Heroca lay sprawled on the floorboards, blood pooling beneath him, breath shallow. His chest rose and fell in jagged bursts. The wounds across his body were knitting back together, but the process wasn't gentle — it was violent. His flesh tore, sealed, tore again, sealing slower each time, like the body didn't want to heal but was being forced to.
Chiko hovered over him, tears cutting clean paths down her dirt-streaked face. "He's alive," she whispered, though her voice wavered like she didn't quite believe it.
Claous leaned back against the cracked wall, fists bloody, eyes fixed on the gray ceiling above them. His jaw was tight, his voice low and ragged. "Alive… for now."
The silence that followed was worse than the fight had been. Ziva's ashes still clung to the air, sticking to their skin, the ghost of her scream hanging like a curse in the back of their throats.
Then—
"Feed me."
Heroca's eyes flew open. His head jerked as if yanked by invisible strings. The voice slithered through his skull, every syllable clawing against the bone.
"Feed me the blade. The cursed blade. Now."
Heroca turned his head. The sword Ziva had dropped lay just beyond reach, its blackened edge gleaming faintly despite the dim room. Even lying still, it thrummed like a heartbeat.
He reached for it, fingers trembling.
"Heroca?" Chiko's voice cracked. "What are you doing?"
The voice sharpened, impatient. "Closer. Let me taste it. Let me devour."
Heroca's jaw locked. He lifted the blade.
The ring on his left hand twitched. The band writhed against his skin, metal flexing like it was breathing. Then—
It split.
The sound wasn't metal. It was flesh. A wet, ripping tear as the surface split open.
A mouth yawned across the band. Jagged teeth sprouted like shards of bone, glistening with spit. Something inside it inhaled, slow and rasping, exhaling a stench like old graves and rotting blood.
Chiko staggered back, her face blanching. "What the hell—"
Claous swore and raised his axe like it might do anything against that thing. "That's not a ring. That's a parasite."
Heroca stared, horrified yet unable to pull away. His body moved like it wasn't his own. He raised the sword and pushed the blade toward the waiting mouth.
The teeth clamped down with a shriek of steel grinding bone. The sword jerked, fighting, but the ring sucked it in. Inch by inch, the blade was dragged inside. Dark blood spilled down Heroca's wrist, thick and steaming, soaking the floorboards before vanishing like smoke.
When the hilt disappeared, the mouth snapped shut with a wet clap.
Silence.
Then the blood was gone. The smell faded. The ring was smooth again… almost. A deep scar now marred its surface, etched jagged like a wound.
Heroca ripped his hand back, panting.
The voice purred, thick and pleased. "Good. Stronger now. Keep feeding me. Feed me everything."
Heroca's stomach churned. He clenched his fist, trying to drown the whisper.
Claous let out a shaky laugh, dragging a hand through his blood-matted hair. "I'll say it again—you're cursed to hell, but you're one lucky bastard. Healing. That thing. You're walking with more power than both of us combined."
Heroca's head snapped toward him, eyes burning. "Lucky?" His voice cracked, sharp. "Every time this damn ring heals me, it's like my soul's being crushed in a vice. Like something's chewing me alive from the inside. The pain doesn't fade, Claous—it stays."
Claous's smirk faltered. His hand tightened around the axe handle.
Before either could speak, Chiko cut in, her voice sharp enough to break the tension. "Enough. Don't start with each other. Not now. We still don't know where Deckfern went. The only thing that matters is what's behind that door."
The weight of her words hung heavy. Finally, Claous grunted and retrieved her hammer. His arms trembled under the weight, but he carried it anyway, alongside his axe. He wasn't in shape for it, but neither of them were.
They all turned to the door.
The handle glistened with Ziva's blood.
For a second, no one moved. Only the sound of dripping rain beyond the walls filled the silence.
Then Claous pushed the door open.
Slow. The hinges wailed like a dying animal.
Cold wind slammed into them.
Rain. Endless, unbroken sheets of rain.
The three froze.
Beyond the door wasn't a corridor, wasn't even the facility. It was an open world.
Grass stretched out, dark and slick. Mud pooled in divots, broken wagons half-sunk in the earth. An abandoned village sprawled before them—houses collapsed, roofs caved, chimneys split like broken bones. Every window was black. Every door hung crooked, groaning in the storm.
And above it all, far on the horizon, a mountain jutted into the sky, its peak swallowed by clouds.
Heroca stepped forward, rain slicking his hair to his face.
The voice slithered again. "Climb. The mountain. Go."
He swallowed hard. "It wants us to climb."
Claous barked out a laugh, raw and bitter. "Of course it does. Because a cursed mountain sounds exactly like where I'd love to die."
Chiko hugged her arms around herself. "Before mountains, before curses—we need food. Rest. If we don't stop, we'll collapse before we even get close."
Claous hesitated, then gave a single stiff nod. "She's right. Let's hole up in one of those ruins. Get our strength back."
They trudged down into the village. Rain hammered their shoulders, mud sucking at their boots.
Halfway across, Heroca froze.
Footprints.
Huge, fresh. Three talons pressed deep into the mud, each longer than his hand. The rain hadn't washed them away yet.
Heroca's throat tightened. "…Something's here."
Neither of the others answered. They just quickened their pace toward the least-collapsed house.
Claous shoved the door open and they slipped inside. The air was thick with mold, the floor scattered with shattered furniture and scraps of cloth. A wagon wheel leaned crooked against the wall, as if someone had dragged it in and left it to rot.
Claous dropped the hammer and axe with a grunt, sinking against the wall. Chiko sat heavily, pulling her knees to her chest, shivering.
For a moment, it almost felt safe.
Almost.
But the storm howled through the cracks. The house creaked and shuddered with every gust. The shadows inside seemed too dark, too alive.
Heroca stayed standing. He glanced at the others—both hollow-eyed with hunger—and forced a thin smile. "I'll find something. You two rest. I won't be long."
"Heroca—" Chiko began, but he was already at the door.
The rain swallowed him whole.
He pushed through wet grass, past broken wagons split in half, past fences leaning dangerously as if one more gust would topple them.
Then—movement.
Heroca froze. He dropped to the mud, crawling behind one of the half-rotted fences. His chest pressed to the earth, water seeping cold through his shirt.
He lifted his head slowly.
And there it was.
Tall. Broad. Its silhouette cut through the storm like a shadow carved from stone.
It didn't move. Didn't breathe. It just stood there.
Watching him.
And then—
The thing tilted its head.
And smiled.