Another strike landed.
A clean, vicious cut across the monster's throat—deep enough that dark fluid poured down its chest, sizzling where it touched the crystalline ground. For the first time, the creature truly reeled. It staggered, claws twitching, a guttural growl rising from somewhere deep within that faceless maw. The wound pulsed, ether hissing where Belial's blade had burned into it.
It should've gone down.
Anything else would've.
But not this.
Belial didn't wait for it to recover so...He ran.
Boots hammering across the crystal-laced clearing, he plunged back into the forest with ragged breath and half-dead limbs. Branches whipped his face. His vision blurred, the trees bending at odd angles as his body began to fail him. He didn't care. His only thought was movement. Stay ahead. Stay alive.
Behind him, the monster bellowed, the sound shaking the air like a thunderclap. It followed.
He could feel it gaining, every step a tremor beneath his feet. The forest became a blur of motion and pain. Belial ducked under low branches, vaulted over fallen trees, and slipped between narrow gaps of jagged crystal spires that jutted from the earth like spears. His lungs burned. His wounds screamed.
He clutched at his side, blood soaking his fingers. His shoulder had gone numb. His leg was dragging now—limping, slowing him.
Not fast enough.
The monster exploded through the trees behind him, its claws shredding bark and stone alike. Belial turned just in time to catch a blur of movement from the corner of his eye. He raised his sword—too slow. A claw clipped his arm, spinning him around. Another slammed into his back, flinging him forward.
He crashed through the underbrush, rolling hard, shards slicing into his skin. He came to a stop against a jagged crystal outcrop, his breath coming in short, gasping bursts. He tried to rise—his arm shook violently, barely responding. Blood slicked his armor, and the pain in his ribs had grown sharper, deeper.
Broken.
At least two of them.
The forest had gone quiet for a moment—too quiet. No birds. No wind. Just the whisper of the crystal trees, vibrating faintly with unnatural hums.
He got to his knees, eyes darting around.
Where?
Where was it?
Then—crack.
Something above him shifted.
Belial rolled instinctively, just as the creature dropped from the canopy, landing where he'd been a heartbeat before. The shockwave sent crystal shards flying in every direction. One tore across his cheek. Another buried itself in his thigh. He cried out but didn't stop.
He lunged. Wild and desperate and his blade met the creature's chest. The ether flared. The wound opened but again, too shallow. The beast backhanded him in return, the impact slamming him into the trunk of a crystal-bark tree. The bark splintered. He hit the ground hard, choking on air and blood.
And still, he got up.
Swaying.
Grimacing.
Fighting.
The monster loomed closer, slower now—but not tired. Never tired. Its eyes burned red, its claws glistening with Belial's blood. It was savoring this.
Belial spat at its feet. "What's the matter?" he rasped. "Still hungry?"
The monster's head twitched, curious. Then it lunged.
Belial barely had time to block. His blade met its claws in a screech of steel. The impact jarred through his entire frame. He countered—slashing low. It caught the beast's knee joint and made it stumble, but even that felt like cutting through stone. The monster lashed out with a flurry of claws—Belial blocked one, dodged another—but the third and fourth both found flesh.
One raked down his side, opening him like paper. The other slammed into his chest, cracking his sternum. He fell, clutching his ribs, coughing blood into the dirt.
No time. No time to think.
He rolled aside as another claw stabbed down, missing his skull by inches. He swung upward, one-handed, the blade arcing toward its throat again—but the creature leaned back. The swing missed. A claw punched into his shoulder and lifted him off the ground.
Belial screamed, muscles tearing, bone grinding. The beast hurled him into a crystal wall, and he hit with a sickening crunch. His sword dropped from his hand.
He lay there, broken, bleeding, half-buried in shattered crystal. His chest heaved, mouth open in silent agony. His fingers twitched toward the hilt of his sword, but his arm barely moved.
The monster approached, slow and deliberate.
Belial looked up, vision rimmed with black, pain roaring in his skull. His thoughts were muddled. Distant. A child's memory flickered through—his mother's hand on his hair. A firelit room. Laughter. Something fragile and warm and long gone.
He blinked it away.
This was now. This was death.
The creature raised a claw.
Belial moved.
Somehow, impossibly, his hand found the hilt of his sword. His body surged forward on instinct alone, driven by defiance. He rolled under the strike and drove the blade up—plunging it into the monster's thigh, straight between two armor plates. Ether exploded from the blade, fire and pain in one burst.
The monster shrieked and stumbled.
Belial collapsed again, barely conscious, clutching his sword like a lifeline.
He didn't run this time.
He couldn't.
His body refused.
So he crawled.
Inch by inch, toward cover, dragging himself behind a pile of shattered crystal. Every breath hurt. Every movement sent lightning through his nerves. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds, pooling beneath him.
The monster roared in rage, clawing at its injured leg. It slammed its fists into the ground, searching—hunting—but he was hidden, just for now. He curled behind the stone, sword across his lap, trembling with the effort of staying conscious.
"I'm not done," he whispered, voice shredded raw. "I'm not done…"
But gods, he was close.
The world blurred. Time slipped sideways. He heard the monster's steps, slow and deliberate. It wasn't fooled for long. It would find him. Finish it.
Belial tightened his grip on the sword, the only thing keeping him tethered. If this was the end, he'd make it cost. Every last breath, every drop of blood—he would make it hurt.
Still not winning.
Still not giving up.
And somewhere, faintly—he thought he heard something else.
Movement.
Distant voices.
Maybe hope.
Or maybe just another hallucination as the darkness closed in.
But wasn't hope. It was the poison.
Belial realized it as the edge of the world trembled—not from the monster's footsteps, but from inside his sbody. The dizziness, the sluggishness in his limbs—it wasn't just blood loss. That last strike, when the claws tore into his side, they must've laced him with something. Ether-venom. Paralytic, hallucinogenic. Something ancient.
His breath rattled in his throat. No time left. No help coming.
He had to move.
Death Dance: Silent Passing.
His grip tightened on the hilt. His mind cleared—not entirely, but enough to focus. Enough to push back the poison for one last dance. He rose, silent as wind through dead trees, every motion ghostlike. The monster was turning, searching. Snarling. Blood still dripped from the wound in its thigh, but it was no longer limping.
Belial moved.
No warning. No cry. Just a faint ripple in the air.
He was there—and then he wasn't.
He appeared behind the beast, blade flashing.
Shhk—! A shallow slice across its back.
Then gone again.
The monster whirled, claws slicing empty air. Its eyes burned brighter, spinning, scanning. It was confused. For a moment.
Belial struck again, this time from the left. His blade cut across one of its arms. Ether hissed along the metal, singing into the joint. Another mark. Another whisper of pain.
Gone.
The beast howled, furious now, striking the air around it in broad, vicious arcs. It didn't understand. Not yet.
Belial was breathing hard, heart slamming against broken ribs. His vision wavered, black blooming at the edges. The poison was spreading faster now. Numbing him. But his feet still moved. He could still move.
Again.
He darted in like a phantom and scored a deep cut along the side of its neck.
The monster reeled—but this time, its counterattack came faster. A claw sliced the space Belial had just vacated. It missed by inches.
It was learning.
Again.
Belial's movements blurred. He appeared at the creature's flank, driving his blade deep toward a weak joint, but this time the armor shifted. The blade glanced off. A claw lashed out—not a wild swing this time, but measured, targeted—and raked across his back.
Belial staggered, barely suppressing a scream. Pain flared anew, and his limbs were slower this time. He vanished into the underbrush, gasping, trembling, crouching behind a fallen spire.
The poison roared in his blood now. His fingers twitched. The blade felt heavier. The monster stood straighter, sniffing the air.
The game was turning again.
He had been the shadow.
But now it could see the dark.
Belial bit down on his lip until it bled, trying to center himself.
He could feel the moment fading. Death Dance wouldn't save him now. Not unless he changed the rhythm.
Still, he stood...bleeding, broken, nearly blind and whispered into the night:
"One more time…"