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The last train left at 2 AM, carrying exhausted workers. A Hollowborn moved through the cars, stealing their strength. When it reached for a sleeping boy, the nurse beside him pulled him close, fighting to stay awake. Farther down the carriage, a newspaper lowered, revealing Carmen, with a crossbow. The Hollowborn turned, recognizing its true enemy, but the bolt struck before it could charge. Nobody missed their stop.

On All Saints' Day, a thousand candles burned for the lost. A Hollowborn moved among them, snuffing flames as though erasing memories. An old man shielded his wife's candle as darkness closed in. Wings cracked overhead. Kellion plunged from the bell tower, driving the creature across the stones before destroying it. He relit every candle, then paused to light one more. For someone he'd lost.

One year ago, the Hell Houndz clawed out of the Veil. The Reaper never forgave them. Tonight, his Hollowborn came for one. When they turned on a little girl, he stood between them and howled. For a moment, nothing answered. Then they did. From rooftops, cemeteries, and darkened streets, the pack came running. One lit jack-o'-lantern. One year later. Still not alone. Happy 1st birthday, Houndz.

The groom said "I do" as a Hollowborn crawled across the chapel ceiling toward the bride's grandmother. She stood, cane raised, shielding her family. A Hell Hound burst through the doors, leapt across the pews, and slammed into the creature. They crashed onto the altar, where the Hound fought until the monster lay still. Later, as rice showered the newlyweds, he sat on the chapel steps, hat tipped low. Like he'd been invited all along.

Screams erupted as a Hollowborn emerged atop the ancient temple, sending tourists fleeing down the steep stone steps. When a man stumbled and fell, his daughter rushed back to help, unaware the creature was closing in. A Hell Hound charged up the staircase, slamming into the monster and driving it toward the summit. From below, father and daughter watched the Hound stand victorious over the fallen Hollowborn, silhouetted against the moon.

Lap 40. Lap 41. Lap 42. The runners' legs burned. They couldn't stop. In the stands, spectators wept in terror, their mouths cheering against their will. Above the track, a Hollowborn controlled them from the scoreboard. A Hell Hound burst onto the field, leapt at the creature, and tore it to pieces. Instantly, the spell shattered. Runners collapsed. The crowd fell silent. The scoreboard still read LAP 42. The race was only four laps long.

The magician promised a disappearing act nobody would forget. Then he vanished. His assistant followed. The audience cheered. Until a Hell Hound in a top hat tore through the curtain. Behind it, a Hollowborn was dragging the performers beneath the stage. The Hound attacked, freeing them. The magician stumbled into the spotlight, shaking. He had just one question: "Does that count as a successful disappearing act?"

The church bells rang at midnight. Inside, a Hell Hound blocked the main doors, refusing to let anyone leave. The congregation began to panic. Then the stained-glass windows blew inwards and three Hollowborn crashed through. The Hound charged, placing himself between them and the crowd. When the fighting ended, the monsters lay dead and they realized they had feared the wrong beast.

A scream echoed through the cemetery. The caretaker found a woman cornered by a Hollowborn. He charged with his shovel, drawing the creature away. It lunged. A Hell Hound struck first, driving it into the mausoleum wall. The caretaker pulled the woman clear as the fight raged behind them. When they looked back, the Hollowborn lay motionless. Neither knew where the Hound had gone. But both knew they wouldn't have survived without him.

The wildfire had crossed the highway. Fire crews were preparing to evacuate the town when a blue skeletal Hell Hound charged into the burning forest. Its paws blazed with every stride. Then something impossible happened. The flames began bending away from the town. By dawn, the wildfire still raged. But a perfect circle of scorched earth separated the town from the inferno. Not a single home had burned.

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The prosecution's final witness took the stand. One testimony stood between an innocent man and a life sentence. Then the courtroom doors opened. A skeletal Hell Hound entered. He approached the witness stand. The witness stopped speaking. The Hound growled. Its shadow twisted across the wall and the disguise fell away. Hollowborn. The creature lunged. The Hound was faster. Justice was served.

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For sixty years, the Grand Marlowe Ballroom stood silent. Then one night, music filled the streets. People stopped to listen. And without realizing it, began walking toward the ballroom. Inside, hundreds danced beneath glittering chandeliers, unaware they were being controlled. Above them, a Hollowborn conducted the orchestra, its claws commanding every movement. Then a skeletal Hell Hound appeared on the opposite balcony. Black top hat. Red eyes. Flaming tail. The Hollowborn quickened the music. The dancers spun faster. The Hound leapt across the ballroom, straight for the conductor. The impact sent the creature crashing backward. The music stopped. Hundreds of confused dancers looked up. Saw the monster. And screamed. As the guests fled, the Hound finished what he'd started. And somehow, his hat was still perfectly straight.

The Hollowborn had surrounded the old cathedral. Inside, forty-two survivors waited behind barricaded doors. Outside, the creatures gathered for their final assault. Then a red skeletal Hell Hound walked straight through their ranks. Blue spiked collar. Cigar burning. The Hollowborn turned on him. Big mistake. By the time he reached the cathedral steps, the street behind him was littered with their remains. The survivors watched through the windows as he turned to face the approaching horde. One whispered, "There's too many. He's trapped out there!" An old man stepped closer to the window. Watched the Hound calmly take another drag from his cigar. Then smiled. "Son, I don't think he's the one who's trapped."

The tour guide had walked the Egyptian ruins for twenty years. He thought he'd seen everything. Until a skeletal dog stepped from the shadows. Glowing red eyes. Flaming tail. And, inexplicably, a yellow Hawaiian shirt. The tourists froze. Someone screamed. The guide slowly backed away. But the Hound wasn't looking at them. He stood across the entrance to a narrow passage, teeth bared at the darkness beyond. Then the ground trembled. Something enormous slammed against the stone from below. Once. Twice. The passage collapsed. A massive Hollowborn erupted through the rubble. The Hound struck before it could reach the courtyard, driving it back into the ruins. When the dust settled, the tourists were unharmed. The guide stared at the shattered passage. Twenty years he'd brought people through these ruins. Twenty years he'd used that very shortcut. He'd never known what was waiting beneath it. Or what had been keeping it there.

The evacuation order came at sunset. By midnight, the town was nearly empty. Nearly. An elderly man refused to leave his home. When the rescue crew returned, they found the streets crawling with Hollowborn. They couldn't reach him. Then something white flashed past their headlights. A skeletal Hell Hound. Armored muzzle. Black sneakers. He tore through the Hollowborn and disappeared down the street. Ten minutes later, the old man emerged from his house. The Hound walked beside him, keeping the monsters back. The rescue crew rushed forward. "Come on! We have to go!" The old man stopped and turned toward the Hound. "You're coming too, aren't you?" The Hound looked down the street. More Hollowborn were coming. He nudged the man toward the truck. Then turned around. There was only one road into town. And he wasn't letting anything through.