A massive shockwave ripped the starless, dense sky apart as the echoing roars of battle sent rumbling pressure waves across the terrain.
By this point, Garry had successfully lured the A-class devil to a remote sector far from the main battlefield. The reasoning was simple... even if Garry could control his flames to spare the soldiers, the sheer shockwaves generated by two A-class powerhouses going all-out would instantly crush any D or C-class soldier caught in the crossfire—not to mention the devil itself, which would gladly exploit any chance to inflict damage.
Descending into a ruined industrial district, they took the fight to the ground. Garry couldn't help but respect the monster's combat prowess. It fought with terrifying experience, displaying total mastery over its serpent-shaped spear.
Garry ducked, narrowly dodging another vicious thrust of the spear, noting that the weapon's length changed according to the devils command.
The devil suddenly halted its relentless assault, hovering twenty feet above Garry as its slitted eyes locked onto him, cold and calculating. A split second later, it launched downward with sickening speed. With almost no time to react, Garry threw up a defensive block.
The resulting impact was catastrophic. The shockwave instantly leveled the surrounding dilapidated buildings, pulverizing concrete into dust. Garry was blasted back several kilometers, sliding across the dirt before forcefully digging his heels in to halt his momentum.
Wiping a trickle of blood from his lip, Garry raised his head—only to find the devil already closing in on him once again.
"Not this time, you monster!" Garry roared.
The flames engulfing his body erupted into a violent inferno. Pushing off the ground, he drove a fiery fist straight into the devil's spear. The earth beneath them shattered, the sheer kinetic force blasting both combatants backward before they lunged at each other again, trading supersonic strikes in a frenzy of fire and steel.
Meanwhile, Graves trudged silently toward the artificial light of the field hospital, carrying the paralyzed soldier over his back. The man had grown completely quiet a while ago after complaining about losing his strength.
"Come to think of it, why hasn't he said anything lately?" Graves thought to himself.
Reaching outside the medic tent, Graves knelt and carefully laid the soldier on the muddy ground before pushing through the flap of the primary medical tent.
Inside, it was pure chaos.
Blood-curdling screams echoed through the air, drowned out only by the sharp, pungent scent of chemical antiseptics, cauterized flesh, and blood. Staff in white coats and stained scrubs rushed frantically between rows of makeshift cots.
The sudden transition from the pitch-black battle field outside to the blinding fluorescent lights left Graves disoriented for a moment.
Navigating the crowded aisle, Graves approached a nurse who was frantically injecting a nerve-block injector to a soldier strapped to a metal table.
Graves winced internally at the sight. The soldier on the table was missing both legs, they seemed to have being eaten off based on the marks on the stumps and his abdominal cavity was split open, exposing his organs. He was thrashing against his restraints, screaming at the top of his lungs. The chemical nerve blocker seemed completely useless a reminder that some levels of agony exceeded what drugs could easily suppress.
"Yes?" the nurse snapped barely looking up.
She had heavy dark circles under her eyes, her black hair was a disheveled mess, and her rubberized gloves were caked in dried blood like a butcher's except she wasn't slaughtering animals but was treating humans.
"How tragic"... Graves thought numbly.
"Hey! Whoever you are, I don't have time for this nonsense. What do you want? I'm busy!" she berated him, her voice tight with anger and exhaustion.
"I have a casualty right outside the tent," Graves said flatly, his own physical exhaustion finally catching up to him. "He's in critical condition. I didn't drag him all the way through the mud just to let him die here."
The nurse paused, looking at Graves for a brief moment before letting out a tired sigh, visibly suppressing the urge to scream at him. "Wait by the entrance. I'll come to you in a moment," she rasped, turning back to the screaming man on the table—or what was left of him.
Graves threw one last glance at the scene and walked back toward the entrance. As he neared the flap, two medics rushed past carrying a stretcher with another wounded soldier. Despite having his left arm blown off at the elbow, the soldier lay eerily still, staring blankly at the ceiling with a hollow, distant expression.
Graves felt a strange chill run through him. Shaking his head, he collapsed onto the dirt floor just beside the tent opening.
The two medics roughly set down the wounded soldier on the stretcher on the ground before rushing back out with their empty stretcher.
"Hey! You rascals!" a fat nurse yelled after them, breathless and furious. "How can you just dump him on the ground like that?! Stop making our job harder—we have enough casualties as it is!"
Her voice faded as she hurried deeper into the tent.
Left alone in the quiet corner, Graves looked down at his mud-and-blood-stained hands. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a deep, throbbing ache along his ribcage and thigh.
"Argh... right. I broke my ribs... and my thigh is torn up," Graves muttered to himself.
He attempted to stand, but his body refused to respond. Slowly, his eyelids grew heavy, and his consciousness drifted away into the dark...
"Mom...?"
A voice called out into the white void. It was Graves. Standing before him was his mother, wearing a warm, radiant smile.
Tears of pure relief welled in Graves's eyes as he ran toward her. "I thought I lost you, Mom! I'm never leaving you again—I love you!" he cried, reaching out to hug her.
Suddenly, her smile twisted into a grotesque, unnatural grimace. Graves skidded to a halt, terror gripping his chest. "Mom...? What's happening?"
Her face contorted violently until her head snapped off her shoulders, rolling across the ground and stopping right at Graves's feet. The dead eyes suddenly snapped open, fixing a cold stare on him.
"You killed me, Graves!" the severed head shrieked, its voice echoing with malicious delight. "You left me behind! You let the devil eat me! You should be ashamed, you guilty little mongrel!"
It broke into a hysterical, taunting laugh.
"No! No, no!" Graves screamed, clutching his head in agony. "I didn't mean to leave you! I didn't kill you, Mom!"
Behind the rolling head, his mother's headless body deformed rapidly. Multiple jointed limbs sprouted from its spine, three arm on both side with a leathery skin and a gaping hole in its chest. The corpse transformed into a horrifying arachnid monstrosty, the Spider Devil, the exact beast that had slaughtered his mother.
The devil screeched, lunging forward as its dagger-like claws slashed down toward his throat
"Wake up! Wake up!"
A voice dragged Graves back from his subconscious, shattering the nightmare. Disoriented, he opened his eyes to find a female face hovering over him in the dim light.
It was the tired face, shaking his shoulder aggressively.
Ugh... Who's she and what is she doing? Graves thought, his mind sluggish and foggy.
"I said wake up, for fuck's sake!" her voice snapped into focus.
Oh... right. The nurse.
Fully coming back to reality, a single cold tear trace its way down his left cheek. He forced himself upright, staring at her blankly.
"Where is he?" the nurse asked, looking around the empty entryway. "Where's the soldier you brought?"