Night had descended upon the scene, quiet and peaceful. However, the word Alter would use to describe it would be ‘Nerve-wracking’. A cold wind blew with a mischievous intent to seek out gaps in clothing to provide maximum discomfort. It whistled harshly through the cabin windows, and caused the loose canvas of the tents to ripple and snap. Below them in the darkness, the trees in the basin writhed and rustled like an invisible sea. The moon tried its best to illuminate their surroundings but rolling banks of clouds often painted the world colourless.

  Vangroover remained unconscious, but it was only a matter of time before he would awaken. The question had been raised of simply using a jolt injector to wake him up immediately, but Boozehound had overruled such ideas. Stating that a sudden surge in blood flow could cause the wound on his neck to reopen itself. Riptide was well and truly back on his feet and keen to make up for lost time. He had wanted to immediately surge off in pursuit for bloody vengeance but cooler heads had brought him back into line. Still, it hadn’t stopped him from roving the perimeter like a caged wolf, if looks could kill then everyone within a twenty-mile radius would’ve flatlined within minutes. The quiet decision was made to leave him to it, he’d come back when he was tired.

  Farfield managed to get over his funk with minimal assistance, much to everyone's relief. His questions and subsequent struggles with the nature of their current situation were successfully waylaid by the gruff wisdom of dozens of action movie quotes. Combine that with some recycled wisdom, a heaped portion of positive reinforcement and a subtle dash of ‘remember you signed up for this’, the lad was satisfied enough to drop the subject. It wasn’t the most genuine of conversations, there was a certain pang of guilt that comes with willingly distorting the truth despite knowing that honesty would likely further compound the issue. But after all, you can’t just casually admit to someone that you’ve popped into existence from an alternative plane. How does one describe to a person that transitioning between realities allows for the emotional detachment required for combat without sounding insane? That is a battle that simply cannot be won, and Alter was not in the business of fighting said battles.

  In what many would describe as a foolish move, or a noble sacrifice as he would put it, Alter had volunteered for the middle watch. From the darkest hour to just before sunrise he had nothing to do but wait, listen to the cruel wind, and watch the moonlight shadows dance along the broken wall. At least he was sheltered from the worst of the wind, and he wasn’t the only one awake. Around the corner was a much less comfortable Whim whose duty of watching the staircase left him exposed to the elements. Every so often the man’s dark and miserable mutterings would drift around the corner, and Alter would allow himself a smug smile before snuggling deeper into the blanket nest he’d surrounded himself with. It was the little things like that which made the whole situation more bearable.

  Such shreds of comfort cannot last forever. Eventually, inevitably, they are broken. Just as he was drifting into a pleasant state of drowsy semi-alertness, the pulse fired. Its scarlet flash caused him to bolt upright, shedding blankets like withered petals. A heartbeat later he heard the clatter of Whim following suit and knew that this was no false alarm. One by one he roused the sleeping members of the squad, offering little explanation other than a serious look and a meaningful tap of his temple. Gesture recognised, each man slipped out of their beds and equipped themselves before fanning out into the crisp night air. Alter followed once all were up and alert, electing to join Riptide as his lieutenant situated himself near the break in the wall.

  “How’re you doing? Fit for contact?” He asked as he settled down next to him.

  “I think so.” Riptide answered slowly. “My body’s responding properly now, and my balance is back. But I won’t know how my vision is doing until it gets a little brighter.”

  “Good enough for me. There wasn’t enough of a difference in pulse timings between me and Whim for a solid bearing. However, I’d put it closer to the wall-side than the basin-side.”

  “That makes sense to me, if it’s our opponents looking to re-engage us then they’ll know the terrain well enough to take advantage, even in the dark. I’ve got to question the timing though, why now? If they were waiting for reinforcements then surely they wouldn’t have arrived in the middle of the night like this.” Riptide frowned.

  “Well, for all we know this pulse was just some local nocturnal predator who’d take a pass at one of us if they were dumb enough to wander off alone.”

  “You know full well they’re coming back to finish the fight.” Riptide gave a quiet but grim laugh.

  “What can I say, I’m ever the optimist. My bet? The Kindler’s all souped up and ready for another go. Keep those senses tuned, I’m going to check in on the others.” Alter patted him on the back before moving off and towards the staircase.

  Whim and Boozehound were already in attendance, their hushed voices locked in whispered conversation as he approached. Their attention appeared to be focussed on a pitch-dark point in the distance.

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  “What’re we thinking?” Alter asked as he joined them.

  Whim pointed in the direction of interest. “Keep your eyes on that area there, we thought we saw something earlier.” He murmured.

  Alter glared into the hidden distance, following the path of the outstretched finger. Nothing. No. Something. A faint orange blip that raced into and out of vision.

  “Fire?” He asked, head tilting to one side as his eyes strained to increase the scant details.

  “We’ve been getting glimmers like that for the last minute or so. Someone out there is roaming around with a torch. It’s too early to say if they’re getting closer though.” Boozehound confirmed.

  “It still helps us narrow down the probable angle of attack.” Alter mused before reaching for his radio. “Four, position?” He asked.

  “The tower. I’ve got the scope up and running for regular sweeps, hillsides are clear at this time.” Boats responded.

  “Noted. Pay attention to the area opposite our initial approach, we believe our incoming guests are currently in that direction.”

  Boats confirmed the instruction as Alter moved further along the edge to where he knew a small pile of cut lumber should offer him some cover if things turned hot. The light was more solid now. Defined. The soft flicker of flame cast its warm glow across the distant rocks, it was an eerie feeling to watch the firelight grow in strength as the distance between them closed. As the seconds passed, more light sources began piercing the shadowy veils. Four distinct patches illuminated the hilltops, but no humanoid figures risked exposing themselves. They had learned their lesson from earlier, it seemed. A small snarl of frustration etched itself onto his lips, when were they going to show themselves? His impatience grew.

  “Hey, ummm.” Pavejack began over the radio, his voice uncertain. “Does anyone else feel the ground vibrating?”

  That got his attention. He focused his senses downward towards his feet but felt nothing. He reached down and laid a palm against the cold stone, but try as he might he could not sense any movement in the ground. Just as he reached for the radio in order to ask for clarification, Walross chimed in.

  “He’s not crazy, it feels like there’s an engine running beneath our feet. Can anyone else confirm this?” He reported.

  One by one a series of negatives echoed each other in response, Alter’s included. He pondered this concerning development as his eyes strayed back to the oncoming fires. If they were dealing with a Kindler, one capable of ripping and reshaping the world to their designs, then could this be their doing? The machine gun team was currently positioned in the centre as a reserve force, only to be deployed once they had solid intelligence on exactly where the enemy would appear. But the fact that only they could feel the vibration implied the Kindler had already bypassed the perimeter. Unless, of course, they’d never left to begin with. Sealed within the rock beneath them like a human antlion, waiting for the moment to strike. Alter shook his head, such conjecture was worthless and served only to distract. Nevertheless, to ignore it would be the height of foolishness, he made the decision to abandon his current position and scurried towards where his friends stood waiting.

  Walross waved him over as he approached before pointing towards the ground. The pair were not hallucinating. He could feel it in his feet, and in the joints of his knees. A faint juddering sensation that set his vision buzzing with a subtle blur.

  “That’s not right, is it?” Pavejack asked. “Rocks don’t do this.”

  “They do not.” Alter answered slowly, taking slow and deliberate steps in the direction of the wall. The sensation remained.

  “I think they’re tunnelling under us. We could find ourselves well and truly pincered if we’re not careful.” Walross warned.

  “We don’t have the manpower to watch every possible point of breach, not without compromising the firing line should the torch-bearers come charging over the top. You see how strong the light has gotten up there?” Alter pointed to the section of hilltop visible through the hole.

  “Then what do we do?” Walross hissed in frustration.

  “I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” Alter shot back.

  Their conversation was cut short by sudden gunfire. The noise was instantly recognisable as a series of pistol shots. From behind them. Which meant that only one person could have fired those rounds, and he was supposed to be an unconscious patient in a safe and secure location. Horrified, the three men charged towards the single-roomed building, barging through the flimsy door with weapons raised to find themselves in a bizarre scene. The floorboards were uprooted and scattered all over, exposing the rock beneath. A pair of bodies emerged from the stone as if it were waist-high water, but their exposed arms and torso lay awkwardly against the floor with blood draining from a pair of holes each. Neither of them was recognisable as the Kindler. Still lying flat on the bed, Vangroover held his pistol in a shaking grip. His eyes were half-lidded and blurry as he gave the new arrivals a crooked smile before the pistol clattered to the floor.

  “Contacts below.” He whispered hoarsely before his eyes closed again.

  At that moment, a great roar of voice emerged from somewhere outside. The sound was greeted by the angry barking of rifle fire. The assault had begun.