ATHAN'S POV
"I hate this. I hate this," I muttered, my voice barely audible over the monster's guttural groans. It swiped at us with its remaining arm, forcing us to duck to opposite sides, the claws slicing the air with lethal precision.
Azrael shouted, commanding, "Is that knife sharp enough to cut through his grid-like armor beneath the underside?"
I thought bitterly: Of course it is. This knife was forged from my own bone.
The memory clawed its way back into me. The agony was unbearable my hand shattering against the tree, the crunch of bone splintering beneath flesh. I remembered the tearing, the ripping, the hot gush of blood as I dug into myself, pulling free what should never have been taken. My own body became the forge, my own pain the fire.
The air had stank of iron and rot, the taste of blood thick in my mouth. My vision blurred, but my soul burned brighter than the pain. It ignited, a cruel flame that twisted the fragment of bone in my hand. Flesh peeled back, marrow exposed, and in that moment the bone was no longer mine it was something else.
It hardened, sharpened, reshaped by suffering. The weapon pulsed faintly, as though it remembered the agony of its birth. Every time I held it, I felt echoes of the tearing, the breaking, the sacrifice. It was not just a knife it was a reminder that I had mutilated myself, that I had given part of my body to war.
And in its pale gleam, I saw horror: a weapon born of blood and torment, a piece of me that would never heal, never forgive.
"You are going to do exactly as I say!" Azrael barked. His tone grated on me. Who was the master here? Him or me? But I obeyed.
"Step back!" he roared.
I moved just as the monster pounced, agile and fast, landing exactly where I had been. I struck at its side, but the knife bounced uselessly off its armor. "Crap," I cursed, frustration boiling.
Before the beast could lift its claws, Azrael hooked into its underside, pulling upward with brutal force. The blade pierced its guts, black ichor spilling, .
My left arm was useless, still healing, its bone knitting itself slowly beneath torn flesh. Every twitch sent a dull ache crawling up to my shoulder, a reminder of the mutilation I had endured. As the monster turned on Azrael, its claws dripping with ichor, I dug my feet into the ground, bracing against the fire in my soul. The pain was blinding, flashing across my vision in bursts of white, but rage steadied me.
With a surge of fury, I drove the knife forward, wedging it between the sparse plates of armor at its neck. The blade sank in with a sickening resistance, grinding against bone before tearing through. A gush of black fluid erupted, hot and foul, splattering across my face and chest. The stench was unbearable like rotting meat mixed with burning metal forcing bile to rise in my throat.
The monster convulsed, its guttural scream shaking the ground beneath us. Its body writhed violently, claws gouging trenches into the soil, as if the earth itself recoiled from its agony. The crest carved into its flesh seemed to pulse, glowing faintly, as though mocking me with the reminder that this was no ordinary beast it was marked, sanctified by something far darker.
My grip faltered as the knife vibrated in my hand, the creature's flesh trying to force it out, rejecting the intrusion. My leg buckled, sending another wave of agony through me, but I pressed harder, teeth clenched, forcing the blade deeper. The sound was horrific a wet tearing, a crunch of cartilage, a hiss of escaping air.
For a moment, I thought the monster's head would come free. For a moment, I thought I had won. But its eyes flared with cold light, its scream rising into a shriek that rattled my skull. The horror was not just in its resilience it was in the realization that even maimed, even gutted, it refused to die.
Breath ragged, blood dripping from my hands, I spat through clenched teeth, "No one beats me at my game. No one." My voice was sharp, defiant, echoing like a challenge to the world itself.
My left hand had finally healed, strength surging back into it like fire, and I flexed it with pride. I am unbreakable, I thought. I am the blade, the storm, the master of this battlefield.
With all the fury I could muster, I slashed across the monster's throat not just to kill, but to prove a point. The cut was deep, deliberate, a statement of dominance.
The blade tore through flesh with a wet, ripping sound. A torrent of black blood gushed out, hot and foul, splattering across my face and chest. The stench was overwhelming, metallic and rancid, forcing bile to rise in my throat.
Then came the sharp sound final, decisive cutting through the air like a death knell. Azrael moved with brutal precision, bringing the axe down into the back of the monster's neck. The strike was merciless, splitting bone and sinew in a single, savage blow.
Its head rolled free, thudding onto the ground with a sickening weight. The remaining eye, still glowing faintly with that cold, unnatural light, flickered once… then closed forever.
The body convulsed, shuddering as if refusing to accept defeat, before collapsing into silence. The earth seemed to exhale, the tremors fading, leaving only the stench of blood and the echo of our breaths.
We collapsed onto the ground, breath ragged, sweat and blood clinging to our skin. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Perhaps it was shock, perhaps exhaustion, or perhaps the weight of what we had just survived.
Finally, I broke the stillness. "You know," I muttered, voice hoarse, "I was going to kill you after this."
Azrael's eyes flicked toward me, but he said nothing. His silence was deliberate, heavy, almost mocking.
"I know you weren't exactly subtle," he said at last.
I scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your aura told me everything," he replied, calm, as if it were obvious.
I barked out a laugh, loud and cheerful, cutting through the tension like a blade. Azrael chuckled beside me, his amusement quieter, darker.
"Well," I said, "I'm not going to kill you anymore."
Azrael's gaze sharpened. "What changed your mind?"
"Nothing changed," I answered flatly. "I work only on my program. I do what I want. And right now, I don't want to kill you anymore."
The words hung between us, brittle and strange.
"Since we're confessing," Azrael added, "I was planning on stealing everything you have" and leaving you for dead but that clearly cant happen with you soul ignition
I gave a faint, amused hum, the sound low and dangerous.
"You wouldn't have gotten the chance," I said. "I was going to kill you once the farm was tilled."
The silence that followed was heavier than before. We lay side by side, staring at the sky, listening to the wind move through the barren field. Neither of us laughed now. Neither of us moved.
There was no trust between us, only the knowledge that each had intended the other's death. And yet, here we were alive, breathing, bound together by survival.
The silence became its own language. It said: I know what you are. You know what I am. And for now, we will not kill each other.
But beneath it all, the truth lingered like a shadow: this truce was fragile, temporary, and one day, one of us would break it.