The power floods through me, raw and hungry. I feel my skin begin to shift, hardening into those familiar metallic plates, strength returning to my limbs. Not my full power, just the first release, but it's enough to make me feel more myself again.
I rise to my feet, the Pit Fiend's yellow eyes narrowing as it registers the change. "Interesting," it hisses, voice like gravel being crushed. "You're not just another mortal."
"No," I agree, flexing my hands as obsidian claws extend from my fingertips. "I'm really not."
The Fiend lunges, faster than something its size has any right to be. I sidestep, my enhanced reflexes allowing me to dodge the worst of the blow, though its claws still rake across my shoulder, tearing through the Guild-issued armor like it's paper. Pain flares, sharp and immediate, but it's a distant thing now—like watching someone else's injury through foggy glass.
I counter with a strike of my own, driving my claws toward its midsection. The Fiend twists, impossibly agile, taking only a glancing blow that barely penetrates its leathery hide. It grins, revealing rows of serrated teeth.
"You smell of the Pit," it says, circling me with predatory focus. "But watered down. Tamed."
The insult stings more than it should. I lash out again, this time connecting solidly with its jaw. The impact sends shockwaves up my arm, but the Fiend merely shakes its head and laughs—a sound like bones being crushed.
"Is that all?" it taunts. "Hell's embrace has grown soft since my departure."
I need more power. The thought surfaces unbidden, the hellfire in my chest pushing against the remaining locks. Just one more release would give me the strength to tear this creature apart. But Kira's mission depends on stealth, on me creating a distraction without alerting the entire camp.
The Fiend doesn't wait for my internal debate to resolve. It charges, wings unfurling to increase its momentum. I brace myself, dropping into a defensive stance, but the sheer mass behind its attack sends me skidding backward. My claws dig furrows in the earth as I struggle to halt my movement.
"You fight like a mortal," it sneers, pressing its advantage. "Hesitant. Restrained."
Its fist connects with my chest, the impact driving the air from my lungs. I stagger, momentarily stunned, and the Fiend seizes the opportunity. Its clawed hand closes around my throat, lifting me off the ground with insulting ease.
"I expected more from something wearing Hell's mark," it says, squeezing until the metallic plates of my neck begin to creak under the pressure.
I struggle against its grip, clawing at its arm, but the Fiend's strength is overwhelming. Even with the first lock released, I'm outmatched. My vision starts to darken at the edges, the hellfire in my chest burning frantically as it senses my distress.
Just one more lock, a voice whispers in my mind. Just a little more power.
But the memory of the evaluation chamber flashes before me—the melted chair, the cracked walls, Dr. Thess's warning about control. If I lose myself to the hellfire here, I might save myself but doom Kira and the prisoners we came to rescue.
There has to be another way.
The Fiend draws me closer, its sulfurous breath hot against my face. "Perhaps I'll keep your skull as a trophy," it muses. "A reminder of how far Hell's children have fallen."
Its grip tightens further, and I feel something in my neck begin to give. Desperation fuels my next move—not more power, but smarter application of what I already have. I drive my obsidian claws not at the Fiend's body, but at the joints of its elbow, targeting the connective tissue rather than the armored hide.
The Fiend roars as my claws find purchase, black ichor spraying from the wound. Its grip loosens just enough for me to twist free, dropping to the ground in an ungraceful heap. I roll immediately, barely avoiding the stomp that would have crushed my skull.
"Clever," it acknowledges, yellow eyes narrowing with newfound respect. "But cleverness only delays the inevitable."
I spring to my feet, circling more cautiously now. The Fiend's wounded arm hangs slightly lower than its healthy one—not useless, but compromised. It's not enough of an advantage, but it's something.
"Why are you here?" I ask, buying time to analyze its movements, searching for other weaknesses. "Pit Fiends don't typically associate with goblin raiders."
It laughs, the sound sending nearby birds scattering from the trees. "Times change. The barriers thin. New alliances form."
It lunges again, but I'm ready this time, stepping inside its reach rather than away. My claws rake across its chest, drawing more of that black ichor, but the Fiend's uninjured arm catches me with a backhand that sends me tumbling.
I taste blood as I push myself up, my enhanced body already working to repair the damage. The Fiend is stronger than me—at least at this level of release—but I'm faster, if only slightly. And I have something it doesn't: five thousand years of experiencing exactly how beings like this fight.
"You're holding back," the Fiend observes, stalking toward me with predatory confidence. "Afraid of what you might become if you embrace your true nature?"
"Something like that," I admit, shifting my stance to a more defensive posture. I don't need to win this fight—I just need to keep it occupied long enough for Kira to reach the prisoners.
The Fiend's attack comes faster this time, a flurry of blows that I can barely track, let alone counter. I block what I can, dodge what I can't, and absorb the rest with gritted teeth. Each impact sends shockwaves through my metallic frame, the pain distant but insistent.
I manage to land a few strikes of my own, targeting joints and the softer areas beneath its arms and around its throat. The Fiend is powerful but predictable, relying on overwhelming strength rather than technique. It's a luxury afforded to beings who rarely face opponents capable of hurting them.
But the exchange is taking its toll. My movements slow fractionally with each blow I absorb. The metallic plates of my skin begin to dent in places where the Fiend's strikes land repeatedly. The hellfire burns hotter, urging me to release more power, to stop holding back.
The Fiend seems to sense my internal struggle. "Release it," it hisses, eyes gleaming with malicious intelligence. "Show me what Hell truly gifted you."
"I don't need Hell's gifts to deal with you," I lie, feinting left before driving my claws toward its already injured arm.
The Fiend anticipates the move, catching my wrist in a grip that threatens to shatter bone. It pulls me close, its other hand driving into my midsection with enough force to fold me in half. I feel something crack inside, pain blossoming in sharp, urgent waves.
"Pathetic," it spits, throwing me to the ground with casual brutality. "You wear Hell's mark but fear its power. Unworthy."
I struggle to rise, my body responding more sluggishly now. The Fiend watches with contemptuous amusement, clearly toying with me rather than fighting in earnest. This realization is somehow more infuriating than the beating itself.
"I survived five thousand years in the Pit," I growl, forcing myself to my feet despite the screaming protest of damaged limbs. "What makes you think I fear anything you can do to me?"
"Not fear of me," the Fiend corrects, circling slowly. "Fear of yourself. Of what lives inside you." It taps its chest with one clawed finger. "I can smell it. The potential. The hunger barely contained."
It's right, and that knowledge burns worse than any physical wound. I am afraid—not of the pain or even death, but of losing control. Of becoming the weapon Hell intended me to be, destroying indiscriminately rather than protecting.
The Fiend charges again, wings unfurling to add momentum to its attack. I brace myself, knowing I can't dodge this one. The impact sends me flying backward, crashing through undergrowth and slamming into a tree trunk with enough force to splinter the wood.
Pain explodes across my consciousness, white-hot and all-consuming. I feel the collar around my neck pulse with warning as the hellfire surges in response to my distress. The second lock trembles, sensing my need, offering release if I just surrender to it.
But surrender has never been my style, not even after five millennia in Hell.
I push myself up, using the broken tree for support. The Fiend approaches more slowly now, savoring its apparent victory. It doesn't realize that every moment it spends toying with me is another moment Kira has to reach the prisoners.
"I expected more from something that survived the Pit," it says, disappointment coloring its gravelly voice. "Perhaps they've grown soft in my absence."
"Or perhaps," I manage through gritted teeth, "I'm just getting warmed up."
I launch myself forward with every ounce of strength remaining in my battered frame. The Fiend, expecting another defensive maneuver, is momentarily caught off guard by the aggression. I drive my claws toward its eyes—not with the intention of connecting, but forcing it to defend its most vulnerable point.
As it raises its arms instinctively, I drop low, sweeping its legs with a move that relies on leverage rather than raw strength. The Fiend, top-heavy and unprepared, topples backward with a surprised roar.
I press the advantage, pouncing on its chest, driving my claws into the softer tissue of its throat. Black ichor sprays, coating my metallic skin with viscous fluid. The Fiend thrashes, its powerful arms battering my sides, but I cling with grim determination, driving my claws deeper.
"This is for every soul you've tormented," I hiss, my voice carrying that metallic resonance that makes reality vibrate slightly. "For every prisoner who couldn't fight back."
The Fiend's yellow eyes widen with something that might be fear—or perhaps just surprise that prey has suddenly become predator. It bucks with renewed desperation, one clawed hand finding purchase on my shoulder, tearing through metallic plate to the flesh beneath.
Pain lances through me, sharp and immediate, but I don't relent. My claws find the major blood vessels in its throat, severing them with surgical precision born of intimate knowledge of demonic anatomy. The Fiend's struggles grow weaker as black ichor pumps from the wounds, soaking the ground beneath us.
But victory is short-lived. As the Fiend's movements slow, a horn blasts from the direction of the camp—three short bursts that can only be an alarm. Our distraction has been noticed, which means Kira's stealth approach is compromised.
I push myself off the dying Fiend, scanning the camp with enhanced vision. Movement at the prisoner cages catches my attention—figures running, fighting. Kira's been discovered.
I need to reach her, to help, but the fight has taken more out of me than I realized. My limbs feel leaden, the damage to my metallic form more extensive than I first thought.
I stagger to my feet, ignoring the warnings from my damaged body. Every step sends fresh waves of pain radiating through my metallic frame, but I force myself forward. Kira needs me.
The camp has erupted into chaos. Goblins scramble in all directions, some grabbing weapons while others flee into the surrounding hills. Through the confusion, I spot Kira near the prisoner cages, fighting off three goblin guards with fluid grace that confirms my suspicions about her non-human nature.
I push myself into a lumbering run, each impact of foot against ground sending jarring pain through my cracked ribs. The hellfire burns hotter with each labored breath, pushing against the second lock, begging for release.
"Not yet," I mutter through gritted teeth. "I can handle this without—"
The ground trembles beneath my feet, cutting off my self-reassurance. A roar splits the air—deeper, more primal than anything a Pit Fiend could produce. The goblins freeze, their chaotic scrambling halted by what can only be instinctual terror.
From the central structure of the camp emerges something that shouldn't exist in this realm. Twice the size of the Pit Fiend I just killed, its body a grotesque hybrid of insect and reptile. Chitinous plates cover muscular limbs that end in serrated pincers. Multiple eyes glow with sickly yellow light atop a head crowned with spiraling horns.
"What the fuck is that?" I breathe, momentarily frozen by the sight.
"Kamen!" Kira's voice cuts through my shock. She's backed against the prisoner cages now, surrounded by more goblins than she can handle alone. "A little help here!"
Her call snaps me back to reality. I force myself forward again, tearing my eyes away from the monstrosity emerging from the central structure. One problem at a time.
I reach the first goblin before it even registers my approach, driving my obsidian claws through its spine with enough force to lift it off the ground. The others turn, their yellow eyes widening as they take in my metallic form. The fear that flashes across their faces is grimly satisfying.
"You picked the wrong prisoners," I growl, flinging the corpse aside.
The goblins hesitate, weapons wavering. I use their moment of indecision to close the distance, moving with speed that belies my injuries. My claws find vulnerable flesh, tearing through crude armor and the bodies beneath. Each movement sends fresh pain lancing through my damaged frame, but I push through it, focusing on the task at hand.
Kira capitalizes on the distraction, her own attacks precise and devastating. Where I rely on raw strength and durability, she moves like water, flowing around attacks and striking at perfect angles. Together, we clear a path to the cages.
"Cover me," she says, kneeling beside the lock. "This'll take a minute."
I position myself between her and the remaining goblins, who have regrouped at a cautious distance. The pain in my side has settled into a dull throb, which probably isn't a good sign. I can feel the hellfire working to repair the damage, but it's slower than usual, constrained by the collar's limitations.
"How many survivors?" I ask, not taking my eyes off the goblins.
"Four," Kira replies, her fingers working at the complex lock mechanism. "Two conscious, barely. They've been tortured."
The word sends a fresh surge of rage through me, the hellfire responding with eager intensity. I force it back down, focusing on the immediate threat rather than the memories the word evokes.
"That thing," I say, jerking my head toward the central structure where the chitinous monstrosity has fully emerged. "Was that in the briefing?"
"Definitely not," Kira mutters, her voice tight with concentration. "Looks like a Void Crawler. They're not supposed to be able to manifest in this realm without significant preparation."
The Void Crawler turns its multi-eyed head in our direction, as if hearing its name. Its mandibles click together in a rhythm that makes my skin crawl even beneath the metallic plates. It takes a step toward us, its massive limbs leaving indentations in the packed earth.
"How much longer on that lock?" I ask, tension creeping into my voice.
"Almost... there..." The lock clicks open under Kira's ministrations. "Got it!"
The cage door swings open, revealing the prisoners inside. They're in worse shape than I expected—humanoid but barely recognizable beneath layers of filth and dried blood. The two conscious ones stare at us with hollow eyes that have seen too much.
"Guild emergency response," Kira says gently, moving into the cage. "We're getting you out of here."
I keep my position at the entrance, watching as the Void Crawler continues its deliberate approach. The goblins scatter before it, clearly as terrified of the thing as they should be. Even the remaining Pit Fiends give it a wide berth, their yellow eyes tracking its movement with wary respect.
"We need to move," I say, my enhanced vision picking out details of the creature that only increase my concern. The chitinous plates aren't just armor—they're covered in symbols that pulse with eldritch energy. "Now."
Kira emerges from the cage supporting one of the conscious prisoners, a woman whose uniform identifies her as the patrol captain. I move to help with the others, grimacing as my damaged ribs protest the additional strain.
"The extraction beacons," Kira says, her voice tight with urgency. "We need to get far enough from the camp to use them. The dimensional interference here is too strong."
I nod, lifting two of the unconscious prisoners as gently as my battered body allows. "Which way?"
"Back toward the forest. The trees might slow that thing down."
We move as quickly as the injured prisoners allow, which isn't nearly fast enough. Behind us, the Void Crawler picks up pace, its multiple limbs carrying it across the camp with surprising speed for something so massive.
"It's coming," I warn, risking a glance over my shoulder. The creature has cleared the main camp now, its path aimed directly at us. "And it's not alone."
The remaining Pit Fiends flank the Crawler, their leathery wings extended as they keep pace with the larger monster. This isn't random pursuit—they're working together, coordinating their approach to cut off our escape routes.
"We're not going to outrun them," Kira says, stating the obvious. She shifts her grip on the injured patrol captain, who seems to be regaining more awareness with each passing minute. "We need to make a stand."
"Here?" I look around at the exposed hillside, offering virtually no cover or defensive advantage.
"No choice. The prisoners can't move any faster, and we can't leave them."
She's right, of course. Guild protocol is clear—the safety of rescued civilians comes before member survival. It's a principle I respect in theory but find considerably more challenging in practice.
We stop at a small rise that offers minimal high ground advantage. Kira eases the patrol captain to the ground, then quickly arranges the other prisoners in the most defensible position possible.
"Can you fight?" she asks the captain, whose eyes now focus with grim determination despite her injuries.
"Give me a weapon," the woman replies, her voice hoarse but steady.
Kira hands her a sidearm—some kind of energy pistol I hadn't noticed before. "Last resort only. Conserve your strength."
I position myself at the front of our makeshift defensive position, watching as our pursuers close the distance. The pain from my injuries has settled into a constant burn, matched by the hellfire pushing more insistently against the second lock.
"That thing is beyond our capabilities," I say quietly to Kira as she takes position beside me. "Even at full strength, I'd have concerns."
"I know." Her expression is grim but resolute. "But we don't need to kill it. We just need to hold it off long enough to get clear of the dimensional interference."
"And how long is that, exactly?"
"Another half mile, maybe less." She checks her weapons—a pair of curved blades that hum with contained energy. "Think you can keep it busy for five minutes?"
I laugh despite the gravity of our situation. "Five minutes with that thing? Sure, if you don't mind scraping me off its mandibles afterward."
The Void Crawler halts about fifty yards away, its multiple eyes fixing on us with unsettling focus. The Pit Fiends spread out to flank us, cutting off potential escape routes. The coordination confirms my suspicion that this is no random encounter—someone or something is directing them with tactical precision.
"Any brilliant ideas?" I ask, flexing my claws as the hellfire pulses with eager anticipation.
"Just one," Kira replies, her voice tight with concentration. "And you're not going to like it."
"Try me."
"Release your second lock."
The suggestion hits like a physical blow. "You said—"
"I know what I said," she cuts me off. "But that was before we were facing a Void Crawler with Pit Fiend escorts. We need more firepower, Kamen."
She's right, and I hate it. The second lock contains more than just additional strength—it holds the hellfire's ability to project outward, to burn with enough intensity to melt stone. The kind of power that could turn this entire hillside into a smoking crater if I lose control.
"If I lose it—"
"You won't," she says with surprising confidence. "I've seen how you fight. You have more control than you give yourself credit for."
Before I can respond, the Void Crawler charges. Its massive form covers the distance between us with terrifying speed, mandibles spread wide enough to engulf a human whole. The Pit Fiends move in perfect synchronization, their wings carrying them in wide arcs to cut off any retreat.
Time slows as adrenaline floods my system. I see Kira tensing beside me, her blades humming as she channels some kind of energy through them. I see the patrol captain raising her pistol with shaking hands. I see the unconscious prisoners, helpless if we fail.
The hellfire roars inside me, demanding release, promising the strength to protect them all if I just surrender to it.
"Fuck it," I mutter, reaching for the second lock with my mind. "Let's see what this thing can do."
The lock releases with an almost audible click, and power floods through me like a breaking dam. The hellfire explodes outward from my chest, racing along the metallic plates of my skin until my entire body blazes with crimson light. I feel my wounds knitting themselves together, damaged tissues regenerating at accelerated rates.
The Void Crawler hesitates, its multiple eyes reflecting the hellfire's glow. For the first time, I see something like uncertainty in its alien gaze.
Good. It should be afraid.
I launch myself forward, meeting its charge with one of my own. The hellfire extends beyond my claws now, forming blazing extensions that slice through chitinous armor with satisfying ease. The Crawler screeches, a sound that reverberates through multiple dimensions simultaneously, as my burning claws carve furrows in its previously impenetrable hide.
Behind me, I hear the distinctive hum of Kira's blades as she engages the Pit Fiends. I can't spare the attention to watch her fight, trusting her capabilities as she's trusted mine.
The Crawler's pincers snap at me and pierce through my shoulder.
The pain is immediate and blinding, like nothing I've experienced since Hell itself. The pincer pierces completely through my shoulder, metal plates crumpling inward as if they were aluminum foil rather than hell-forged armor. I scream, the sound tearing from my throat as the Crawler lifts me off the ground, my body dangling from its grotesque appendage.
"Is that all?" it hisses, its voice a cacophony of discordant frequencies that shouldn't exist in this dimension. "Hell's champion bleeds so easily."
I strike at the pincer with my hellfire-enhanced claws, but the Crawler simply shakes me like a rag doll, sending waves of agony radiating from my impaled shoulder. My second lock of power, which moments ago made me feel invincible, now seems pathetically inadequate against this monstrosity.
The Crawler slams me into the ground with enough force to create a crater. My vision blurs, consciousness threatening to flee. I taste blood in my mouth, metallic and hot, mixing with the dirt forced between my teeth from impact.
"Kamen!" Kira's voice cuts through the haze of pain. I glimpse her fighting desperately against two Pit Fiends, her blades moving in blinding arcs that keep them momentarily at bay.
I try to rise, but the Crawler's foot crashes down on my chest, pinning me in place. The chitinous limb bears down with impossible weight, crushing my metallic frame beneath it. I hear plates crack, feel something vital rupture inside me.
"Your kind always disappoints," the Crawler says, leaning its massive head down to study me with those multifaceted eyes. "So much potential, wasted on restraint."
I cough, blood spattering across my chin and neck. The hellfire inside me flickers erratically, struggling to repair damage faster than it's being inflicted. A losing battle.
Another Pit Fiend joins the attack on Kira, flanking her with coordinated precision. She's good—better than good—but she can't hold off three of them while protecting the injured prisoners.
The Crawler's foot presses harder, and I feel my ribcage beginning to collapse. More blood fills my mouth as something punctures a lung. The second lock's power flows through me, but it's not enough—nowhere near enough against this abomination.
I need more. The third lock pulses in my mind, offering release, promising power beyond what I've accessed so far. But Dr. Thess's warning echoes in my memory: each lock contains more than just additional strength—it holds aspects of Hell's influence that might not be so easily controlled.
The Crawler leans closer, its mandibles clicking together in what might be anticipation. "I will wear your skull as a trophy," it promises, "after I finish with your companion."
Through blurred vision, I see Kira take a hit, one of the Pit Fiend's claws raking across her back. She staggers but recovers, her movements growing more desperate as fatigue sets in.
"Kira!" I manage to call out, spitting blood with the effort. "Run! Get the prisoners out!"
She glances my way, her expression shifting from determination to horror as she sees my condition. For a moment, I think she might actually obey, might prioritize the mission over a partner she barely knows.
Then she does something I don't expect. She smiles—a fierce, predatory expression that transforms her features into something decidedly inhuman. "Not without you," she calls back, driving one of her blades through a Pit Fiend's throat with renewed vigor.
The Crawler shifts its weight, grinding me deeper into the crater it's created with my body. "Touching," it mocks, "but futile. Neither of you will leave this place."
I claw at its leg with fading strength, my hellfire-enhanced attacks barely scratching its armored limb. The second lock's power is substantial, but against something like this—something that exists partially outside normal dimensional rules—it's woefully insufficient.
Blood bubbles from my lips as I try to speak, to warn Kira again. The Crawler reaches down with another pincer, this one aimed at my head. I can't dodge, can't defend. All I can do is watch as death approaches with methodical certainty.
"Kira," I gasp out, "RUN!"
The pincer stops inches from my face as a blast of energy strikes the Crawler's side. The patrol captain, propped against a rock, holds her pistol with shaking hands, its barrel still glowing from discharge.
The distraction is minimal but enough for me to summon one last surge of strength. I drive my hellfire-enhanced claws into the joint of the limb pinning me, finding the seam between chitinous plates. The Crawler screeches, momentarily lifting its weight from my crushed chest.
I roll sideways, coughing up alarming amounts of blood as I struggle to my hands and knees. My body feels wrong, broken in ways that even the hellfire struggles to mend. The metallic plates of my skin are dented inward in multiple places, some cracked completely through to reveal the flesh beneath.
"You can't win this," I call to Kira, my voice wet and ragged. "Take the prisoners and go. I'll hold it off."
"Not happening," she replies, dispatching another Pit Fiend with a blade through its eye. She's bleeding from multiple wounds now, her movements losing their fluid grace as exhaustion takes its toll.
The Crawler recovers quickly, its injured limb already regenerating. It turns those alien eyes toward me, mandibles clicking with what can only be rage.
"You think you can stand against me?" it hisses, advancing with predatory focus. "With your pitiful locks and borrowed power?"
I force myself to my feet, swaying dangerously. Blood continues to leak from my mouth and numerous wounds across my body. The hellfire works frantically to repair the damage, but it's losing ground with each passing second.
"Been standing against worse than you for five thousand years," I manage, though the bravado rings hollow even to my own ears.
The Crawler moves with that unnatural speed again, closing the distance between us before I can properly brace myself. Its pincers lash out in a coordinated attack that I can barely track, let alone counter. One catches me across the chest, tearing through already damaged plates. Another strikes my leg, buckling the knee and sending me crashing back to the ground.
Pain explodes through my awareness, sharp and immediate. I try to rise again, but my body refuses to cooperate, limbs trembling with weakness I haven't felt since my earliest days in Hell.
The Crawler looms over me, victory evident in its posture. "Such disappointment," it says, raising a pincer for the killing blow. "Hell forged you for greatness, yet you cling to weakness."
I look past the monster to where Kira continues her desperate defense of the prisoners. She's down to fighting the last Pit Fiend now, but her movements are slowing, her attacks losing their precision. She can't keep this up much longer.
The third lock pulses in my mind, offering salvation at a price I'm not sure I can afford. More power, yes, but with it comes more of Hell's influence—more risk that I'll become exactly what I've spent millennia resisting.
But what choice do I have? Die here, maintaining my principles while Kira and the prisoners are slaughtered? Or risk everything on the chance that I can control what the third lock releases?
The Crawler's pincer descends toward my exposed throat as Kira jumps infront of me as it's pincer piercing through her shoulder and throws her to the ground with a sickening crunch.
"KIRA!" Her name tears from my throat as I watch in horror.
The Crawler's pincer meant for me pierces straight through her shoulder, lifting her into the air like a macabre trophy. Blood—her blood—spatters across my face as the monster shakes her violently before hurling her to the ground. The impact makes a sound I'll never forget—bones shattering, flesh yielding to unyielding earth.
She doesn't scream. Not at first. Then the Crawler's massive foot crashes down on her chest, and her cry of agony splits the air like a physical force.
"No!" I try to move, to reach her, but my body responds like I'm swimming through molten lead. Each movement is agony, my crushed chest barely able to draw breath. The metallic plates of my skin grind against each other, cracked and dented beyond the hellfire's immediate ability to repair.
The Crawler presses down harder, and Kira's scream turns ragged. "Pathetic," it hisses, mandibles clicking with pleasure at her suffering. "You die for nothing."
I drag myself forward, inch by excruciating inch, claws digging furrows in the dirt. "Get... away... from her..." The words come out as little more than a bloody gurgle.
The monster's multifaceted eyes swivel toward me, alight with cruel amusement. It increases the pressure on Kira, eliciting another broken cry. "Watch her die, Hell-spawn. Learn the price of weakness."
Something moves at the edge of my vision. The patrol captain, barely conscious moments ago, has pulled herself upright. The other prisoners—the ones I thought too injured to move—are stirring as well. They've found weapons—crude spears abandoned by fleeing goblins, a broken blade, stones large enough to cause damage when thrown with sufficient force.
The captain meets my gaze across the battlefield, her eyes burning with a fury that matches the hellfire in my chest. She nods once, decisively, then raises her arm in a silent signal.
As one, they charge.
It's madness. They're injured, exhausted, traumatized by days of captivity. They have no chance against a creature like the Void Crawler. But they attack anyway, with a desperate courage that makes the hellfire in my chest burn hotter with something that feels dangerously like hope.
The distraction works. The Crawler turns its massive head toward this new threat, momentarily easing the pressure on Kira. It's the opening I need.
I force myself to my feet, ignoring the grinding of broken bones and the wet, sucking sounds of punctured organs. My legs tremble beneath me, threatening to buckle with each labored step. But I move forward anyway, each excruciating inch bringing me closer to the monster that dared hurt my partner.
My partner. The thought crystallizes with unexpected clarity. Not just a Guild member assigned to the same mission, but someone who threw herself between me and death without hesitation. Someone who refused to leave me behind when it would have been the sensible choice.
The third lock pulses in my mind, sensing my need, offering release. But I push it aside for now. I need to be in control for what comes next.
The prisoners scatter as the Crawler lashes out at them, their coordinated attack forcing it to divide its attention. The patrol captain, moving with the precision of someone with military training despite her injuries, drives a spear into one of its eyes. The creature screeches, a sound that vibrates through multiple dimensions.
I reach Kira's side, dropping to my knees beside her broken form. Her eyes flutter open, focusing on me with effort. "Told you... not without you," she manages, blood bubbling at the corner of her mouth.
"Save your strength," I murmur, positioning myself between her and the raging Crawler. "I've got this."
The monster turns back toward us, its remaining eyes blazing with fury. It charges, pincers extended, mandibles clicking with rage. The prisoners continue their attack, but they're flagging now, their brief surge of strength waning.
I rise to meet the Crawler, drawing on reserves I didn't know I had. The hellfire responds, flowing through my damaged frame, temporarily reinforcing broken plates and torn flesh. It won't last—I'm too badly injured for even the second lock's power to sustain me for long—but it doesn't need to.
I just need to buy enough time for Kira and the prisoners to escape.
The Crawler crashes into me with the force of a freight train, driving me backward. But this time I'm braced for the impact, my claws finding purchase in its chitinous hide. We go down together in a tangle of limbs and pincers, rolling across the bloodied ground.
Its mandibles snap inches from my face, acidic saliva burning where it splashes against my metallic skin. I drive my hellfire-enhanced claws deeper, tearing through armor that should be impenetrable, seeking vital organs beneath.
The Crawler screams, the sound piercing through dimensions, as my claws find something soft and yielding. Black ichor sprays across my face, burning like acid where it touches bare flesh through the cracks in my armor. I ignore the pain, driving deeper, twisting my claws in what I hope is a critical system.
"You should have stayed in the Void," I snarl, my voice barely recognizable through the damage to my throat and lungs.
The creature thrashes, its multiple limbs battering me from all sides. Each impact sends fresh agony through my broken body, but I cling to its underside with grim determination, refusing to be dislodged. If I let go now, it will finish what it started—with Kira, with the prisoners, with me.
I glimpse the patrol captain helping Kira to her feet, supporting her weight as they stagger toward the relative safety of the tree line. The other prisoners follow, carrying their makeshift weapons, ready to defend against pursuit.
The Crawler sees them too. It redoubles its efforts to dislodge me, rolling with enough force to crush normal bones to powder. Only the metallic reinforcement of my Hell-forged body prevents me from being flattened completely.
I feel something give way beneath my claws—something vital. The Crawler's movements become more frantic, less coordinated. Black ichor pours from multiple wounds now, forming pools beneath us as we struggle.
"Die," I growl, driving my claws deeper, channeling hellfire directly into the wound. "Just fucking die already."
The creature makes one last, desperate attempt to throw me off, its body contorting in ways that shouldn't be physically possible. One of its pincers catches me across the back, tearing through already damaged plates to the flesh beneath. The pain is distant now, overwhelmed by the hellfire's burning focus.
Then, suddenly, the Crawler goes still. Its multiple eyes dim one by one, like lights being switched off. The chitinous plates of its armor begin to crack, hairline fractures spreading across its surface like a spiderweb.
I push myself away from the creature's body, staggering to my feet with effort that nearly sends me back to my knees. The hellfire continues to burn inside me, but it's struggling now, my injuries too severe for even its enhanced regeneration to handle quickly.
The Crawler's remains begin to dissolve, breaking down into particles that drift between dimensions rather than settling on the physical ground. Whatever anchored it to this reality has been severed, allowing its true nature to reassert itself.
I turn toward the tree line where Kira and the prisoners have almost reached safety. My vision blurs, darkness creeping in at the edges. I've pushed my body beyond its limits, even with the second lock's power flowing through me.
I take one step toward them, then another. Each movement sends fresh waves of agony through my shattered frame. Blood trails behind me, marking my path across the battlefield. Too much blood, even for someone with my enhanced durability.
I see Kira turn back, her eyes widening as she takes in my condition. She says something to the patrol captain, who nods reluctantly. Then she's moving toward me, limping badly but still faster than I can manage in my current state.
"Kamen!" Her voice sounds distant, muffled by the rushing of blood in my ears. "Hold on!"
I try to respond, but my mouth fills with blood instead of words. My legs finally give out, sending me crashing to my knees. The hellfire flickers erratically inside me, struggling to maintain even basic functions.
Kira reaches me just as my vision begins to tunnel inward. Her hands, warm against my cold skin, support me as I sway dangerously.
"Stay with me," she urges, her voice the only clear thing in a world that's rapidly fading to gray. "We won, Kamen. We got them out. Just stay with me."
I want to tell her I'm fine, that I've survived worse in Hell, but the lie won't form. Instead, I focus on her face, using it as an anchor against the darkness pulling at me.
"Extraction beacon," she says, pulling the small metallic disc from her pocket. "It'll take us back to the Guild. They can help you there."
I try to nod, to show I understand, but my body no longer responds to my commands. The hellfire sputters like a dying flame, my injuries finally overwhelming its ability to sustain me.
The last thing I see before consciousness slips away is Kira's face, determined despite her own injuries, as she activates the extraction beacon. Light envelops us, pulling us across dimensions with gentle insistence.
Then darkness takes me, and I fall into it like an old friend.