Belial ducked low, rolling hard as claws slashed overhead, the monster's guttural snarl tearing through the air like thunder. Dirt sprayed in his wake as he hit the forest floor, boots skidding across moss and root. Pain lanced through his battered frame—his mangled shoulder screamed with every jolt, but adrenaline shoved it aside. He didn't have time to hurt. He didn't have time to think.
He ran.
Branches whipped at his arms, tearing at fabric and flesh, leaving stinging welts in their wake. His breath came in ragged bursts, each inhale choked with the taste of blood and sweat. Behind him, the thing crashed through the trees, not chasing—hunting. Its growl echoed through the canopy, low and inhuman, vibrating through the earth like something ancient. Something wrong.
Then, without warning, the trees ended.
Belial stumbled into a clearing, his boots crunching over crystal shards jutting from the ground like jagged teeth. They glinted faintly beneath the bruised sky above, casting a ghostly shimmer across the space. The air here was colder—sharper somehow. Thinner. It crackled faintly with a tension he couldn't place, like the moment before a lightning strike.
He skidded to a halt, chest heaving. His golden eyes swept the perimeter—dense forest on all sides. No clear exit. No high ground. No cover. His gut twisted.
"Shit," he hissed, his voice raw. "Trapped."
For a heartbeat, he stood frozen, every instinct screaming. He should've stayed in the damn cave. Should've waited for Raven. For Xin. They would've had his back. They would've known what to do. But he'd let anger drive him. Pride. And now? Now he was alone. Bleeding. Cornered.
The thought barely formed before he shoved it aside. Regret was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Not now.
The pressure in the air shifted, and he knew—it was here.
A shadow passed over the clearing, cold and unnatural. Belial turned, sword already in hand. The blade sang as it slid from its sheath, the metal flaring with a pale shimmer of ether. He tightened his grip, dropping into a stance honed by blood and fire. His bones ached. His leg trembled. But he grinned all the same...feral and defiant.
"Alright, you bastard," he muttered. "Let's see what you've got."
The undergrowth stirred and then split.
The monster stepped into the clearing with deliberate menace. Towering. Broad-shouldered. Its body was a twisted amalgamation of bone and blackened metal, armor-like plating cracked and pitted as though it had crawled through a battlefield and brought the war with it. Four arms hung at its sides, each one ending in curved talons that gleamed like obsidian under the dim light. Its head bore no mouth, no nose...just two smoldering red eyes locked on him with silent, focused hate.
The ground seemed to recoil with every step it took, the crystalline shards trembling in its wake.
It paused.
Then it charged.
Belial barely had time to react. It moved like lightning—no, faster. A blur of claws and fury. The first swipe came from the left, claws slashing down in a vicious arc. Belial raised his sword, the impact ringing out as steel met talon. Sparks flew. The force drove him back, boots skidding, ribs rattling. He didn't get a second to breathe before the second set of arms came in—another blow, heavier this time, knocking him off his feet.
He hit the ground hard. The breath fled his lungs in a choked gasp. Pain exploded through his side, and he tasted blood.
Still, he moved.
He rolled just as claws stabbed into the spot where he'd landed, the ground cracking beneath the monster's strike. Belial scrambled to his feet, favoring his wounded leg, sword held between them like a lifeline. His heart thundered. His arms trembled. But his mind—it was sharp. Calculating.
Fast. Strong. But overconfident.
Belial spat blood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Not bad," he said, smirking through the pain. "But I've danced with worse."
The monster tilted its head, almost curious.
Belial shifted his grip on the blade, ether flaring brighter now as he summoned the last reserves of his strength. This wasn't going to be about endurance. It was going to be about precision. Speed. Timing.
One wrong move, and he was dead.
But if he played it right… maybe he could survive long enough to kill this thing.
The monster didn't pause.
It was on him in a flash, claws descending like guillotine blades, the air shrieking with their passage. Belial moved on instinct alone, twisting his body, angling his blade just right to let the blow skid off with a shrill scream of metal. But the creature learned just as fast—it shifted weight mid-strike, and its leg snapped out, slamming into his chest like a battering ram.
The world spun.
He flew back, spine cracking against a crystalline tree. The impact ripped the breath from his lungs, and for a moment, everything blurred—sky, stone, pain, all smearing together in a haze of agony. He crumpled to the ground, coughing, wheezing, vision swimming with static. But the monster didn't stop. It was already there, its four clawed hands lunging like executioners.
Belial ducked blindly, and claws raked past, nicking his cheek as they buried themselves into the crystal with a deafening screech. Blood ran warm down his face. He rolled, gritting his teeth, his sword coming up even before he was fully on his feet. His muscles screamed in protest, especially his torn shoulder, but he didn't care. Pain meant he was still alive.
Barely.
The thing was stronger than anything he'd fought—stronger even than the Dusked Hollows back at the Onyx Gates. Its armor was like fused bone and steel, dense and organic, shifting subtly as if alive. There were no weaknesses. No gaps. Just jagged death wrapped in fury.
It turned its head toward him again, eyes flaring red, and charged.
Belial threw himself to the side, talons grazing his boots. He countered with a downward slash, ether flaring as it kissed the monster's arm. Sparks flew. The sword bit—but barely. Just a shallow scratch. It wasn't enough.
The beast snarled and retaliated instantly. A backhand caught him full in the ribs.
He hit the ground so hard the wind was knocked clean out of him. He curled reflexively, wheezing, but rolled away just as another claw stabbed down, shattering the earth where he'd lain. Shards of crystal exploded outward, slicing his face, his arms, his back.
Belial scrambled behind another jagged tree, heart hammering like a war drum. He didn't know how much longer his body would hold. His wounds were stacking—deep slashes, bruised bones, his shoulder nearly unusable. He gripped his sword tighter, blood slipping between his fingers.
The monster crashed through the undergrowth, heedless of the terrain. Its claws slashed wildly, tearing crystalline trees apart like paper. Belial ducked and spun, weaving between the debris, the sound of destruction echoing like thunder. He lunged low, aiming for a vulnerable spot just beneath its ribs. The blade struck—but again, the angle was wrong. The monster twisted, and the sword skidded off.
Then the pain came.
A claw lashed across his arm, shredding the sleeve and digging deep. Blood poured down to his fingertips. He stumbled back, panting, and raised his sword to block the next attack.
Too late.
A claw slammed into his side, tearing through his armor and flesh alike. He cried out, dropping to one knee, vision going white. Blood soaked his tunic, hot and fast. He was dying. If not now, then soon.
But the monster didn't even pause.
Another claw came down. He threw himself into a desperate roll, the talons gouging a crater where his head had been. His shoulder screamed as he hit the ground, his body practically rebelling against every movement. Somehow, he got to his feet. Somehow, he lifted his sword again.
He thrust upward, sheer desperation driving the blow. It pierced beneath the beast's arm—finally finding purchase. Ether flared along the blade, searing the monster's flesh. It screeched and yanked itself back, retreating a step. For a moment, Belial saw an opening.
He lunged.
His blade slashed again for the same weak point—but the monster was already adapting. Its armor shifted, covering the wound. His sword glanced off harmlessly.
Then came the counterstrike.
A claw hooked his chest and hurled him through the air. He hit another crystalline tree, this one breaking beneath the force. The impact rattled his bones. For a moment, he didn't move. Couldn't. Blood dripped from his lips. His arms hung limp at his sides. His sword had flown from his hand again.
The monster advanced, slow now, savoring it. Its red eyes gleamed with something close to amusement.
Belial pushed up on shaking limbs, his leg buckling beneath him. He staggered, barely catching himself, and grabbed his sword from the ground with numb fingers. He raised it like a shield, though it felt impossibly heavy.
"Come on," he gasped, spitting blood. "I'm still standing."
The beast surged forward, claws flashing. He met it head-on.
Sparks exploded as steel met talon. He parried the first strike, barely. The second ripped across his thigh, nearly buckling his leg. The third tore into his shoulder—his bad one—and he screamed, dropping to one knee. The fourth smashed into his side, flinging him across the clearing like a ragdoll.
He hit the dirt and didn't rise immediately.
The forest was spinning, distant and muted. His ears rang. His body trembled. Every breath came with a fresh wave of pain. He'd lost so much blood—too much. He could barely see the monster now. Just a looming shape against the flickering sky.
Still, something in him refused to give up.
He crawled toward his blade, dragging his broken body across the crystal-strewn ground. One hand. Then the next. Every inch a battle. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt just as the monster approached, towering over him like death incarnate.
It raised its claws for the final blow.
And still, Belial grinned.
"Stronger than me," he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I'm still here."
The claws came down—and he rolled, impossibly, one last time. They buried themselves into the ground. He staggered to his feet, sword flashing upward in a final, desperate strike. It slashed across the creature's neck, biting through the armor. Ether flared violently. The monster screeched—louder this time, wounded.
But not defeated.
It reeled back, blood—dark and foul—seeping from the gash, but its eyes still burned. Its claws flexed, slower now, but no less deadly. Belial stood swaying, his sword trembling in his hand.
This wasn't victory.
It wasn't even a stalemate.
He was losing...badly.
And if help didn't come soon, he'd die in this clearing, surrounded by shattered stone and crystalline.
Alone.