The forest shook with the beast's roar. Leaves scattered like startled birds, and even the warriors who had survived froze for a heartbeat, stunned by the unearthly cry. The spear haft jutting from its ruined eye dripped black gore, steaming where it struck the ground.
Ahayue hit the mud hard, ribs jarring, but forced himself upright before the beast's paw could crush him. His breath tore in and out, raw in his throat. He had only seconds.
Alusya pressed herself tighter into the shadows of the boulder, her nails biting into her palms. She wanted to scream, to run to him, but her body refused. She could only watch.
The warriors rallied again, emboldened by the wound. Their leader barked orders, a guttural chant in their tongue. Spears jabbed, arrows whistled—but the beast swiped through them with the rage of a storm. Two men were flung aside, bones cracking like dry wood. Another vanished beneath its claws, his scream strangled in blood.
Alusya bit her lip until it bled. This was no ordinary monster. It moved like a storm given flesh, hunger and hatred bound in sinew.
But worse than the beast was the shadow she saw clinging to Ahayue.
From her hiding place, she saw it—thin, smoky tendrils curling from his scars. They pulsed faintly, as though the wounds themselves breathed. Each time the beast struck, each time Ahayue's body tensed against pain, those tendrils thickened.
And faintly—terrifyingly—she thought she heard a laugh.
Ahayue felt it too. A fire that wasn't fire, burning in his chest, his arms, his veins. The God's voice coiled around his skull like barbed wire.
"See? Without me, you are nothing but blood waiting to be spilled. Let me in, and this beast will be ash at your feet."
He staggered, spear haft still in hand, knuckles white. His body begged him to yield. The forest floor reeled under his steps, the stench of blood gagging his lungs. He wanted—needed—strength.
But then his eyes flicked to the boulder. To the small figure clutching herself, wide-eyed but unyielding.
Alusya.
Her silent plea cut through the haze. Not words, but something stronger: Don't go where I can't follow.
Ahayue spat blood into the dirt, growled, and charged again.
The beast reared, blinded on one side, its remaining eye locking on him with blazing hate. It thundered forward. The ground cracked beneath each step.
The clash was brutal. Ahayue ducked beneath a swipe that could have snapped him in two, rolled through mud, and drove his jagged spear upward toward its jaw. Wood splintered on bone, grazing but not piercing deep enough. The recoil flung him backward into a tree, bark and bone groaning as one.
Pain bloomed white-hot in his chest.
The whisper returned, silk over a blade.
"One word. One breath. You could end this."
Alusya's small cry rang out, piercing even the beast's roar. "Ahayue!"
Her voice was thin, trembling—but real. It tethered him.
With a snarl, Ahayue forced himself back onto shaking legs. His body was breaking, but his will hadn't snapped. Not yet.
The warriors pressed again, taking advantage of his strike. One leapt, plunging his blade into the beast's flank. The monster screamed, twisting to crush him, but that moment gave Ahayue an opening.
He sprinted, vision blurring, and hurled himself up the beast's back, claws tearing at his arms and legs. His fingers, blood-slick, barely found purchase. With a raw cry, he yanked the broken spear free from its ruined eye and, with both hands, jammed it into the other.
The sound was hideous. Wet, cracking, tearing. The beast convulsed, blinded fully, its massive form thrashing in madness.
Ahayue clung on, battered, until the world turned into a blur of blood, mud, and noise. The warriors swarmed again, stabbing at exposed flesh.
The monster collapsed with an earth-splitting crash.
Silence followed, broken only by the ragged panting of survivors.
Ahayue slid from the carcass, knees buckling, barely catching himself. His scars burned so hot it felt as though fire had taken root inside him. The God's whisper purred with delight.
"You resist well… But the deeper your defiance, the sweeter your surrender will be. And you will surrender. Soon."
Alusya broke from hiding, dashing across the battlefield littered with corpses and broken weapons. She threw her arms around him, sobbing into his chest.
He knelt there, holding her, blood soaking into both of them, staring at the horizon where the trees swayed in silent judgment.
The beast was dead. The warriors broken.
But the shadow within him was very much alive.
And waiting.
The forest did not breathe.
For an instant after the spear sank into the beast's eye, the world itself seemed to recoil. Even the endless chorus of insects stilled, as though silenced by awe or terror. Then the sound came—the roar.
It was not an animal's roar, not wholly. It was a tearing, earth-splitting shriek that shivered the marrow of every living thing in earshot. Birds fled in storms from the canopy. Branches shook loose their leaves. Even the warriors—hard men accustomed to blood—staggered back, hands to ears, eyes wide in disbelief.
The beast swayed, its ruined eye gouting black ichor that hissed when it struck the soil. The smell was sulfur and rot, as if a tomb had been cracked open. Steam coiled upward, choking the battlefield in a miasma that stung eyes and throats alike.
Ahayue's body hit the mud with bone-jarring force. The shock rattled through his ribs, already bruised from a dozen strikes. For a moment, the sky reeled above him, blurred and swimming. He forced air into his lungs, each breath like sucking knives.
Move. If you stay down, you die.
He staggered upright, half-blind with pain, just as the beast's paw thundered down where his skull had been. The impact cratered the ground, spraying mud and broken roots.
Alusya saw everything.
She pressed herself against the boulder, tiny fists clamped against her mouth to hold in a scream. Every time Ahayue fell, every time the beast's claws came within a hair of tearing him apart, her heart seemed to seize. She wanted to run to him, to drag him away by sheer will, but her legs remained locked, useless.
Instead, she whispered Andalusia's words—half-forgotten prayers, charms the witch had taught her during hushed nights by the fire. But they were words without power. She was powerless.
Her gaze flicked to Ahayue again. And what she saw chilled her deeper than the beast itself.
The scars on his arms—those strange, twisted marks that ran like molten metal under skin—were glowing faintly. Dark smoke coiled from them, tendrils that moved like living things. And with them came a sound, soft as a sigh. A whisper.
Not from outside. From within.
Alusya clutched her chest, bile rising. She wanted to call out, to warn him, but her throat locked shut.
Ahayue felt it too.
The burn in his scars was unbearable, fire without flame. It coursed through his veins, coiling into his muscles, offering him strength beyond what his body possessed.
And with it came the voice.
"You are weak. Broken. But with me, you can be endless. Let me in, and this beast will not outlast your wrath. Tear it apart, and know power as it was meant to be."
The whisper was not Andalusia's kind counsel, nor the faint murmurs of dreams he'd ignored for years. This was something older, darker, patient as stone. The God. The one who had slithered into his sleep.
Ahayue bit his tongue hard enough to bleed, shaking his head. "Not now."
The beast staggered toward him again, blinded on one side, enraged beyond reason. Its breath came in waves of rot, its remaining eye glowing like a coal.
Behind it, the warriors rallied. Their leader barked orders, voice sharp with fear and desperation. Arrows hissed through the air, some embedding in the monster's hide, others snapping uselessly against bone. Spears darted forward, glancing blows that drew more ichor but did not slow the thing.
Two warriors were crushed in a single sweep of its paw, their screams cut off in wet cracks. Another vanished beneath its jaws. Blood splattered in arcs across the trees.
Alusya gagged, burying her face against her knees, but she could not block the sounds.
Ahayue forced his legs forward, half-crawling, half-stumbling. He gripped the haft of the shattered spear still embedded in the beast's ruined eye. With a raw snarl, he wrenched it free, ichor splattering across his face and chest.
The beast howled, clawing at its face, giving him a breath of space.
The whisper came again.
"Drive it deeper. Not wood, but flesh. Yours. Open the path and I will fill you. The world will kneel."
Ahayue's knuckles whitened on the spear. He could feel the temptation slithering into his will, coiling tight around his thoughts. It would be so easy. One word, one surrender, and he would no longer bleed, no longer break.
But his gaze fell—just for an instant—on the boulder. On the tiny figure pressed against it, eyes wide, lips trembling. Alusya.
In that gaze, he saw Andalusia's eyes too. Saw the way she had died with arms around him, whispering that she wished she could stay longer. Saw the way she had taught him to fight, not just for himself, but for what little good was left in the world.
If he gave in now, he would lose her. Lose himself.
"No," he spat, voice hoarse. "Not like this."
He lunged.
The beast reared, jaws gaping wide enough to swallow him whole. He dove beneath its strike, mud spraying, and rammed the spear upward. The jagged shaft split skin but glanced off bone, snapping in his hands.
The recoil threw him back against a tree. His vision flared white. His ribs screamed.
The God's whisper laughed, low and knowing.
"How long do you think you can hold me back, boy?"
Ahayue forced himself up again. His body trembled, every nerve raw, but his will remained iron.
The warriors surged again, emboldened by his strike. One vaulted onto the beast's flank, blade biting into thick hide. The monster roared, twisting, crushing the man under its bulk—but in that motion, it left its other eye exposed.
Ahayue ran.
Every step was agony. The ground tilted, his blood soaking the earth. But he ran, sprinting up the beast's back, clawing for purchase. His nails ripped, skin tore, but he climbed, until at last he stood above its massive skull.
With a cry that was more defiance than triumph, he jammed the broken spear into the creature's remaining eye.
The sound was sickening—crunch and tear, a pop like splitting fruit. Black gore erupted, splashing his face and chest.
The beast convulsed. Its massive body thrashed, shaking earth and trees alike. Warriors scattered, screaming.
Ahayue clung until his arms failed, then fell with it as the monster crashed down in a thunder that split the world.
Silence followed.
The only sound was the rasp of his breath, ragged and wet. He staggered to his knees, vision dark at the edges. His scars burned so fiercely he thought he might ignite.
The God purred.
"Delicious. The line blurs, does it not? Soon you will not know where I end and you begin."
Alusya broke from hiding at last. She stumbled over broken branches and blood-slick earth until she reached him.
Her small hands grabbed at his chest, at his face smeared with gore. She was crying, words tumbling out incoherently. He barely heard them. He only felt the warmth of her arms, the grounding weight of her clinging to him.
He held her back, eyes locked on the horizon, where the forest seemed to watch in silence.
The beast was dead. The warriors broken.
But inside him, something had awoken—and it would not sleep again.
The clearing stank of iron and rot.
The beast's carcass sprawled like a toppled mountain, its limbs twisted, ribs shuddering faintly as if refusing death even in stillness. Black ichor seeped from its ruined eyes, flowing into the earth, staining the roots. Steam hissed up in foul clouds, as though the ground itself recoiled from what had been spilled upon it.
Ahayue knelt a few paces away, chest heaving. His hands still clutched the shattered haft of the spear though there was nothing left to strike. Blood—his, the beast's, the warriors'—mingled on his arms and face until he could not tell where one ended and the other began.
His scars throbbed with molten light. It was not the wild blaze of battle but a smolder, as if the curse itself feasted on what had been done. The Forgotten God whispered softly now, almost tender:
"Yes. Do you see how they cower? Even the survivors know who you are. You are not prey. You are power."
Ahayue's throat worked, bile threatening to rise. He forced the voice down, the way Andalusia had taught him—with breath, with clenched will, with the memory of her hand steady on his shoulder.
I will not be yours.
He whispered it aloud. His voice cracked, raw, but the words steadied him.
Alusya was pressed against him, her small arms tight around his ribs despite his blood. Her face was pale, streaked with dirt and tears. She trembled, but not from cold. "You… you killed it." Her voice was tiny, awed and horrified in equal measure.
He wanted to answer, but the words lodged in his throat. He hadn't killed it. Not alone. It had been desperation, the warriors' blades, his cursed strength, and the whisper he dared not acknowledge.
The forest had not forgotten. Neither had the men.
A rustle drew his gaze upward. The surviving warriors—half their number now corpses mangled beneath claw or tooth—stood at the edges of the clearing. They stared not at the beast, but at him.
Their faces were a tapestry of fear, rage, and disbelief. Blood dripped from their weapons, from cuts across their armor, but their eyes burned with something hotter than pain.
One, the broad-shouldered leader, stepped forward, his lips curled back. He spat onto the earth. "Witch's spawn."
The words were not shouted. They were breathed like a curse, heavier than any roar.
Another warrior lifted a trembling hand, pointing at Ahayue's glowing scars. "He—he called it! The beast came because of him!"
Murmurs spread. "He carries the curse."
"The cave witch made him strong."
"He is no boy. He is demon."
Alusya's arms tightened around Ahayue, a shuddering sob escaping her. She pressed her face to his chest, as though hiding from their eyes.
Ahayue rose slowly. His legs shook, but he forced them steady. He met the leader's gaze, refusing to bow.
"I fought as you fought. I bled as you bled. That thing would have torn you all apart without me."
But even as he spoke, he heard how hollow it sounded. He had not fought as them. His scars burned, his blood sang with something other than human strength. They could see it, even if he denied it.
The leader's hand twitched on his blade. Hatred sharpened his voice. "Then you should have died with it. Not walked away glowing like one of their damned idols."
The other warriors muttered, torn between fear and fury.
Ahayue's grip tightened on the broken spear shaft. He could not fight them—not now, not in this state. He could barely stand. If they rushed him, he and Alusya would die here.
The whisper rose again, insistent, coaxing.
"Let me in. Just a little. Their blood will scatter, and no hand will ever dare raise itself against you again. You were not made to beg or flee. You were made to rule."
Ahayue's jaw clenched until pain shot through it. He could feel the words tugging at him, feel the hunger rising in his chest.
And then—soft as falling rain—he heard another voice.
"Andalusia would not want this."
It was Alusya's voice, muffled, pressed against him, but somehow it cut sharper than the God's whisper. Her arms shook, but her grip was steady.
"She said… she said curses don't have to own us."
Ahayue's chest ached. He drew breath, rough and ragged, and turned his back on the warriors.
"Come," he told Alusya, his voice iron.
The warriors tensed, half-raising their weapons. But none moved. Not yet. Perhaps it was the beast's corpse steaming at their feet. Perhaps it was the strange glow that still lingered faintly in Ahayue's scars.
Perhaps it was that fear and hate warred too closely in their chests.
Ahayue did not wait to test which would win. He pulled Alusya with him, step after stumbling step into the treeline.
The leader's voice rang behind them, taut with rage: "Run while you can, witch-spawn. We'll find you again."
Ahayue did not look back.
Later That Night
The forest was silent save for the crackle of a meager fire. Ahayue sat hunched beside it, one arm wrapped tight around his ribs, every muscle screaming. Alusya slept fitfully nearby, curled in a blanket of moss, her face streaked with tears dried by exhaustion.
The beast's blood still clung to him, drying black on his skin. He had tried to scrub it off in a stream, but some stains would not leave. Perhaps they never would.
His scars glowed faintly in the firelight, pulsing with each beat of his heart. He stared at them, jaw tight.
He remembered the beast's roar. The crunch of bone under his feet. The way the God's voice had filled him, rich and intoxicating. He remembered almost saying yes.
And the worst part was… a part of him wanted to again.
He pressed his forehead to his knees, fists trembling. "Andalusia… I don't know how much longer I can fight this."
No answer came. Only the fire's crackle, the forest's silence.
And then—drifting like smoke, faint as a dream—the whisper returned.
"You will fight me until the end. But every battle weakens you. And when you break, child, I will not ask again. I will take."
Ahayue's teeth clenched. He lifted his gaze, not to the shadows, but to the stars faint beyond the branches.
"I won't let you."
His voice was soft, but steady.
Alusya's Awakening
When Alusya stirred near dawn, her eyes found Ahayue first. He sat slumped but awake, his face pale, bloodied, weary beyond words.
She crawled closer, tugging at his sleeve. "You didn't sleep."
He shook his head.
For a moment, she hesitated. Then, timidly, she laid her small hand over his scarred one.
"You're not like them," she whispered. "You're not a demon."
Ahayue looked at her, at the fragile defiance in her eyes, and felt something unclench in his chest.
He said nothing. But he covered her hand with his own, holding it as the fire burned low.