Mike landed at the bottom of the elevator shaft with a deafening thud, cracks spidering across the steel-plated floor beneath his feet. The darkness swallowed him whole. No lights. No hum of machines. Just dust, silence, and the stench of death.
The narrow corridor ahead was too tight for his full draconic form. He exhaled, focusing on Hamza's training.
Breathe. Focus. Visualize the essence.
His arms shifted first, muscles bulging, scales sliding into place as claws sprouted from his fingers. Then his legs, reshaping into powerful, talon-like limbs capable of tearing through bone. He let the transformation stop there, the rest of his body staying human, his mind controlling the flow. His eyes burned red in the blackness.
Flickering fluorescent lights pulsed at the far end of the hall. Sparks spit out of a broken conduit overhead like dying fireflies.
He stepped forward.
As he walked, he saw them, symbols etched into the walls, glowing faintly with unnatural green light. Warding glyphs. The ones Hamza had warned him about. Necromantic runes infused with essence from Hecate. Designed to muffle power. To suppress gods and other beings.
Mike snarled and raised one clawed hand, dragging his talons across the nearest symbol.
Screeeeech.
The wall sparked. The glyph dimmed and died.
A second later, the walls screamed.
Undead. Dozens of them.
From down the corridor came the cries of shambling, shrieking horrors, rotted flesh clinging to bone, twisted limbs dragging across the floor. Some wore tattered lab coats, others military armor stained with dried blood. Eyes glowed with pale, greenish light.
Mike crouched low, teeth clenched.
"Come on, then," he growled.
They charged.
The first wave rushed into the hall. Mike met them head-on. His claws tore through spines and shattered skulls. Rotten bone split under each punch. Black blood splashed against the walls as undead bodies flew, limbs severed mid-motion.
They didn't scream. Didn't falter.
They just kept coming.
"Fucking puppets," Mike snarled, slashing two heads clean off in one motion.
One clung to his back, biting at his shoulder. He reached over, grabbed its head, and crushed it in his palm before hurling the body against the far wall.
No power surged through him from their deaths.
No healing.
Just pain.
One of them raked its claws across his thigh. Another sank its rotting teeth into his arm. Mike kicked them off, roaring as his black and red essence flared.
He needed to move.
The hallway forked ahead. One path collapsed with debris, the other flickering with more light and more glyphs.
Mike turned down the lit path.
More undead waited for him.
He didn't stop.
His claws became blurs of motion. A wave of flesh and bone crashed into him. He rammed his shoulder through their numbers, throwing corpses aside like rag dolls. One stabbed a rusted piece of metal into his side. He ignored it, grabbed the thing by its neck, and crushed its spine with a twist.
His breathing was now ragged.
His body was covered in gashes now. Bleeding. Burning. No healing.
He reached the next glyph and slashed through it.
Another scream.
The air shifted.
Then the laughter came.
From somewhere ahead, low, guttural, mocking.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor as a tall figure emerged through the smoke and flickering lights. Draped in tattered black robes with bone clasps. Horns curled from his brow like the roots of a dead tree. His eyes glowed with dull crimson light, and his voice oozed out like bile from a corpse.
"Ah, the pagan lizard," the figure said. "I am Nebiros, Arch-Demon of Decay, Court Necromancer. And you are trespassing."
Mike didn't respond. His claws gleamed with blood. His breath fogged the cold air.
Nebiros tilted his head, amused. "You came here thinking the Crone was the threat level you faced? She was the weakest. The least refined. Barely tethered to our Lady's essence."
He raised his hand.
The ground shook.
Ritual circles lit up along the walls and floor. Not glowing glyphs, but summoning circles. Dozens.
Twisted creatures began to pour from them, deformed mockeries of life. Horned demons stitched from scavenged flesh. Undead fused with insects. Six-legged beasts with shrieking human faces and skin pulled tight over muscle.
"They'll keep you busy," Nebiros said, stepping backward into the shadows.
"Fuck you coward," Mike spat.
"And you're a fool," the voice echoed back. "This place was never meant for you."
The tide of horrors surged.
Mike was forced back into another hall as the grotesque mass pressed forward. He slashed left and right, his claws rending flesh, but the wounds multiplied. One clawed his ribs. Another impaled his thigh. His shoulder was dislocated with a sickening pop.
He was being buried in them.
No energy came. No healing.
He needed space.
Mike slammed his fist into the nearest wall, blasting through metal and stumbling into an adjacent hall. He staggered, limping now, breath heavy. Black and red essence sputtered around him.
The creatures came around the corner.
Mike inhaled deep.
Then roared.
Black and red flames erupted from his mouth, flooding the hallway. The fire swept over the monsters, turning flesh to ash, bone to slag. They screamed and that made it worse. The sound echoed through the halls like a choir of the damned.
He kept pouring fire into the corridor, even as the walls melted and the floor warped.
When the flames died, smoke filled the air.
Silence.
Mike staggered to his knees.
Blood poured down his side. His vision blurred at the edges. He clutched his chest he felt his frustration growing.
"Those who use twisted magic are trying to break you," Bahamut growled in his mind.
"No shit," Mike whispered aloud.
Then he heard it, another glyph crackling nearby.
Mike forced himself up. Limped toward it. Slashed it with his claws.
Another scream from deep in the facility.
Something shifted in the air again.
Then a ripple appeared next to him.
Smokeless fire, parting the smoke. A familiar warmth.
Hamza stepped through the flames, cloak dragging behind him.
"Took you long enough," Mike muttered.
Hamza looked down at him, frowning. "You look terrible."
"Feels worse," Mike grunted. "They don't give me anything when I eat them."
Hamza nodded "Undead provide nothing as they are not living creatures like the demons you've been eating."
Hamza knelt and placed his hand on Mike's arm. Essence flowed, clean, calm, controlled. It didn't heal him, but it stabilized the burns. Mike let out a shaky breath.
"I've destroyed five glyphs," Mike said. "They were everywhere. Every time I cut one, more undead poured in."
"They're anchors," Hamza replied. "Not just summoning wards. They hold this place together. Hecate built this facility like a prison and a throne. The seals are part of her control."
Mike slowly stood, forcing himself upright. "So we break more and kill that demon Nebiros."
Hamza nodded. "The more you destroy, the weaker her grip becomes. She won't risk coming to you while the wards are still up. But once enough fall, she'll be forced to react. Nebiros is a tactician and will avoid direct battle with you. He has most likely already retreated to her location."
"Good, I'm gonna tear that bitch out of Kelsey and eat that fucking demon," Mike growled.
He stepped back into the hall, following the trail of scorched remains. More shrieks echoed from deeper in the facility, but fewer now.
Mike reached another glyph and carved it apart. The light flickered out.
Then another.
And another.
Each one seemed to silence part of the darkness.
The wards were failing.
The base shook beneath their feet as the balance of power began to tilt.
Mike came to a halt before the final corridor. At the far end stood a heavy door, military-grade steel, reinforced with glowing sigils etched into the metal. The remnants of pre-collapse technology wrapped in dark magic.
In the center of the hallway was the main elevator shaft, cables still dangling, elevator long destroyed.
"This leads to the lower levels," Hamza said behind him. "The place where her true vessel sleeps. The cage she built for Kelsey."
Mike stared at the elevator shaft.
His eyes glowed in the dark. His claws receded, scales slipping away. He rolled his shoulders and took a step toward the edge of the shaft, letting his human form return fully.
"Thanatos are you ready to free her?" He echoed in his mind.
"I will act as soon as you are in front of her. You will need to get her to safety once she's freed from Hecate." Thanatos replied as he moved towards Hecate's soul prison.
"Good, Let's finish this," Mike said.
With a terrifying grin he stepped into the dark.