The Harvest of Bone
George looked over to find Nana a broken figure, her voice hitching in cries of shock and terror that cut through the stagnant air. Beside her, Kayn stood paralyzed, a mask of pure disbelief etched onto his face as he stared at the remains of Faust.
The stench of decay hung heavy in the clearing—a cloying, sickly sweetness that clung to George's nostrils and coated the back of his throat. Facing the towering Sovereign of Marrow, George, Flynn, and Jett had unleashed a desperate initial assault. Their flurry of punches and kicks had been utterly useless, landing like an infant's blows against the side of a mountain. The creature, that grotesque and masterfully articulated assembly of bleached bone, had merely absorbed the impact. Its vacant, piercing eyes remained fixed on them with an unnerving, predatory intensity that made their efforts feel pitiful.
"It's no good!" George yelled, his voice strained as he backed away.
The Golem advanced, each step eerily silent yet echoing in their minds like a death knell. They were quickly cornered, the jagged, rough surface of the cave wall pressing hard against their backs. A chill of pure dread snaked down George's spine, turning his blood to ice.
The Golem turned its freezing gaze toward Nana. It raised a hand, its long, polished bone fingers splaying out like a skeletal fan. As the arm reached for her, George saw Nana's face drain of all color, her eyes wide with the reflection of her own demise. A desperate, life-saving idea flashed through his mind.
With a roar of effort, George threw himself between them, swinging Ascalon wildly. He didn't aim to kill, but to disrupt. The blade collided with one of the creature's grasping hands, and the resulting force jarred George's arm all the way to his shoulder, nearly dislocating the joint.
"Nana, your hand!" George shouted, his voice booming with authority as he snatched her trembling fingers.
Across the small space, Flynn acted with the same lethal quickness. He seized Kayn by the wrist, his grip like iron. With a synchronized, violent yank, George and Flynn pulled their two friends forward, using the momentum to spin and bolt from the forest clearing before the Golem could close its fist.
The Golem, momentarily confused by the sudden, fluid maneuver, let out a sound like grinding rocks—a guttural roar of frustration—and gave chase. They burst into the oppressive gloom of the deeper forest, but the sanctuary they sought was a graveyard. The air here was even worse, thick with the concentrated smell of death. Carnage. That was the only word for the scene before them. Twisted bodies—both human Harvesters and forest animals—lay scattered amongst the gnarled roots and tangled undergrowth. It was a gruesome tapestry of torn flesh and shattered bone. The scent of blood and decay was overwhelming, a putrid stench that threatened to make them retch as they sprinted through the field of the fallen.
"This way!" Jett hissed, his green eyes darting toward a dense cluster of ancient, hollowed trees.
They scrambled into the deep shadows, pressing their bodies against the rough, cold bark, barely daring to draw breath. Moments later, the colossal Bone Golem lumbered past. Its unseeing, dark gaze swept over their hiding spot, the skull on its chest leering into the dark. It stopped, sniffing the air, a low growl rumbling deep within its skeletal ribcage.
Miraculously, the scent of the surrounding carnage masked their own. They remained motionless, a group of statues carved from pure fear, until the rhythmic, heavy thud of its footsteps finally faded into the distance. Only after what felt like an eternity did they cautiously emerge from the darkness, their hearts still racing against the silence of the woods.