooded, the trees pressing in on both sides. This forced him to fight harder. The mass of puppets became denser, a single, writhing choke point of limbs and teeth. The close quarters made it difficult to maneuver, but it also made the kills more efficient. The puppets coming in from the trees were slow and clumsy, easy to handle.

He took small wounds, scrapes and gouges, but they were nothing compared to his pact-empowered body. He barely noticed the pain anymore. Riasha’s continued coaching was a constant undercurrent, her advice a steady stream in his ear, even as his bloodlust grew.

A couple of hours later, Rex and his grim tour guide exited the wooded path into a new expanse—a wide-open field on the other side of the park. Hundreds of puppets were gathered here, a sea of shambling bodies. Rex was starting to feel a deep, bone-weary fatigue. He had maintained a steady flow of energy the entire time, but this was different. This was the deep exhaustion of a man who had been at war for hours on end. Yet, he had stayed in control, a small victory that felt monumental.

As the puppet carrying the bones headed over a small ridge, Rex noticed a change. The puppets he began to engage were different. They were stronger, heavier, their skin taking on a faint, sickly green tone. They moved with a predatory smoothness, their bodies straighter, their eyes holding an unnatural air of danger. Rex could sense their power, a hum of controlled energy that made them far more powerful than the mindless puppets he had been slaughtering. But a part of him still believed he was stronger.

The first of these “empowered” puppets attacked, getting a clean slice across his chest. They were faster than he had assumed. Rex swung back, but his blow was blocked with a solid thud. He tried to remember Riasha’s advice—move, pivot, use his whole body. He swung again, pouring his rage into the attack. The puppet’s arm broke with a sickening snap, and Rex finished the job with his next swing.

He continued in the direction of the hauling puppet, engaging with more of the empowered enemies. They were injuring him more consistently now, his small wounds adding up. Finally, he fought his way over the ridge, and he saw where the puppets were taking the bones of their victims.

An ornate stone archway stood at the base of the hill, leading down into the ground. It was an opening that felt ancient and out of place in the modern park. The puppet took its load into the darkness and disappeared. Standing guard on either side were two figures.

The first was a classic medieval guard, with a sword, a shield, and a metallic chest piece. Rex was too far away to see his face, but he wore a strange, flat-brimmed hat, a Korean _gat_ in shape, though it was a bloody red color with white circles on its surface.

The other guard was a massive gorilla-like beast. Eight feet tall, it leaned forward on massive arms, drooling saliva onto the ground. Its skin was an even darker shade of green than the empowered puppets. It looked strange, not aggressive, but zoned out. As Rex looked closer, he saw scars and stitches all over its body, as if entire limbs had been sewn back on.

A strange, heady excitement coursed through Rex. He kept marching toward the opening, a rush of battle hunger filling him. He had faced so many puppets, but these were real enemies, a chance to truly test his limits. He glanced at Riasha, who looked back at him, her eyes sparkling.

“Intoxicating, isn’t it?” she asked, a mischievous smile on her face.

“You’re to blame for this, aren’t you?” Rex asked, his mouth watering in anticipation of the fight.

“Yes! Isn’t it great?” she said, too excited to have a new partner in crime to care about his judgment.

“I’ll let you know after this,” Rex said, a grin of his own spreading across his face as he strode toward the guards.

The shield guard noticed Rex soon after he crested the ridge. He didn’t seem worried. He looked to the gorilla fiend and gave a command Rex couldn’t hear, a strange whistle that carried on the wind. The beast’s eyes met Rex’s, and it charged, clearing the fifty yards in a few crushing bounds.

The moment it slammed into Rex, the puppets fled, avoiding the fight entirely. The gorilla’s strike launched Rex back five feet, the air knocked from his lungs. The pair exchanged savage hits, but Rex was getting the worst of it. The beast swiped at him, a vicious hook that broke his left arm with a sickening crack. The bone snapped, but Rex somehow held on to his weapon, a dull, agonizing pain shooting up his arm.

Panic, cold and sharp, began to grow with each passing second. He swung wildly, desperately trying to block the beast from taking his head off. He dodged a leaping smash and tried to back step, but the gorilla followed too closely. His attacks were ineffective, his strikes barely slowing the momentum of the creature.

Another solid hit launched him backward. The beast charged again, but Rex was able to avoid the follow-up, smashing its shoulder as it overcommitted to its swing. The beast lost its balance and fell.

Seeing his chance, Rex ran. He turned and sprinted as fast as he could, his broken arm flailing uselessly at his side. The beast chased him for a while, but halfway back down the bike path, the same sharp whistle rang out, and the gorilla stopped, turned around, and began to walk back, growling at Rex.

Rex didn’t stop running. Fortunately, all the puppets had fled, leaving him a clear path. His anger had given way to a deep, drained feeling, a profound tiredness that almost caused him to pass out on the spot. He barely made it back to the house, splaying out on the floor the second he got inside.

Riasha paced around him, a ball of manic excitement. “You did so good! You killed so many puppets and fought something of foundation strength as a mortal and survived! You are just full of surprises.”

Rex lay there in pain, breathing heavily. His eyes were closed, fighting sleep. “There is no way I can deal with that thing. I couldn’t touch it. I was a plaything to it.”

“Not yet,” Riasha said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But I have just the thing for you.”

He felt her hand on his, and then a shard of polished stone was placed in his palm. He grabbed it, and as his fingers closed around the cold surface, his consciousness fled him.