Belial exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cold night air. His body still ached from the battle, his muscles screaming for rest, but he pushed himself forward. There was no time to waste. Xin needed water, and the only way to get it was to find something that could hold it.
His eyes flickered toward the massive corpse of the carapace-scythe creature.
That will do.
He stepped closer, his boots squelching against the blood-soaked ground. The monster's thick, chitinous exoskeleton gleamed faintly in the dim moonlight, its body sprawled in death's embrace. Even lifeless, it was a monstrous sight—jagged scythes, an armor of overlapping plates, an abomination of nature.
Belial's gaze settled on its horns.
They were large, curved things, ridged with natural grooves and just hollow enough that, if he could puncture a hole at the base, they might work as makeshift water containers. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best he had.
He rolled his shoulders, gritted his teeth, and grabbed hold of the closest horn with both hands. Then, he pulled.
His muscles strained, veins bulging beneath his skin as he yanked at the unyielding bone. His ether-enhanced strength cracked the sinew and ligaments still clinging to the base, but the horn refused to break free. His breath came in ragged gasps as sweat rolled down his forehead, mixing with the dried blood on his face.
One more pull.
With a final, explosive effort, the horn snapped free with a sickening crack. He stumbled back, nearly falling onto the ground, the weight of the horn throwing him off balance.
It was nearly as big as his forearm.
Not enough. He needed two.
He turned to the other side of the creature, his body protesting every movement, but he pushed through. Repeating the process, he seized the second horn and ripped it free, this time faster, knowing exactly where to apply force.
Now came the hard part.
Belial drew his longsword, gripping it firmly by the hilt. He pressed the horn against the blade's edge and rubbed it back and forth, grinding it down like he was trying to start a fire. Sparks flew, the friction heating the material, but it wasn't enough. The blade wasn't strong enough to carve through the abomination's horns.
"Tch." He clicked his tongue in frustration.
That wouldn't work.
Instead, he took the second horn and repeated the process—but this time, he used one horn against the other, grinding them together.
Slowly, the natural ridges of the horns wore against each other, carving a small hole at the base. Bit by bit, the opening widened, turning it into a hollowed-out container. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.
Now, it was time to move.
The night stretched ahead of him, an abyss of tangled roots, towering trees, and a distant cacophony of howls and screeches. The forest was alive with hunters and prey locked in an endless cycle of violence. He could hear it—flesh being torn, bones snapping, shrieks of agony and rage.
This was not a place of peace.
Yet, oddly enough, a small part of him—buried deep beneath the exhaustion and urgency—felt something close to exhilaration.
It was almost fun.
After all, this was the world he had once only played in, a game he had mastered. And now? Now, he was living it.
But this wasn't a game anymore.
Xin's life was on the line. Raven was back there, watching over him, waiting for Belial to return. He couldn't afford distractions. He had to be careful.
He moved with silent precision, navigating the dark forest through sheer muscle memory. He knew this place better than he knew his own neighborhood in the Demon Realm. He could walk these paths blindfolded, dodge the traps that no longer existed in reality but had been permanently burned into his mind from hours upon years of gameplay.
Still, knowing the map didn't make it safe.
A sudden, thunderous crash shook the ground ahead of him.
Belial froze.
A massive shape slammed into the earth, splitting the ground with its sheer weight. It was a monstrous beast, its massive bulk crushing the undergrowth beneath it.
Another shadow descended from above—then landed on top of it with a sickening crunch.
The air was filled with the sound of tearing flesh.
Belial remained still, his breath shallow, his body pressed against the bark of a nearby tree. His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, every instinct on high alert.
The monster on top—a towering, four-limbed predator with elongated jaws and exposed ribcage—dug into its prey's flesh, ripping chunks free with violent, jerking movements. Its claws, curved and serrated, plunged deep into the other creature's chest, pulling apart muscle and sinew like wet paper.
Blood sprayed across the forest floor.
The lower beast, still alive, let out a weak, gurgling screech, its body convulsing as it tried to fight back. But its efforts were meaningless. The predator above it—larger, stronger, hungrier—dug its fangs into its throat and tore it open.
The struggle ended in mere seconds.
Belial remained motionless. He couldn't afford to make a sound.
The predator lifted its head, its glowing red eyes scanning the darkness. Blood dripped from its elongated snout. Its breathing was slow, measured—as if it was listening. Sensing.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, it lowered its head back to its kill and resumed eating.
Belial moved.
Not running. Not yet. But slowly, cautiously, using the cover of shadows to navigate around the carnage. One wrong move, one snapped twig, and he'd be next.
His grip on the makeshift horn containers tightened.
He needed to move fast.
Water wasn't far now.
But the night was only getting deadlier.
The young demon in the dark moved swiftly through the abominable forest, his breath steady despite the tension winding through his body like coiled steel. Every step had to be precise, every movement calculated. The creatures here did not hunt blindly—they sensed fear, weakness, and hesitation. He had none to spare.
The eerie sounds of the night never ceased. The distant screeches of battle, the guttural growls of predators claiming their kills, the rustling of unseen things lurking in the underbrush—it all blended into the symphony of this savage place.
And then—
A sound. Behind him.
Low, guttural breathing. Too close.
His muscles tensed.
The moment he turned his head, the chase began.
A blur of movement in the corner of his vision—something large and fast.
He bolted.
The ground beneath him was uneven, roots and jagged rocks threatening to trip him at every step, but his body moved on pure instinct. He wasn't running blind. He knew this terrain. The problem was, so did the thing hunting him.
The sound of pounding limbs grew louder.
A deep snarl rumbled through the trees, vibrating in his chest.
He didn't dare look back.
Instead, he ran harder, pushing his body to its limit, darting between twisted trees, leaping over exposed roots. The wind howled past him, the creature's breath even louder—hot, primal, inches away.
Too close.
He wasn't going to outrun it.
He needed cover.
A flash of memory—a mental map of the terrain—appeared in his mind. There. A burrow. A collapsed section of an underground tunnel just ahead. If he could reach it—
He dove forward.
The earth gave way as he slid beneath the tangled roots, the burrow just wide enough for his body to squeeze through. The moment he hit the damp soil, he rolled onto his back and watched.
The beast skidded to a stop, claws tearing into the dirt, inches away from the burrow's entrance.
For the first time, he got a clear look at it.
It was a twisted abomination of fur and scale, a hulking predator with elongated limbs, a jagged maw filled with needle-like teeth, and six burning eyes that locked onto him with raw hunger.
But it couldn't reach him.
The entrance was too small.
The creature snarled, its lips peeling back to reveal blackened gums and serrated fangs, drool dripping onto the forest floor. It lunged once, twice, swiping at the burrow's entrance with a claw large enough to split him in half.
But it couldn't reach.
It let out a guttural, frustrated growl before taking a slow step back, then another. It was waiting.
Belial held his breath.
Then—without warning—the beast whipped around and vanished into the trees.
He stayed there, still as death, listening. Waiting.
Silence.
Only then did he crawl out.
The chase was over. For now.
By the time he reached the clearing, the moon hung high in the sky, its pale glow reflecting off the small lake before him.
He exhaled, finally allowing himself a moment to breathe.
The lake was pristine, untouched by the chaos of the surrounding forest. The surface was still, reflecting the world above with eerie clarity. Towering trees encircled it, their skeletal branches reaching skyward like twisted fingers grasping for salvation.
Belial stepped forward, clutching the hollowed horn in his hands.
The water was his goal. He just needed to fill the makeshift containers and get back before something else found him.
Simple.
But as he knelt by the shore, as his reflection stared back at him—
Something moved beneath the surface.
His breath hitched.
The depths… stared back.
And then—
The water rippled.