I had ripped out more than just nerves when I went digging in that ruined eye.
I'd clawed out brain matter too.
Small pieces. Slippery and broken.
And now?
He writhed.
He stumbled.
He bled.
But even through the agony—even through the clear, mind-melting pain—I could still hear it.
That damn sound.
That broken, guttural laugh.
That wet giggle.
The twisted melody that had haunted every step I took on this fucking ship.
How fun this must be for him.
How utterly, terribly fun.
I laughed too.
Because I was close now.
Closer than ever.
Closer to dragging him down into the gutter where he belonged.
I could taste it.
Victory—not sweet, but metallic. Sharp. Bitter. Real.
I raised the rifle.
Not at his remaining eye.
No.
That was too kind.
Too quick.
I aimed straight for his mouth.
Right down his throat.
Cut off those damn laughs at the root.
He froze when he saw it.
The pain from his ruined face forgotten in an instant.
His good eye locked on the barrel shoved into his mouth—only a finger twitch away from blowing the back of his skull out like a rotten watermelon.
I saw it happen.
The fear.
The anger.
The desperation.
The reality sinking into that broken, ruined mind.
I had him.
I fucking had him.
And then he did something so insane, so beyond all reason, even I—blood-drunk and half-insane myself—had to stop and admire it.
He bit down.
Hard.
I felt it.
The metal screeched and buckled under his teeth.
And then—
Snap.
He bit through the goddamn rifle barrel.
Broke it like a twig.
And before I could even curse, he spat it at me.
The mangled hunk of chewed metal flew through the air, hit my shoulder, ricocheted off with a sharp sting.
He stood up.
All seven feet of him, swaying but rising, blood sluicing down his face, one eye a weeping ruin, his chest heaving like a bellows about to burst.
And the look he gave me?
It was rage.
Pure and naked and so hot it seemed to set the very air around him shivering.
And I?
I grinned.
Because _fuck_ it.
This was getting exciting.
I kept the ruined rifle aside, the chewed-up barrel still smoking faintly from the force of his bite.
What kind of creature bites through a rifle?
Who cares?
It made the game better.
We rushed each other without a word.
Two animals.
Two monsters.
His arms came wide, wild and heavy like boulders swung by an angry god.
He moved to crush me again—to grind me into splinters against the deck.
But strength and speed are two different things.
And he was strong.
But he was slow.
Pain makes even the biggest bastard sluggish.
I dropped low.
Real low.
Hit the ground on my palms, sliding, skidding under his wide stance.
Felt the grit and blood slick the floor beneath my hands as I crawled between his legs.
And as I did—
I didn't waste the opportunity.
I grabbed the chewed-up rifle.
Its barrel was bent not suitable to shoot.
But it wasn't useless as a weapon.
I flipped it around, the twisted, jagged metal of the broken barrel catching the dim light like a spiked crown.
And I rammed it up.
Hard.
Straight into his groin.
Not gently.
Not cautiously.
With every ounce of broken strength I had left.
The chewed, jagged barrel sank into soft flesh with a sick, wet sound.
A sound that was part tear, part rupture.
The demon froze.
Every inch of his massive body locked in a single, horrible moment.
Then came the scream.
Not a giggle.
Not a laugh.
A howl.
A scream so raw it peeled the air around us, made the deck tremble, made the boards groan in sympathy.
He staggered back, hands flying to his ruined groin, stumbling and convulsing, a mess of blood and shredded muscle pouring down his legs.
I didn't give him time to recover.
Didn't give him time to think.
Didn't give myself time to breathe.
I rose from the ground, shaking, bleeding, laughing still.
Because the madness was in me now.
He wasn't a man anymore.
And I wasn't stopping.
Not until he was down.
Not until he was broken.
Not until he knew what true fucking pain tasted like.
He wanted to giggle?
Let him giggle through a mouthful of his own blood.
I stared at him, heaving, panting, the ruined rifle still clutched in my hands like a crowned mace.
And even as he howled and cursed and stumbled...
Even as he bled rivers from his face and his ruined body...
Even as he tried and failed to stand up straight again...
I smiled.
Because for the first time—
The demon looked mortal.