Another strike landed—a clean, vicious cut across the monster's throat, deep enough that dark fluid gushed forth, sizzling as it hit the crystalline ground.
Belial's blade burned with ether, the wound pulsing with a hiss of energy, and for the first time, the creature truly reeled. It staggered, its four clawed arms twitching, a guttural growl rising from its faceless maw—a sound of rage and pain intertwined. The beast's White teeth flickered, its armored form swaying as if teetering on collapse. Anything else would've gone down. Anything else should've.
But not this.
Belial didn't wait. He turned and ran, his boots hammering across the crystal-laced clearing as he plunged back into the forest, ragged breaths tearing from his chest. Branches whipped his face, stinging the fresh cut on his cheek, and his vision blurred, the trees bending at odd angles as his body faltered. Blood soaked his side, his shoulder numb, his leg dragging with every step—he was half-dead, but survival was all that mattered. Stay ahead. Stay alive.
The monster bellowed behind him, a thunderclap that shook the air and sent birds scattering from the canopy. It followed, its pursuit a relentless tremor beneath his feet. Belial ducked under low branches, vaulted over fallen logs, and slipped between jagged crystal spires jutting from the earth like frozen spears. His lungs burned, his wounds screamed, but he pushed forward, desperation fueling him where strength failed.
It was gaining distance.
He could feel it—the forest trembling, the air thickening with its presence. A claw swiped from his right, and he ducked just in time, the claws shredding bark inches from his head. He rolled, crashing through underbrush, and came up against a crystal outcrop, gasping. His arm shook as he tried to rise, blood slicking his clothes, his ribs sharp with pain—two broken, maybe more. The forest went quiet for a heartbeat, an unnatural stillness that prickled his skin.
Where?
A crack above him answered. Belial rolled instinctively as the monster dropped from the canopy, its massive bulk landing where he'd been, the shockwave shattering crystal into a storm of shards.
One sliced his cheek, another buried into his thigh—he cried out, but didn't stop. Lunging forward, wild and desperate, he drove his sword into its chest. Ether flared, the wound opening, but it was too shallow. The beast backhanded him, the blow slamming him into a crystal-bark tree. The trunk splintered, and he hit the ground choking on blood and air.
Still, he rose—swaying, grimacing, fighting.
The monster loomed closer, its claws glistening with his blood, its red eyes burning with a predator's patience. Belial spat at its feet, his voice a shredded rasp. "What's the matter? Still hungry?" It twitched, curious, then lunged.
He blocked, his blade screeching against claws, the impact jarring his frame. He slashed low, cutting its knee joint—it stumbled, but retaliated with a flurry of strikes. Belial blocked one, dodged another, but the third raked his side, the fourth cracked his sternum.
He fell, coughing blood, and rolled as a claw stabbed down, missing his skull by inches. Swinging one-handed, he aimed for its throat—the beast leaned back, the strike missed, and a claw punched into his shoulder, lifting him off the ground.
Belial screamed, muscles tearing, bone grinding. The monster hurled him into a crystal wall, and he hit with a crunch, his sword clattering free. He lay half-buried in shattered crystal, chest heaving, mouth open in silent agony. His fingers twitched toward the hilt, but his arm barely moved. The beast approached, slow and deliberate, savoring his ruin.
A memory flickered—his mother's hand, a firelit room, laughter—fragile, warm, gone. He blinked it away.
This was death.
The creature raised a claw.
Belial moved—impossibly, his hand finding the hilt, surging forward on instinct. He rolled under the strike and plunged the blade into its thigh, ether exploding between armor plates. The monster shrieked, stumbled, and Belial collapsed, clutching his sword, crawling toward cover behind shattered crystal.
"I'm not done," he whispered, voice raw, trembling with effort. Blood pooled beneath him, his body a wreck, but he clung to consciousness as the monster roared, clawing at its leg.
Then he felt it—the world trembled, not from the beast, but from within. Dizziness, sluggishness—it wasn't just blood loss. The last strike had laced him with something—ether-venom, paralytic, ancient. His breath rattled, his time slipping away.
Death Dance: Silent Passing.
His grip tightened, his mind clearing just enough. He rose, silent as wind through dead trees, every motion a ghost's whisper. The monster turned, snarling, searching. Belial struck—a shallow slice across its back—then vanished. It whirled, claws slashing empty air, confused. He struck again, cutting its arm, ether singing into the joint—then gone. The beast growled, striking wildly, but Belial darted in once more, scoring a deep cut along its neck. It reeled, but countered faster—a claw raked his back as he vanished into the underbrush, gasping, trembling.
The poison roared now, numbing him, slowing him. The monster adapted, its strikes measured, targeting him. He crouched, the blade heavier, his vision fading. Looking at the crystalline trees, a grim grin split his face.
Death Dance: Sanctuary of Death.
He struck from every direction, reckless and relentless, the forest itself his weapon. He launched off gnarled trunks, ether-etched steel tearing across the monster's armored shoulder. He swung from a low branch, twisting midair to rake his blade across its flank. Blow after blow, Belial moved faster, impossibly fast—faster than the pain, faster than the fear. A blur of steel, sweat, and blood.
The monster bellowed, claws carving the air, but Belial didn't stop. Couldn't. He rolled under a swipe, rebounded off a tree, and slashed the beast's chest. Ether flared with each strike, singing through the clearing like lightning. The crystalline trees shuddered as he bounced between them, his feet barely touching the ground, his broken body defying itself with every motion.
A deep gash opened across the creature's neck, dark fluid spraying like smoke from a cracked engine. Belial landed hard and slid back, grinning through cracked teeth. His vision swam, limbs trembling, but he was cutting it down. Inch by inch, wound by wound.
Another slash across the beast's arm. Another across its thigh. The monster staggered, red eyes narrowing.
He leapt again—this time for the throat, the heart, the end.
But the creature had adapted.
A tail he hadn't seen—hadn't even imagined—snapped from behind. It was massive, segmented, black as ash and just as unforgiving. It met him midair like a battering ram. The world twisted.
Then something in his body shattered.
Belial's body slammed into an outcrop of crystal with a sound like a church bell cracking. His hip exploded in white-hot agony, a clean, merciless snap. He didn't scream—couldn't. The air had fled his lungs, the pain too vast to contain. He hit the ground hard and slid, one leg dragging uselessly behind him, his sword bouncing from his hand with a dull clang.
The edge of the st was feet away.
And beyond it, the world dropped.
A forest deeper still, cloaked in shadows, stretched beneath him—a sea of black treetops, untouched and ancient. Above, the sky bruised and bleeding, broke with a streak of orange fire.
Dawn.
The sunlight spilled over the horizon, washing the crystalline trees in dull gold. They hissed softly, not with warmth, but warning—smoke curling from their edges as they resisted the light, shimmering with pain. The world held its breath.
Ahh… don't the sunrise look nice, he jested with a slight smile, somewhere between delirium and death.
Crunch. Click. Crunch.
The Blind witness was coming.
Belial clawed at the cracked crystal beneath him, dragging himself forward by the elbows. His ruined hip screamed. His spine lit with fire. Blood smeared the ground behind him in thick, red lines. Each breath was a chore, each motion a prayer.
The beast approached slowly. No need to rush. Its claws tapped a steady rhythm across the crystal floor, echoing like a funeral march. Its grin widening Jagged teeth exposed to the world. The tail swayed behind it, casual, like it was Enjoying this.
Belial reached out, searching for his sword. His fingers found only the empty edge of the cliff.
He dragged himself another inch.
And another.
The wind teased at his blood-soaked hair, lifting it gently as if nature itself was preparing to mourn.
Behind him, the monster stopped. Towering. Triumphant. Its shadow swallowed him whole.
The sun climbed higher.
The edge was close.
But not close enough.
Belial's breath rattled in his lungs. His arms shook violently as he reached for the sword. His fingers brushed it—just barely. The hilt was slick with blood. His own. He closed his hand around it, though he had no strength left to lift it.
The monster raised a claw, the sun glinting wickedly off its blade-like tip. A slow, inevitable motion.
Belial's head dipped forward, body sagging. His strength had finally run out. Even his grin was gone now. Just blood at the corners of his mouth, and the long silence of surrender.
The claw came down.
And the world lit up.