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Hostile

Gwen

I nstinct made Gwen jump, dropping the knife as she reached for the shelf by her side.

She raised her foot, finding purchase on one of the lower shelves as she hauled herself up.

Gwen wasn’t particularly strong, but she soon realized she didn’t need to be.

Climbing took very little effort, as if she was suddenly weightless.

All sense of vertigo was gone as Gwen reached the top of the aisle, crouched precariously above a model train set.

From her vantage point, Gwen could see more robed figures darting through aisles.

They were all headed in her direction, and at least one of them was brandishing a gun.

It confirmed Gwen’s thoughts that the cult was expecting some kind of resistance.

Though she doubted any of them were expecting it to be supernatural.

They aren’t expecting me…

Gwen turned her gaze to the ceiling.

There would be more room to move away from gunfire up there.

If she could get to the end of the aisle unnoticed, Gwen could climb the thin pillar.

As the radio noise got closer, Gwen scrambled to her feet.

She raced across the boxes and braced herself as she collided with the pillar.

Yet gravity never came as Gwen’s hands stuck to the pillar like glue.

To her amazement, she scaled the pillar just as easily as the little spiders.

Gwen skittered until her hands and feet met the ceiling.

Now she could see more of them, head hanging down as she eyed the figures.

Two from Frames, four from Sewing.

Six all together.

They were racing toward the aisle, splitting into groups to surround it.

Clever, but not good enough.

The cultist with the gun reached Brother Aaron first. He shouted before aiming at one of the larger spiders.

“None of that!” Gwen hissed, voice dropping into a nightmarish pitch.

With one outstretched hand, something bubbling in Gwen’s stomach.

It coiled around her organs, jerking through her heart and into veins.

A pulsation flared through her arm, pushed through her wrists, and burst from her palm.

A flash of pink neon arced, slamming into the cultist’s chest. The impact sent him flying like a rag doll, body smacking against the floor straight into the next aisle.

The cultists immediately started falling over themselves.

With one brave enough to reach for their radio at their hip.

“Sister Angie, Brother Aaron is down! Brother Carter is down! Permission to get the fuck out of here?! Over!”

Another cultist grabbed the radio from their hand, “Fuck the radio, Linda, we need to leave, now!”

“Get the hell out of my way!” another yelled, shoving Linda aside.

“Fuck you, Corey!” Linda shouted.

The deterioration of their collective infuriated Gwen.

Here she was, risking her very life for the one she loved, and these so-called devoted followers of the Bound Obscene were so quick to abandon him.

It was disappointing, it was insulting, and most of all, it proved Gwen’s original thought.

None of you are worthy of him, a dark voice inside Gwen snarled.

And none of you are getting away.

Gwen scurried across the ceiling, following Corey as he bolted toward the front door.

The adrenaline made him fast, but something in Gwen was faster.

Unfortunately, all that rapid movement created a sound that echoed beneath the screaming cultists.

It was enough that Corey paused, the hood of his cloak falling away.

His head darted left and right, mouth open as he panted.

If Gwen didn’t know better, she could have sworn she heard his heart beating.

Thump-thump… thump-thump…

Corey’s hesitation was his downfall as Gwen dropped from the ceiling.

She fell upon his back, sending him crashing to the floor between two checkout stands.

Corey groaned, scrambling to push Gwen off his back with an elbow to her solar plexus.

The impact hurt, sending Gwen into the side of one of the registers.

Corey hurried to his feet, only to fall once again as he caught his foot on his own cloak.

Gwen reached up, yanking the intercom phone down just as Corey reached up to pull at the strings.

By the time his shaky fingers freed him of the cloak, Gwen brought the phone down on his head.

It was enough to bring him back to the ground, Gwen quickly straddling his back as she brought the phone down again and again.

By the time Gwen stopped, the phone was stained and cracked, much like the back of Corey’s head.

She dropped the phone, letting it fall into the pool of blood.

Gwen left Corey’s body, stalking down the aisles where she could hear the fleeing cult members.

She would need to deal with them quickly, as there were at least six other individuals performing the ritual.

We need to forge ahead.

Saliva built in the back of Gwen’s throat, thick and heavy with the weight of something foreign.

Opening her mouth, Gwen felt the soft material roll toward her teeth.

She reached up, plucking Ambrosius’ eyeball from her lips.

The same one he had gifted her days ago.

It was large—about the size of a jawbreaker now, the pupil dilated as it stared up at her.

“It’s you and me, baby . Scout ahead .” Gwen ordered.

“ Find them. ”

Pressing a kiss to it, she drew back her arm and chucked the eyeball as far as she could.

It sailed over the aisle, though where it landed was beyond Gwen at the moment.

Her attention was drawn to the slap of a sandal across the linoleum floor nearby.

Gwen pivoted at the end of an aisle, passing by storage and organization.

Overburdened shelves containing poorly made decorative trunks and shelves were passed over as Gwen walked by.

Her head darted left and right as she passed by more decor.

Body tense, she listened for any sound of movement—

Behind me!

Enough time to turn, but not enough to stop the dagger that pushed into her abdomen.

Blood rushed to her head as she stared at the cloaked figure, both of them with matching looks of disbelief on their faces.

“Holy shit,” the woman said.

“Holy shit. ”

The woman was young—closer to Sierra’s age, if Gwen had to guess.

Dark eyes that were half anxious and half dazed as she let go of the knife, drawing shakily back to herself.

Gwen gritted her teeth, sparing the knife one more look before glaring at the woman.

“You … bitch! ” Gwen cursed.

“ I just got this part fixed!”

Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or maybe the mayhem Ambrosius’ presence brought upon humans.

Whatever it was, Gwen found that while the pain was excruciating, it wasn’t as terrible as being eaten.

Her hand wrapped around the dagger’s handle, and Gwen quickly withdrew it.

The gush of blood was more annoying than anything else.

“And you ruined my dress,” Gwen growled.

The euphoria and confusion had melted to anxiety and fear within the cultist. Emotions Gwen was much more familiar with as being organic.

Knife still in hand, Gwen grabbed a handful of the cultist cloak, yanking them toward her.

The wave of fear was so intense, the size of a Christmas dinner that Gwen eagerly filled her stomach with.

When there was but a scrap of fear left, Gwen brought the dagger to the woman’s neck.

It slid through skin and muscle like butter.

A gush of hot blood spilled, staining the woman’s cloak and the tips of Gwen’s fingers.

The woman gasped, a wet splutter as she quickly sunk to the ground .

Impatient, Gwen pulled the knife from her neck.

More blood pooled beneath the woman as she tried desperately to cut off the blood loss.

It only delayed the inevitable by a few seconds as the woman’s eyes grew lifeless and her body became still.

Gwen glanced down to the cut in her dress.

The material had been thoroughly torn and slashed, but the wound was slowly knitting together.

It itched like nothing else, but Gwen shoved the irritation aside.

“Three down … three to go…”

She hopped over the dead woman and proceeded to make her way down the aisle.

Gwen eyed the surrounding area before exiting, darting past terrarium kits and fish bowls.

On her right were rows of model figurines, and on her left was more home decor.

Gwen had nearly made it to the mirrors when something clouded her eyes.

Flashing images—an aerial view of the store, and darting down the aisle that contained the mirrors were two figures.

When her vision cleared, Gwen froze near the aisle end, pressing her body against a display of hanging calendars.

She ignored her own breathing, listening for the sound of the dashing footfalls.

Bracing herself for the impact, Gwen raised her armed hand.

The body made contact, dagger piercing straight through cotton and flesh.

A gasp fell from one of them, which one, Gwen wasn’t sure as she stuck her heel out.

The propelling movement sent the injured cultist forward, falling face first to the ground.

A sound of pain escaped the body, but Gwen would have to verify their death once she took care of the second cultist.

Or so she thought as a fist connected with her mouth.

The impact sent Gwen back, nearly falling on the wailing cultist before she found her footing.

Blood—thick and black—quickly filled her mouth, staining her teeth as her jaw ached.

“Linda!” the man shouted, shoving past Gwen.

She stumbled, catching herself against one of the mirrors.

Gwen looked like hell, glowing neon eyes and veins that were visible along her neck, face, and hands.

Gwen hadn’t noticed it before then, but even her body looked different.

Her short, stubby fingers were long and pointed.

Black blood spilled from her wounds, staining her dress.

To put it frankly, Gwen looked nightmarish, but it didn’t unsettle her.

The cultist had fallen to Linda’s side, trying to turn her body over, but it was too late.

Gwen couldn’t feel anything from the woman anymore as she slammed the mirror against the wall.

Cheaply made, it shattered upon impact.

Gwen grabbed a piece of the broken mirror, wincing slightly as the jagged piece cut into her palm.

She stalked toward the cultist, reared back, and plunged forward—

Only to fall onto the body as the man twisted away just in time.

He must have decided Linda was a lost cause, running toward the back of the store.

Unlike the other cult members, this one was quick to lose his cloak.

It fluttered in the air behind him, revealing ripped jeans and a basic shirt beneath.

Gwen scrambled to her feet, reaching out a hand again as she called that same burst of energy from her frame.

It pulsated through her arm, exiting her palm with enough intensity that it almost knocked Gwen back.

It flew through the air at an incredible speed, finding its target and sending the man flying ass over tea kettle.

Gwen was quick to follow, sprinting down the floor as the resounding crash echoed throughout the store.

Frames had fallen from an end display, crashing into the cultist’s body.

The wooden frames were always a point of concern for Mary, as she never liked them hanging so high, but Zander had always insisted.

As Gwen drew near, she found there was some merit to Mary’s concerns.

One of the wooden frames had broken on the way down.

Though Gwen could not say how, the result was still the same.

A chunk of the heavy wooden frame had fallen at just the right angle and had hit the man’s forehead.

The blunt force had already formed a welt on his head, blood seeping through.

Gwen tried to feel for anything that wasn’t the lessening euphoria that clung to the air.

There was none.

Gwen hummed, leaning back on her heels.

There was one cultist left for Gwen to take care of before she braved the back of house.

Gwen wasn’t sure what lay beyond the heavy doors, but it was better to be cautious than not.

As she slowly approached, Gwen stopped at the yarn section, swiping a pair of knitting needles.

Like the cutting knife, she tore through the packaging and slid one into her boot.

Brandishing the other, Gwen crept toward the back of house doors.

Her nerves were on edge, adrenaline making her dizzy.

Or perhaps that was the hysteria of the night.

The need to protect Ambrosius, to survive humans, had never been clearer to Gwen.

This wasn’t about right versus wrong, this was about self-preservation.

It was the same instinct—that intuition—that made Gwen halt upon seeing a body a few feet from the door.

Another cultist, lying face down on the floor.

A number of possible explanations flew through her mind.

One of the others turned on them, leaving them to die.

Or maybe the cultist wasn’t dead at all, but acting like it.

A trap, perhaps? Gwen didn’t want to give them credit, but Sierra had proven herself to be quite the actress.

It wasn’t completely out of left field.

Either way, Gwen needed to make a decision.

Gwen tightened her hold on the knitting needle before approaching the figure.

Cautious, but determined, Gwen raised the needle.

While she intended to strike, Gwen frowned upon seeing the figure’s face come into view.

It was Zander, her missing coworker…

And all his teeth were gone.

The sight was so disturbing that Gwen had no chance to react at all.

She heard the doors burst open, and by the time she saw the figure, it was too late.

The ax had already come down—

Gwen’s arm fell to the floor.