Chapter 7: Solos
"Human… thou art strong. What is thy name?"
Solos's voice hung in the sulfur-choked air of Mount Gahena, eerily calm despite the volcanic steam curling around them like grasping fingers.
With slow, deliberate motion, he reached up and lifted the blood-soaked veil from his face.
What emerged was no divine visage—no serene glow of celestial perfection.
It was a grotesque, twisted abomination: flesh melted and reformed in uneven layers, eyes sunken into pits of writhing veins, mouth stretched impossibly wide around jagged teeth that dripped ceaseless crimson. The face pulsed like a living wound, beautiful only to those who worshipped decay.
Dax tilted his head, studying it with clinical fascination rather than revulsion.
"You can call me Doctor."
His lips curled upward. A high, fractured laugh slipped through his fingers as he pressed a hand to his mouth, barely containing it. "But you… hihihihihi…"
Solos stared, unblinking.
This human is not simply arrogant. He is dangerous. A predator in mortal skin.
"Good," Solos whispered, tears of warped joy spilling down his ruined cheeks—crimson trails carving fresh scars into his flesh. "Then let us kill each other."
His palm turned upward, fingers splaying like claws.
In an instant, the flesh of Dax's right arm peeled away—unzipped by invisible force, sliding off like a discarded glove. Tendons unraveled in neat coils. Muscles sloughed free in glistening ropes.
Only pitch-black bone remained, gleaming unnaturally in the dim light.
"Oh," Dax murmured, tilting his exposed arm for a better look. "Neat."
Above Solos's head, the discarded flesh reappeared—hovering, mouth widening grotesquely into a maw that siphoned every drop of blood from Dax's exposed arm. It swelled, forming a shimmering orb of pure, concentrated red—vibrating with stolen vitality.
Stupid master!
Inerous shrieked inside his mind, voice sharp with rare panic.
Don't let him drink your blood!
"Inerous," Dax replied softly, almost touched. "You've gained independent consciousness. How wonderful."
He raised Cil, the scythe-whale blade humming eagerly in his grip.
In a single, clean motion, he unleashed 40% of his restrained strength.
A black arc tore through the air—devouring light, devouring sound, a void-slicer that warped the volcanic peak beneath them.
Solos didn't even glance at it.
His entire focus locked onto the glowing orb of Dax's blood, hunger eclipsing all caution.
A fatal mistake.
The black arc passed through his neck with surgical silence.
His head slid free of his shoulders—tumbling lazily to the ash-strewn ground.
Silence descended, broken only by the distant rumble of lava flows.
Mmm… interesting. Dax stepped toward the fallen body, eyes alight with scientific hunger. I must study this thing.
He never got the chance.
A divine voice boomed across the entire mountain, shaking loose avalanches of superheated rock:
"Thou hast trespassed upon the holy land of Sterion. Depart… or die."
A radiant figure floated a mile away—golden hair flowing like liquid sunlight, golden eyes blazing with unyielding judgment, a blade of pure, world-cleaving light aimed directly at Dax's heart.
"Oh? Another one."
Dax's eyes gleamed, pupils dilating with predatory interest. "More human than the last… and stronger."
Then a flicker of flame danced in the angel's hand—small, calm, but impossibly bright. A familiar light, etched into ancient memories.
"I've seen that flame before," Dax whispered, voice husky with desire. "I want it."
In the next instant, he vanished.
Space folded.
He reappeared at the golden angel's side, plucking the unconscious Micah from his arms as effortlessly as harvesting ripe fruit from a low branch.
Then he was back where he started—holding the limp First Ancestor by the collar like a lazy thief sauntering home with his prize.
The golden angel froze mid-hover, blade still extended in empty air.
I didn't… see him. Not even a blur.
What manner of human is this?
A dry, ugly laugh echoed through Mount Gahena—rasping, infectious, laced with madness.
"Hehehehe…"
Blood surged upward from Solos's decapitated corpse. Pressure crashed down like a mountain's collapse.
Dax turned casually, unfazed. "Ah. So you didn't die."
Solos's severed head floated upward, wrapped in writhing strands of crimson hair that lashed like living whips. Arteries burst outward from the neck-stump, weaving frantically into a new torso, new limbs, new wings—flesh bubbling and reforming in grotesque acceleration.
In seconds, a regenerated body stood tall—a twisted echo of Vabon's earlier form, but far bloodier: skin translucent over pulsing organs, crowned with a blazing crimson halo that wept droplets of molten red.
"Forgive me for showing thee an uglier side," Solos said, voice trembling with masochistic ecstasy. "And thank you… for thy blood."
His halo erupted.
An endless river of blood poured forth—flooding the mountain slopes, turning rivers to crimson, drowning the air in metallic fog.
The golden angel seized the distraction, lunging forward with blinding speed—blade igniting trails of holy fire.
Dax frowned faintly, irritation flickering across his features.
"One tastes a drop of my blood and believes himself unstoppable. The other thinks me distracted."
He stabbed Cil into the scorched earth with deliberate care, then gently laid the unconscious Micah beside her blade.
"Protect him."
Dax spread his arms wide.
Above his head, a halo materialized—black and red, studded with drifting stars like a microcosm of devoured galaxies. It rotated slowly at first… then faster… then hungrily, emitting a low, gravitational hum that rattled bones and bent light.
He rose from the ground, levitating effortlessly into the storm.
The pull began—subtle at first, a teasing breeze. Then a gale. Then a world-breaking vortex that clawed at everything with mass.
Solos and the golden angel ignored the mounting danger, blinded by their obsessions—hunger for power, duty to their god.
If I devour his blood again…
Solos licked his regenerating lips, eyes manic.
I will ascend. I must have more.
I cannot let him keep Micah.
The golden angel's resolve hardened, wings flaring brighter.
The mountain cracked under the strain—fissures spidering outward. Trees shattered into splinters. Blood rivers lifted from the slopes, defying gravity, all spiraling inexorably toward Dax at the vortex's eye.
ESCAPE!
Vabon's soul screamed inside Solos's mind—primal, animal terror overwhelming the angel's divine thoughts, a mortal echo clawing for survival.
Solos staggered mid-charge, eyes widening in disbelief.
This… this is impossible! A mortal soul is overpowering me!?
His body betrayed him before his will could protest—instinct seizing control.
He turned.
Fled.
Wings beating desperately against the devouring pull, racing toward the horizon as the event horizon of Dax's hunger closed in.