Prologue The cameraman heard the unicorns before he saw them. High-pitched screeching, murderous growls, the gnashing of bloody teeth. The cameraman smelled the unicorns before he saw them. Rancid breath, rotting flesh, the stench of immortal death. The cameraman felt the unicorns before he saw them too. Somewhere deep in his bones their putrid hooves thundered, and the panic began to rise – until every nerve, every cell, told him to run. But he had a job to do. The cameraman watched the unicorns emerge over the brow of the hill. Eight of them. Malevolent ghouls galloping across the grassland, skeletal wings unfurling, taking flight. Like the eye of a shadowy storm, black smoke swirled around them, thunder rumbled in their wake, and bolts of lightning hit the earth far below their fearsome feet. Eight ghostly horns sliced through the air as the monsters howled their war cry. The villagers began to scream; some tried to run. But it was far, far too late for that. The cameraman was standing in the village square when the first unicorn landed. It snorted sparks and pawed the ground, havoc and mayhem in every rattling breath. The cameraman kept filming, despite his shaking hands. He had a job to do. The unicorn lowered its giant head, the razor-sharp horn pointing directly at the lens. Its bloodshot eyes met the cameraman’s, and he saw in them only destruction. There was no hope for this village now. No hope for him. But then he’d always known he wouldn’t survive a wild unicorn stampede. He just hoped the camera footage would make it to the Mainland. Because once you see a wild unicorn, you’re already dead. The man lowered his camera, hoping that his job was done. Because unicorns don’t belong in fairy tales; they belong in nightmares.
