The Venom and the Vow
The trek toward the infirmary was a blur of agonizing heat and jagged breath. Every step felt like wading through molten lead for George. The toxin from the Hunter's blade was no longer just a sting in his shoulder; it had become a predatory force, a sickly green fire racing through his veins. Halfway down the secondary corridor, George's knees finally buckled. He collapsed against the cold masonry, the ancient longsword clattering loudly against the floor.
"George! No—get up!" Ren hissed, his voice crackling with a rare flash of panic. He caught George before his head hit the stone, hauling him upward. Ren was smaller in stature, but his resolve was a physical weight. "Come on, George. You can't give up now. Not after everything. Lean on me." With George's arm draped over his shoulder, Ren practically carried him. They moved like a wounded, two-headed beast through the halls. By some stroke of sheer luck, the Hunter patrols had moved toward the sound of screams in the distance leaving this sector eerily quiet. The only sound was the rhythmic hiss of the failing ventilation and George's ragged, feverish wheezing. When they finally reached the infirmary, Ren kicked the doors open. The room was a scene of total devastation. Glass vials were shattered across the floor, and medical gurneys had been overturned in the initial panic. Ren guided George to one of the few upright beds, easing him down. George lay there, nearly unconscious. Sweat matted his hair to his forehead, and his skin had taken on a pale, translucent quality. Through the haze of his rising fever, his eyes drifted upward. The ceiling was a graveyard of shadows, but one shadow was moving. It was descending slowly, silently, on a thread of glistening silver.
"George!" Ren's shout was a thunderclap.
Using a burst of wind magic, Ren slammed his palms forward, the gust catching the side of George's bed and sliding it across the polished floor just as a massive shape slammed into the spot where George had been lying. Ren didn't wait. He he threw his hands apart. With a sharp whoosh of igniting oxygen, his orange aura flared, and a magnificent bow of solid, flickering flame manifested in his grip. Ren drew back the string of his blazing bow, a jagged arrow of white-hot fire forming instantly. He loosed it, the projectile whispering past the intruder's head. With a heavy, wet thud, the creature landed: a Spider-Monkey Chimera. Its multiple eyes fixated on Ren, and its primate-like face twisted into a snarl, revealing insectoid mandibles that dripped with a clear, caustic hunger.
The Weaver in the Wreckage
Ren launched a flurry of flame arrows, but the Chimera was unnaturally agile. It spun in mid-air, secreting a thick, viscous barrier of webbing. The flames hit the web, hissing and smoldering as the magic struggled to burn through the reinforced protein.
"Dont move George!" Ren yelled, his eyes darting between the beast and the ransacked medicine cabinets.
Under the crushing pressure of the Chimera's lunges, Ren spotted it—a reinforced case containing the antitoxin syringes. He lunged for it, but the Spider-Monkey was faster. It hissed, firing a glob of webbing at Ren's feet, anchoring him to the floor.
"Dammit!" Ren growled.
He fired another volley, but the creature scurried up the wall with sickening speed, its many limbs clicking against the stone to evade the fire. Before Ren could notch another arrow, a secondary web shot out, clinging to his left arm and binding it to his chest. Ren's breathing grew shallow. He had one arm free and the syringe in his hand. He looked at George, who was drifting in and out of consciousness, then back at the beast perched on the ceiling above him. With a desperate heave of his free arm, Ren threw the antitoxin syringe like a dart. It hummed through the air, puncturing George's uninjured shoulder. Ren didn't stop there. Even with his arm bound, he channeled his wind magic through his free hand, creating a focused, invisible pressure. He guided the wind to slam against the plunger of the syringe, driving the cure deep into George's system. At that moment, the Spider-Monkey launched a third web, snagging Ren's remaining hand and pinning him completely against a fallen cabinet. He was immobilized, a fly in a jar. The Chimera began to descend methodically, its silk glands working overtime as it started to encase Ren in a suffocating cocoon. The creature reached Ren, its mandibles prying open, the stench of decay wafting from its throat as it prepared to feed.
The Blade Awakes
Just as the mandibles brushed against Ren's neck, a low hum filled the room.
George's eyes snapped open. They were still bloodshot, still hazy with fever, but the green tint was receding. He roared, channeling his remaining aura into the ancient longsword. The runes on the crossguard flared with a sudden, violent blue light. George launched a wind ball, not with a flick, but with a desperate shove. The sphere hit the Spider-Monkey square in its bloated abdomen, sending the creature flying across the room and smashing into the far wall. The Chimera screeched, its many legs scrambling to regain purchase as it turned its predatory gaze toward George. It lunged with ferocity, a blur of fur and chitin. George didn't flinch. He stood his ground, gripping the glowing sword with both hands. As the beast reached him, George dodged with a single, fluid pivot—a movement he had practiced a thousand times under the hot sun of the training grounds. With a horizontal swipe of the magic-infused blade, he cut through the air. The longsword didn't just cut flesh; it severed the creature's very essence. The Spider-Monkey was sliced clean through, its two halves falling to the floor with a wet thud. George fell to his knees, his body still numb, the sword clanging beside him. He dragged himself over to Ren, using the sharp edge of the blade to carefully saw through the thick webbing. As soon as he was free, Ren stood up, his face a mask of cold fury. His eyes burned with a literal fire as he turned toward the dead Chimera. He unleashed a massive, overpowered flame arrow that incinerated the remains, leaving nothing but ash on the infirmary floor.
"Let's get out of here," Ren said, his voice trembling slightly from the adrenaline. "We have the rest of the antidote for the professor."
The Hall of Horrors
The walk back to the control room was worse than the trip out. As Faust's machine continued to work, the fog lifted, revealing the true cost of the Hunters' infiltration. The sight was grotesque. The once-pristine white floors of the East Blue Laboratory were now a mosaic of carnage. They passed the mangled remains of researchers they had seen only hours before, their bodies caught between the Hunters' blades and the Chimeras' teeth. The stench of ozone, blood, and the sickly-sweet smell of the green gas was unbearable. They reached the control center just as George's strength finally failed him again. He collapsed near the doorway, the ancient sword slipping from his hand. Ren didn't stop. He rushed to Professor Log, whose pulse was a faint, thready beat against his skin. He injected the antitoxin directly into the Professor's neck. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, Log gasped, his eyes fluttering as the green rash on his shoulder began to fade from a poisonous neon to a dull bruise.
Ren looked at George, "he's stabilizing," Ren said, his voice tight. Ren looked at the group, his expression hard. He didn't sit down. Instead, he summoned his flickering flame bow, the orange light reflecting in his fractured glasses. "I'm going to find Nana and Kayn," he said shortly. Without waiting for a response, he turned and vanished back into the darkness of the facility war zone leaving George to recover in the flickering light of the control room.