Agony

Orion's mind refused to comprehend what his eyes were seeing.

His stomach twisted violently, a hollow, wrenching feeling spreading through his chest like wildfire.

Ingrid.

Her body still stood where she had been just a moment ago, caught mid-motion, battle-ready tension locked into her lifeless limbs. But her head was gone.

Orion stumbled back a step, nausea clawing up his throat. His gaze dropped, there in the blood-soaked mud lay her severed head, wide-eyed frozen in terror. Her mouth still parted, as if to scream, as if to call for help that would never come.

A choked noise clawed its way out of Orion's throat, something between a gasp and a strangled cry. His knees nearly buckled. His vision blurred as something inside him shattered, splintering into a thousand shards of raw, uncontainable agony.

Then another head fell.

Then another.

Their lives snuffed out with casual cruelty.

And then the monster smiled.

It stood amid the carnage, towering over the corpses their lives it had reaped. Its twisted grin split its deformed face, yellow fangs slick with blood. Thick rivulets dripped lazily down the massive blade-like claw jutting from its forearm. Its body was a grotesque amalgamation of sinew and steel, armor plated with bone and blood.

It basked in the aftermath, towering over its victims with a primal satisfaction that sent chills down Orion's spine.

And Orion knew he would die today.

The realization rooted itself in his bones, a sensation of utter helplessness stabbing deep into his soul. His limbs locked in place, caught between the instinct to flee and the awful certainty that running would be useless. There was no escape. No salvation.

A heavy sorrow crushed his chest, heavier than any wound, more unbearable than any pain. It wasn't just his death looming here. 

A single tear carved a path through the grime on his cheek.

And then, from the depths of that grief surged a tide of fury, drowning reason and leaving only frenzy in its wake.

First a spark.

Then an ember.

Then a roaring uncontainable inferno.

A fire that devoured the fear, the sadness, the doubt, until only raw, unrelenting fury remained.

He would not die like this.

Orion's fingers clenched so tightly around the haft of his Wraith-blade that the knuckles blanched white. His breath came sharp and fast, every inhale setting his veins ablaze with searing heat.

He let the rage fuel him.

He roared.

The sound ripped from his throat, primal, furious, defiant. It was a war cry. A desperate declaration to the world that he would not be going down alone.

And he moved.

A blur of motion.

His body surged forward, fueled by fury, feet pounding the blood-slick ground. His Wraith slashed through the air, aimed at the monster's exposed flank,

But the beast was faster.

Orion could only see a blur of motion.

And with casual, horrifying ease, it tore off his right arm.

Orion barely registered it at first, a strange detachment, a surreal sense of displacement. One moment he was swinging his weapon, the next his arm was gone, severed at the shoulder.

Blood erupted in a gruesome geyser. Pain detonated through his body in waves.

He staggered, gasping, vision swimming, the world narrowing to a tunnel of agony and deafening heartbeat.

But he didn't stop.

His legs coiled like springs, pure instinct driving him. He launched himself upward, twisting his body through the air as he jumped over using creatures legs to push himself up. His thighs locked around the monster's thick, sinewy neck in a reverse triangle choke, clamping down with every ounce of strength left in his battered frame.

His remaining hand shot down to his boot knife.

And then he stabbed.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Straight into the monster's eye, the blade pierced through slick, resistant flesh with a sickening crunch.

The creature howled, an inhuman, deafening shriek that vibrated the very air. It thrashed violently, clawing at him, trying to tear him away.

Orion didn't stop.

He stabbed again, and again, and again, in a relentless frenzied motion. 

The world vanished into blood and pain and fury, the rhythm of the blade the only thing anchoring him to reality.

But then.

Snap.

The knife broke, shearing off at the hilt.

Orion froze for half a heartbeat.

The monster seized the moment.

Its massive claw closed around his left leg with crushing force, bones grinding against each other under the pressure. It lifted him high, dangling him like a broken doll.

It would not give him a quick death.

The monster wanted him to suffer.

But Orion was ready.

In the instant before impact, that terrible moment before he would be hurled into the ground like a hammer driving a nail, he reached for the only weapon he discarded on the ground near him.

His Wraith-blade.

With a grunt of pure, agonized effort, he wrenched it free with his left hand and drove it deep into the monster's throat.

The impact was visceral, as the blade tore through the flesh, a wet, gurgling noise escaped the beast, bubbling up through the mess of blood and flesh.

The monster staggered.

Convulsed.

Collapsed.

Orion crashed to the ground an instant later, the impact stole what little air remained in his lungs. He barely managed to roll clear as the monster's immense carcass slammed down beside him.

He lay there, broken and spent, staring up at the sky smeared crimson by the battle.

His vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes.

Every inch of his body screamed in agony. He felt blood pooling around him, his own and the monster's mingling into one indistinguishable stain.

It was only then that he noticed that his left leg was gone, severed cleanly just below the knee.

A strangled noise, part laugh, part sob, escaped his throat.

It didn't matter.

He had done it.

He had killed the monster.

But he would die in this god-forsaken place too.

The victory tasted hollow.

His remaining hand instinctively sought the one thing he still had, the only thing that mattered to him.

The locket his mother had given him on his fifth birthday.

The simple silver chain tangled against his ruined chestplate, its surface now smeared with blood. He curled his trembling fingers around it, pulling it close to his heart.

Inside, there was a picture of his family. His mother's warm smile. His father's face. And the little gremlin Ren.

Tears blurred his vision.

He whispered an apology, barely audible over the howling wind.

Then the locket vibrated.

At first, he thought it was a hallucination.

A trick of his battered mind, fracturing under the strain.

But no—he felt it vibrate again.

Then he felt a pulse.

Faint at first, he felt it brushing against the edge of his senses.

Then it became stronger.

The locket grew hot against his palm, glowing faintly through the blood and grime.

Confusion flickered through the haze of pain. He tried to pull away, but it latched onto him. A metallic grip tightened on his wrist as the chain coiled around it.

And then without warning.

Something stabbed into his chest.

An invisible needle of energy pierced through flesh and bone driving straight into his heart.

He convulsed violently, a strangled pained cry tearing free from his throat. His back arched off the ground, every nerve igniting in a blinding cascade of agony.