Wesley

  "I have been studying the layout of this place," Nug said, and tossed aside the sullied tablecloth with a disgusted grimace. "It appears that each room within the semblance exists in a state similar to quantum superposition, meaning that its layout can change drastically based on certain internal conditions."

  "We kind of figured that out ourselves, minus some of the fancy verbiage," Mongrel said.

  The troll continued as though the little man had not spoken. "However, having memorized all the rooms I have seen thus far, I have come to believe that there are a limited number of unique rooms, and that they only slot together in certain configurations. This means that we should be able to predict which room we will be seeing next with reasonable accuracy based on the one we are in currently and those we have just left behind.

  "Additionally—and this is the most important part—I believe that the house can only rearrange its constituent pieces so quickly, meaning that if we simply move fast enough, we should be able to reach an exit."

  "Like the black stuff we've been seeing all around the rooms?" Mongrel asked. "If we go through that, will we reach the outside?"

  "Maybe," Nug said, rubbing his blocky jaw, though he sounded less than convinced. "I don't think we should try this, however. Based on my father's teachings about semblances, I believe that this one is of a rather unique category. It continues to perform complex functions regardless of the fact that its caster is no longer present, which would logically infer that it is an autonomous-type semblance. However, its size and entrapping nature suggest a field-type semblance. I believe it is both—an autonomous field semblance. Hybrids like this are less common, but do occur."

  Wesley caught himself glancing around as he felt the room begin to shift and move, a door on the opposite wall sinking into its frame as it was preparing to switch out.

  Mongrel noticed too. "Right, whatever. What does that mean for us, though?"

  "It means," Nug said with a note of strained patience, "that the void space you mentioned is likely what makes up the field half of the semblance that surrounds the autonomous half, which is the house. Going into the void might mean returning to our own reality, or it might mean being left suspended in limbo for all time, or it might mean simply floating helplessly before the house can scoop us back up again. There is no way of knowing, and as such I do not believe it is worth attempting. Of course, I will not stop anyone who wishes to brave the void.

  "I prefer my idea of outpacing the semblance, however. Our little conversation should have given the house enough time to place us back near its center. There is a lot of ground to make up, so I will be starting now. Anyone who wishes to follow may do so."

  "What about Sam?" Mongrel asked. "We think she's probably still out there."

  Nug did not stop to think about it. "We will probably move through most of the unique rooms at least once, so if she is alive, the likelihood of running into her is high. If we don't, however, she will have to fend for herself. There is no time to run around looking for her."

  "And Telepathy? You can't contact her with that?"

  "No. I would ideally need to touch a person to establish a Telepathic link, and at least maintain line of sight. I do not have the points in Awareness needed to extend my mind in the way you're thinking."

  Mongrel threw up his hands. "Great. That's just great."

  Wesley did not much like the idea of entrusting his life to a troll, but at least he had a plan. So when Nug began to move, Wesley went after, trying to keep up on his comparatively tiny legs. Mongrel fell in a moment later, grumbling under his breath.

  Nug went for the new door that was just shifting into place, and Wesley wondered if the troll knew what was behind it. The Detect [Life] had run out some time ago, so Wesley certainly had no idea.

  "What if there's a monster behind it?" he dared to ask.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "I imagine there will be," Nug replied absently, motioning behind him for space. "The house will naturally fill the rooms that are most advantageous to us with monsters to keep us from going through them. The key is to not remain in one place for too long, as that will allow the house to set up a layout with multiple monsters at once. I am confident that this is the quickest path, so it is the one we will take."

  Before any argument could be made, Nug kicked in the door, which flew off its hinges and somersaulted into the space beyond. The ducked under the jamb, and Wesley reluctantly hurried after, not wanting to go last and risk being separated.

  Sure enough, something horrific waited for them in what appeared to be a large washroom. An odd, featherless bird about the size of an ostrich; it had thin, folded-back arms for wings, and a long, saw-toothed beak. It looked rather like a giant plucked chicken, down to the pimpled pink flesh.

  The horrible bird flapped its little arms and let out a loud shriek at the sight of them. A gout of noxious green flame escaped its open beak, which let off a hazy vapor that stank of death and made Wesley retch.

  Nug stomped into the room, shielding his face from a second stream of fiery breath with his forearm, and caught the bird by its long throat. He lifted it clean into the air one-handed, swung it against the ceiling with a meaty thwack, then into the floor, then took it in both hands like a club and hurled it with great force into the wall, letting out a fearsome war cry as he did so.

  Wesley was quite glad that the troll was on their side.

  Thoroughly tenderized and with bone pipes jutting out of various places, the bird fell off the wall onto a stone sink, rolled off it, and landed sprawled on the floor. Still moving, its legs scrabbled at the ceramic tiles. However, as one limb was thoroughly broken and jutting at a grotesque angle, it only managed to spin itself around in small circles while letting out the occasional frustrated expulsion of green fire; both from its mouth and, unfortunately for Wesley's already compromised sanity, its anus.

  "Jeeesus," Mongrel muttered.

  While the troll pinned the bird down with his foot, the old man came up and hacked the monster's head off. Even that was not enough to still it, as the broken body continued to flap about with equal vigor.

  "Not worth wasting time on this one," Nug concluded, and kicked the bird hard so it rolled under the sink. "We move on."

  A long procession of rooms flowed past. A few did look familiar. They encountered the blubbery thing in one of them, but Nug judged it would take too long to kill, and so they took a detour around it by smashing the wall.

  Then they came to a large room that appeared to have been a library. 'Have been', because most of the bookcases had been upended, and books and loose pages lay scattered all over the floor.

  Sam Darling sat propped against one wall, breathing hard, next to the white-furred, sprawled-wide body of the werewolf; dead as a bearskin rug.

  The woman was thoroughly bloodied. Her clothes were badly torn, and the entirety of her torso was scored by deep claw marks. A large flap of skin hung from her shoulder, and sharp teeth had taken several smaller chunks out of her forearms and thighs.

  "Hey…" she croaked, giving a limp wave and a tired chuckle.

  They went to her side with all haste so that the house could not block them off from her by dividing the room. Mongrel knelt by her side to assess the damage and bandage the worst of her wounds using cloth strips from Wesley's clothing—taken without asking permission.

  Nug went over to confirm that the werewolf was truly dead. When a few good stomps to the head did not make it stir, he gave a thumbs up.

  "I'm sorry I didn't find you guys," Sam said. "This thing gave me a bit of trouble."

  Quite an understatement. Based on the state of the library, which would not look amiss in an active war zone, a rather epic struggle must have gone down here.

  "What you fought was no ordinary beast," Nug mused, "but the pinnacle of its species—a high werewolf."

  "The fuck's that mean?" Mongrel asked.

  The troll shrugged. "Forgoing the explanation—that it was strong." He offered a shallow half-bow toward Sam. "My compliments to you for defeating it, human."

  She did not look particularly flattered by the praise, her face screwed up in a bloody grimace.

  "Do you need to be carried?" Mongrel asked once he was done with his triage work, rudely wiping his hands on the crop top remains of Wesley's tunic without looking.

  "I'm good," Sam grunted, and braced a quivering arm against the wall to stand. "Just help me get up."

  Mongrel obliged, and put an arm behind her back to help lever her back to her feet. She swayed unsteadily, but to her credit, she did not fall. She waved the old man aside, and seemed to find more balance as she remained upright.

  She asked about the others, and it fell on Wesley to explain in brief what had happened with Magpie and Price. He could not bring himself to admit aloud that he had stood by and done nothing to avert her death; instead he found that the lie came naturally to him, saying that he'd tried to save her, only he had arrived too late.

  It wasn't as though he could have done much to alter that outcome anyway. What difference did lying make, really?