Chapter 38 – Bloodpath

  A low snarl scraped through the dark.

  Ray’s blade was already moving before he saw the shape—too close, too fast. Metal scraped against bone, sparks flying as he twisted the edge to catch it under the chin. It screamed. Alkan shoved past him, cleaving it down with a single, brutal stroke.

  No time to breathe.

  Another came from the side—Ray barely sidestepped, shoulder brushing the damp stone wall. The narrow path boxed them in. Just wide enough to fight, not enough to run.

  But that was the only reason they were still alive.

  The beasts couldn’t swarm here. They tripped over their own dead, funneled through the chokepoint in twos or threes. Still dangerous. Still relentless. But manageable. Barely.

  Alkan exhaled through his teeth. “They’re not letting up.”

  Ray didn’t answer. His sword was shaking in his hand. He didn’t know if it was adrenaline or exhaustion.

  A screech. Something pounced. He stepped back, let it overextend, and drove his blade into its side. It collapsed, thrashing. Alkan finished it with a stomp and a downward slice.

  Blood coated the ground. Thick. Slippery. He nearly lost his footing on the last swing.

  They kept moving. Forward was the only choice.

  Bodies were stacked three deep behind them now. Most unrecognizable—limbs twisted, faces torn. The corridor reeked of rot and burnt flesh. The air was thick with smoke and something worse. Something metallic. Something alive.

  A heavy footstep echoed from up ahead.

  Then another.

  Then silence.

  Ray tightened his grip. “That wasn’t one of them.”

  Alkan didn’t look at him. “I know.”

  They both knew what it meant. The lesser ones were being called back. Pulled aside. Cleared out.

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  Something worse was coming.

  A pause. Not hesitation. Not fear.

  Just strategy.

  It wanted the room to move.

  Ray felt it, deep in his bones—the way the pressure shifted in the air, like a massive weight just entered the corridor, slow and steady.

  The corridor was their only shield. But it would be a coffin if this thing forced them to stop.

  Ray looked ahead, eyes stinging from the smoke. He couldn’t see the end. Just flickers of shadow between the flickering lights above. Cracked stone. Blood dripping from the ceiling. The walls seemed to lean inward now, like the place itself was tired of holding back death.

  Another footstep. Closer.

  The Fallen Devil stirred.

  Its grotesque form unfolded like a nightmare uncoiling, bones cracking as elongated limbs flexed with unnatural grace. The shrieks of the lesser fallen dimmed in comparison, as if even they felt the weight of what now walked among them.

  Ray’s breath hitched. He could feel the air shift—dense, suffocating. His instincts screamed.

  He stumbled back toward Alkan, their backs pressing together out of habit more than thought.

  “Seems like we’ll be getting our key to the gate soon enough,” Ray muttered, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His face was a mess of soot, blood, and cracked skin, but his spirit—damned fool that it was—still burned.

  “Yeah. If we live long enough to use it,” Alkan replied, his voice low and steady. There was no fear in it. Just cold focus. Calculating, as if he’d accounted for this variable all along.

  Wouldn’t be surprised if he did, Ray thought bitterly. Hard to beat a man who glimpses tomorrow.

  Then the devil charged.

  It didn’t roar. It didn’t screech. It moved in eerie silence, bones tapping against the stone floor like an insect skittering at impossible speed. Its first blow came low—one long, bladed limb sweeping for Alkan’s legs. He leapt, barely clearing the strike.

  But the devil was already on him.

  Its emaciated body slammed into Alkan’s midair form, sending him hurtling like a ragdoll. The monster’s jagged maw snapped at where Alkan’s head had just been.

  Alkan hit the ground hard, rolled, and rose in the same breath, but the devil didn’t pause. It lunged again.

  Ray moved on instinct. He ducked beneath a lunging fallen, his blade plunging into its belly. Gore spilled like hot sludge across his back, but he didn’t stop. He burst out from under its carcass just in time to intercept a bladed limb streaking toward Alkan.

  Steel met bone with a sharp crack.

  The impact sent Ray sliding back, boots scraping against the stone. His arms throbbed from the force, but he held. The devil’s sunken eyes shifted to him, hollow and gleaming with malevolence.

  Ray felt a chill seep into his bones.

  And then it began.

  A deadly rhythm. The devil struck with terrifying speed, limbs slicing through the air like scythes. Ray ducked, parried, countered—but it was like fighting a storm. He didn’t need to win. Just survive. Just be loud enough to pull its attention. To buy Alkan seconds.

  Seconds were enough.

  Each time the devil turned toward Alkan, Ray struck. Not to kill—he didn’t have the power for that—but to wound. A tendon here. A joint there. Just enough pain to make it look his way.

  The hallway rang with the chaos of steel and screeches, a cacophony of flesh, bone, and desperation. The narrow path they fought in—the only reason they were still breathing—was slick with blood, the bodies of fallen beasts creating a grotesque barricade on either side. But the bottleneck that had saved them so far was now becoming a coffin.

  Ray didn’t see the next blow coming.

  Alkan shouted something, but it came too late.

  A limb caught Ray clean in the side. It was like being hit by a battering ram. His body folded midair before it slammed into the stone wall with a sickening crunch. He slid down, coughing blood, his vision swimming.

  He looked at his hand.

  Dust.

  The sparkling remnants of his chokutō drifted like ash from his trembling fingers. The blade was gone. Destroyed.

  Relics could be reforged… if they weren’t broken beyond their limit. But this one was finished.

  “Ray!” Alkan’s voice rang out. “Get a weapon. Anything!”

  Ray’s gaze darted around, vision blurry.

  Nothing.

  Just corpses.

  The devil had turned from him again, back toward Alkan, sensing the threat.

  A fallen beast crawled toward him—lips peeled back, jagged teeth glinting. It was slow, but Ray was slower. His muscles screamed as he crawled toward a nearby carcass.

  Come on, come on...

  He grabbed a dead beast’s limb—taloned and thick. Gritting his teeth, he yanked.

  It wouldn’t break.

  Behind him, the sound of the devil’s limbs tearing into the ground drew closer.

  More fallen approached, lured by weakness.

  He roared through clenched teeth, pulling with everything he had. Bone cracked. A talon snapped free.

  Breath ragged, Ray turned to face death.