Chapter 12

The morning air carried the stench of decay as Rex and Riasha moved through the empty streets. They'd spent the entire night searching for anyone who might know what held the church in its grip, anyone who'd survived long enough to witness the barrier's creation. The sun rose over broken buildings, painting the devastation in shades of orange and gold that seemed obscene against such ruin.

The city felt different in daylight. What had been merely empty in the darkness now revealed itself as systematically ravaged. Store windows gaped like dead eyes, their contents scattered across sidewalks that sparkled with broken glass. A children's clothing store had been ransacked, tiny shoes and colorful shirts trampled into the grime. Abandoned cars sat at odd angles, some with doors hanging open as if their owners had simply vanished mid-step.

Rex counted the blocks they'd covered. Twelve so far, each one yielding nothing but more questions and a growing sense of futility. The few survivors they'd found had been turned or worse, drained husks that barely qualified as human anymore. One had been a mail carrier, still wearing his uniform, dragging his bag behind him as he shambled in endless circles around his route.

"There," Rex pointed to a cluster of risen humans shambling through what used to be a shopping district. The morning light revealed details he wished he couldn't see, a woman in a wedding dress, the white fabric stained brown with old blood; a teenager still clutching a skateboard, using it to club at anything that moved; an elderly man in a hospital gown, his IV stand dragging behind him like a grotesque walking aid.

"Maybe one of them saw something before they turned," Rex said, though he knew it was desperation talking. "Maybe they retained some memory of, "

Riasha shook her head, perching on an overturned car, her four arms arranged in a gesture of patient exasperation. "Once they're risen, their memories fragment like dropped glass. You'd get nothing useful, just broken images."

Rex approached anyway, his bone weapons humming with barely contained energy. He needed to do something, anything, rather than accept they'd hit a dead end. The kills felt routine now, mechanical. Each strike found its target with the kind of precision that only came from too much practice. The wedding dress woman went down first, his weapon crushing the control stone embedded in her chest. The teenager next, the skateboard clattering away as his body crumpled. The elderly man last, finally free from whatever nightmare had animated him.

When the last body hit the pavement, Rex realized how far he'd come since that first terrifying encounter in his parents' bedroom. These things didn't even register as threats anymore. They were obstacles, nothing more. The thought should have satisfied him, but instead it left him feeling hollow.

"Face it," Riasha said, her tone carrying the weight of experience. "Whatever's in that church isn't from around here. It's not mushroom-based like the ones you've been fighting, and it's not standard necromancy. The locals wouldn't recognize the signature even if they were alive to describe it."

Rex wiped gore from his weapons using a discarded newspaper, the headline still visible beneath the blood: "MYSTERIOUS LIGHTS SEEN OVER CITY." The date was from the day of the invasion. They'd had no idea what was coming.

"Then how do we get in?" Frustration bled into his voice. "We can't just leave those people."

"Brute force." Her tone shifted, carrying a hint of excitement that made Rex pay attention. Riasha loved violence the way other people loved art. "You could overpower the barrier in a small section, punch through with raw energy. Like using a shaped charge on a bunker door. Or..."

She paused, studying him with those covered eyes that somehow saw everything. Her head tilted, considering. "You could use your dao to deconstruct it. Tear it apart from the inside out."

"Deconstruct how? I can't just hit it harder."

"Your demolishing dao isn't just about breaking things, Rex. It's about understanding structure, finding the joints and stress points. Every construct has them, even energy barriers." She hopped down from the car, landing silently despite the four-foot drop. "That barrier is constructed energy, it has architecture, blueprint, design. What has been built can be unbuilt."

They found shelter in an abandoned auto shop as the sun reached its zenith, the heat making the smell of old oil and rust almost overwhelming. The shop had been fortified at some point, boards over the windows, the door reinforced with sheet metal, but whatever survivors had claimed it were gone now. Only bloodstains remained, painted across the concrete in patterns that suggested a last stand.

Rex dozed fitfully against a tool cabinet while Riasha kept watch, her four arms moving in slow, meditative patterns that might have been combat forms or might have been prayer. His dreams were full of trapped faces pressing against glass, mouths open in silent screams.

He woke to find Riasha examining a map she'd found somewhere, marking locations with symbols he didn't recognize. "The barrier has existed for approximately twenty days," she said without looking up. "That means it was erected shortly after the initial invasion. Intentional timing."

"You think someone planned this? Used the chaos as cover?"

"Or took advantage of an opportunity. A city full of panicked, desperate mortals looking for sanctuary? Perfect feeding ground for the right kind of predator."

---

Dawn brought them back to the church's side entrance, approaching from a different angle to avoid the puppet congregation that still pressed against the main doors. The morning mist clung to the ground, giving everything a dreamlike quality. Rex placed his palms against the invisible barrier, feeling its texture properly for the first time.

It was smooth as glass but with underlying currents that reminded him of flowing water. There was a rhythm to it, like a heartbeat or breathing. The more he focused, the more complex it became, layers upon layers of interwoven energy, each one reinforcing the others.

"Stop thinking of it as a wall," Riasha instructed, her voice taking on the teaching tone he'd grown familiar with. "Think of it as a weave, a tapestry. Find the threads. Feel how they connect."

Rex closed his eyes, extending his spiritual senses into the barrier itself. At first, it resisted, trying to push his consciousness back. But he persisted, using his anger dao not as a weapon but as a probe. The barrier revealed itself in stages, first as a solid mass, then as layers, finally as interlocking patterns of energy that pulsed with alien rhythm.

The construction was beautiful in its complexity. Threads of power wove through each other in patterns that hurt to follow, creating something that was simultaneously there and not there, solid and permeable. It reminded him of those optical illusions that changed depending on how you looked at them.

Minutes passed. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool morning air as he traced the barrier's construction, mapping its flow. His mind struggled to hold the entire pattern at once, it kept shifting, changing, adapting to his observation. Then something clicked. A moment of perfect clarity where he saw not the barrier's weakness but its nature.

Instead of finding weak points to exploit, he began to see the pattern itself as malleable, responsive. It wasn't meant to keep everything out, it was selective, discriminating. And if it could choose what to reject, it could be convinced to choose differently.

"There," he breathed, not daring to move as understanding crystallized.

His demolition dao flowed like liquid concrete, not striking but infiltrating. It seeped into the spaces between the barrier's threads, following pathways that existed more in concept than reality. He wasn't breaking the barrier, he was temporarily convincing it that he belonged inside, that his presence was part of its design.

The energy parted around his hands like curtains, creating a doorway exactly the size he needed. The edges shimmered, struggling to maintain cohesion around the intrusion.

"Beautiful work," Riasha whispered, genuine appreciation in her voice. "You're learning to think beyond simple destruction. Hold it steady, I'm staying out here to watch for trouble."

Rex stepped through into a maintenance hallway that smelled of industrial disinfectant and dust. The moment his feet touched the yellowed linoleum floor, the barrier snapped shut behind him with an almost audible click. He was inside, but more importantly, he was trapped inside just like everyone else.

Then the assault began.

Foreign energy crashed against his mind like a tide against a seawall. It was different from the dominance dao he'd felt in the catacombs, this was hungrier, more personal. It didn't want to control him; it wanted to drain him, to hollow him out and leave nothing but an empty shell that it could animate as needed. The sensation was violating, like invisible fingers trying to pry open his skull.

Rex's anger rose instinctively, forming a wall of rage between the invading force and his consciousness. The Berserker's Constitution proved its worth, what would have overwhelmed a normal person barely made him stumble. His body had been rebuilt around anger; a little psychic pressure was nothing compared to the constant burn of fury in his veins.

The hallway stretched ahead, fluorescent lights humming overhead with that particular frequency that promised headaches. Half of them flickered, casting shifting shadows that made distance hard to judge. The walls were covered in motivational posters about faith and perseverance that seemed grotesquely inappropriate now. One showed a sunrise over mountains with the caption "Every Day Is A New Beginning." Someone had drawn a skull over the sun in what looked like dried blood.

Rex moved deeper into the building, his enhanced senses picking up the sound of shallow breathing somewhere ahead. The church looked exactly as it should, worship bulletins scattered on tables announcing events that would never happen, administrative offices with desktop computers still displaying error messages, storage closets filled with hymnals that would never be sung from again.

The normalcy felt wrong. Manufactured. Like something was maintaining the illusion of sanctuary even as it fed on the people it pretended to protect.

He passed a children's Sunday school room, the walls covered in crayon drawings of arks and rainbows. Tiny chairs circled low tables scattered with coloring books. One was still open to a half-finished picture of Jesus surrounded by children. The crayon lay beside it, as if the artist had just stepped away and would return any moment.

Rex followed the sound of breathing toward the main sanctuary, his footsteps echoing despite his attempts at stealth. Double doors loomed before him, carved with images of doves and olive branches. He pushed them open, the hinges creaking in harmony.

The sanctuary was vast, designed to hold hundreds. Stained glass windows cast colored light across rows of wooden pews that stretched toward a raised platform. The morning sun through the eastern windows painted everything in shades of red and gold, beautiful and terrible. But instead of a congregation filling the space, thirty-odd people huddled together on the platform like sheep awaiting slaughter.

Most sat in vacant-eyed silence, their skin pale and drawn tight over their bones. They looked drained, not just physically but spiritually, as if something had been steadily siphoning away their essence. Some rocked back and forth, making small, repetitive movements that suggested minds trying to maintain some kind of routine in the face of horror. Others simply stared at nothing, so still they might have been corpses if not for the occasional blink.

But one woman near the group's edge noticed his entrance. She wore a torn business suit that had once been expensive, the kind successful people wore to make impressions. Her blonde hair hung limp around a face that still held traces of defiance despite the dark circles under her eyes. She looked like she'd been beautiful once, before fear and exhaustion had carved new lines into her features.

"You came," she whispered, hope cracking her voice like ice in spring. "I wasn't sure anyone saw my signal. I wasn't even sure there was anyone left to see it."

Rex approached slowly, his bone weapons ready but lowered. These people were victims, but in places like this, victims could become threats without warning. "I'm Rex. You're the one who signaled?"

She nodded, struggling to her feet using a pew for support. Her legs shook with the effort. "Elara. I was... I am a financial analyst. Was in the building next door when everything went to hell. This place seemed safe. The barrier kept the monsters out." Her laugh was bitter. "We didn't realize it would keep us in too."

"How long?"

"Eighteen days. Maybe nineteen. Hard to track time when you don't sleep properly." She glanced nervously at the others. "Most of them can barely speak anymore. It's been feeding on us, you see. Little by little. Taking just enough that we don't die, but never letting us recover."

"What guards you? What keeps you from just walking out?"

"They come when it calls them." Elara's eyes darted toward the back of the sanctuary. "They are like the things outside but stronger, smarter. They make sure we don't try to leave. The last person who tried..." She trailed off, but her gaze fell on a dark stain near the altar that Rex hadn't noticed before.

As if summoned by her words, Rex heard footsteps echoing from the hallway behind him. Heavy, deliberate steps that didn't match the shambling gait of normal risen. These moved with purpose, with coordination.

Three figures entered the sanctuary through a side door he hadn't noticed. They moved with predatory grace, their bodies a mockery of human form. Pale skin stretched tight over enhanced musculature that bulged in ways that suggested extra muscle groups had been added. Red veins pulsed beneath their flesh like external circulatory systems, and their eyes held an intelligence that made Rex's blood run cold. These weren't mindless puppets. They were aware, calculating, enjoying this.

"Fresh meat," one of them rasped, its voice carrying unnatural tones like multiple people speaking in unison. "The master will be pleased. So much energy in this one. So much flavor."

Rex's dao flared to life as the guards charged. These weren't the mindless puppets he'd grown accustomed to fighting. They coordinated their attack with military precision, one coming high with clawed hands aimed at his throat while another swept low, trying to hamstring him. The third circled to flank, waiting for an opening.

But Rex had grown stronger. His time in the catacombs had been education in violence. His demolishing dao carved through their enhanced bodies like a hot knife through butter. He could see their weaknesses as clearly as if they were drawn in red ink, the stress points where muscle attached to bone, the joints that couldn't support their augmented mass, the places where their enhancements had actually made them more vulnerable.

The first guard's arm separated at the elbow when Rex's weapon found the weak point in its joint. It screamed, the sound more rage than pain, and tried to bite him with jaws that unhinged like a snake's. Rex's second strike took its head off at the modified vertebrae that allowed for such flexibility.

The second guard managed to rake claws across his ribs before Rex grabbed its wrist and channeled demolition dao directly through his palm. The guard's entire arm collapsed, bones fragmenting into powder inside the skin. It stumbled back, and Rex's weapon found its control stone, embedded where its heart should be.

The third tried to flee, intelligence overriding whatever compulsion drove it. Rex threw his weapon which caught it in the spine, the demolition dao severing not just bone but the energy pathways that animated it. It collapsed in the doorway, twitching briefly before going still.

The fight had lasted less than thirty seconds, but the violence of it left the sanctuary feeling desecrated. Blood, or whatever passed for blood in those things, splattered the walls and pews. The survivors huddled closer together, some crying, others just staring with the blank incomprehension of the deeply traumatized.

As the last guard collapsed, a voice filled the sanctuary, not heard but felt, pressing against every mind present.

_You have doomed them all, little warrior. Without my guards to maintain order, I will simply consume them completely. They will die screaming, and it will be your fault._

Rex turned to address the survivors, to offer some reassurance, but movement caught his eye. A young man near the edge of the group was staring at him with wide eyes. Seventeen, maybe eighteen, with dark hair and the kind of lean build that spoke of too many missed meals even before this nightmare began. Unlike the others, hope blazed in his expression like a flame refusing to be extinguished.

"Don't listen to it," the kid said, his voice stronger than Rex expected from someone who looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over. "It's been saying that for days. That if we tried to resist, things would get worse. But they were getting worse anyway. With you, at least now we have a chance."

Elara struggled to her feet, using the wall for support. "The boy's right. Marcus has been keeping our spirits up, even when..." She gestured vaguely at the other survivors. "Even when there wasn't much spirit left to maintain."

"Where does it come from?" Rex asked.

"Below." Marcus pointed toward the back of the sanctuary. "There's a crack in the basement, some kind of tunnel. The things that take people, they all come from down there. Sometimes we hear it moving, like something huge shifting in the earth."

Rex looked toward the rear of the sanctuary, where a small door marked 'Basement Access' sat partially hidden behind a fold-up table that had been pushed aside. Through the floor, he could feel something vast and hungry stirring in the depths below. The wooden boards seemed to pulse with each movement, like skin over a breathing chest.

The voice came again, amused now. _Yes, come to me. See what awaits those who would steal my property. I have fed well these past days. Your strength will make a fine addition._

Rex hefted his bone weapons, their red glow painting the sanctuary's white walls in shades of blood and sunset. The anger dao pulsed through them, eager for violence. "Stay here. If I'm not back in an hour, "

"We'll be dead in an hour without those guards to regulate the feeding," Elara said flatly. "Whatever you're going to do, do it fast."

The basement door opened onto stairs that descended into darkness that seemed to swallow everything in its depths. Each step down felt like walking into increasingly deep water, pressure building against his enhanced perception. The wooden steps groaned under his weight, some cracked down the middle but still holding.

At the bottom, a single bulb provided limited light, revealing a typical church basement, storage shelves lined with holiday decorations, boxes of old hymnals, a broken piano pushed against one wall. But the back wall was wrong. A jagged crack split the foundation from floor to ceiling, not a natural fissure but something torn open by force. The edges were smooth, almost melted, as if incredible heat had been applied.

Beyond the crack, a tunnel sloped downward into depths that reeked of ancient earth and something else. Something organic and wrong. The smell reminded Rex of the mushroom creatures but different, less fungal, more... digestive. Like being inside something's stomach.

He could feel the survivors above, their terror a weight on his shoulders. Thirty-odd lives depending on him, and below, something that had been feeding on that terror for days.

Rex stared into the darkness, his anger dao stirring in response to the challenge. Part of him, the part that had been mortal a month ago, wanted to run. But the larger part, the part forged in violence and loss, wanted to meet whatever waited below. To test himself against something truly dangerous.

He stepped into the tunnel, his weapons casting dancing shadows on rough-hewn walls that wept moisture and something that might have been digestive acid. The slope was steep, forcing him to brace against the walls as he descended.

Fifty feet down, the tunnel opened into a natural cave system. But natural was the wrong word. The caves had been modified, expanded, shaped by something that understood architecture but didn't quite grasp human aesthetics. Corridors branched off at angles, doorways were too tall and too narrow. Everything felt organic despite being carved from stone.

And at the center of it all, Rex could feel it. A presence so vast and hungry it distorted the spiritual atmosphere like a black hole bent light. It was old, older than the invasion, older than the city above. It had been waiting here, sleeping perhaps, until the chaos provided an opportunity.

Now it was awake. Fed. And waiting for him.

Rex moved deeper into its domain, toward whatever nightmare had claimed this place.