Pain

Max stood frozen, his breath shallow. The weight pressing down on him was suffocating, like an unseen force wrapping around his body, squeezing the air from his lungs. It wasn't just the raw power emanating from the demon—it was the intent behind it. Cold. Curious. Amused.

With a shaking hand, Max reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the cold, smooth surface of the device. His thumb pressed down on it, hard.

"…Ah."

The voice echoed through the chamber, deep and smooth, carrying an almost lazy amusement.

"A quiet one."

The demon's presence loomed, unseen yet overwhelming, filling every inch of space with something ancient and unknowable.

"Silence is a dangerous thing in a place like this, you know. It leaves room for… interpretation."

Max's pulse pounded in his ears. His muscles locked in place, instinct screaming at him to move, to run, but his body refused to listen.

Solas's voice slipped into his mind, calm but edged with something sharp.

"It's testing you. Picking at the edges, seeing where you fray."

A pause. Then, quieter, more deliberate—

"That thing doesn't see you as a threat. Not yet. But silence? Silence makes things curious. It lets them fill in the gaps with their own ideas… and you don't want a demon doing that."

The air in the chamber grew heavier. The pressure wasn't just physical—it was in the way the demon's words coiled around him, pressing into his thoughts, unraveling him thread by thread.

A faint clicking sound echoed through the chamber, rhythmic and deliberate.

"…Hmph."

The demon exhaled—not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. Just there, slipping into the silence like it belonged.

"So, that's how it is."

A shift. The air grew colder, sharper, like a blade sliding against stone.

"You walk into my castle, stand before me, and yet… you refuse to speak."

The pressure deepened. Max felt his knees weaken, his vision darkening at the edges.

"That is bold."

Another pause.

"Or foolish."

Solas's voice was steady, cold in its clarity.

"You're breathing because it allows you to. Nothing else."

A measured pause. The weight of the chamber pressed down like a held breath, waiting to be exhaled.

"That means it's watching. Weighing its options. Maybe it enjoys the suspense, or maybe it's deciding whether you're worth the effort."

Max swallowed, the dryness in his throat like sandpaper. His voice came out lower than intended, barely above a whisper.

"Who… are you?"

Silence. Thick. Lingering.

Then—

"Revechol."

The name rolled through the air, soft as silk yet carrying the weight of something ancient. It didn't echo—it settled, like the first crack of thunder before a storm unfurls. Heavy. Inevitable.

"I'm Max," Max said.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Max."

Revechol let the name linger, as if tasting it, weighing it. His tone was unreadable—was that amusement? Curiosity? Or something else lurking beneath?

"You speak it as if it holds weight here."

A slow exhale followed—not quite a sigh, but something close. Not boredom. Not impatience. Something colder, detached.

"Tell me, then. Do you understand the kind of place you've stepped into?"

"Yes." Max said.

The air tightens. The castle—cold, vast, watching—feels smaller now, pressing in, as if it knows something Max doesn't.

"Ohhh… ohhh, that's good."

The voice—Revechol's voice—shudders with a quiet, eerie delight, as if savoring a private joke. A slow, shaky exhale, like someone barely holding in laughter.

"You're going to have to do something," Solas spoke.

"Anything. Quickly." His tone was sharp, precise—cutting through the suffocating weight pressing down on Max's chest.

"It can't be its real body. If it was, this dungeon wouldn't be F-rank. You may be able to win this."

A pause, then, firm and absolute—

"Fight."

Max's body moved before his thoughts could catch up. His daggers flashed into his hands, his breath shallow, his muscles coiled.

Swoosh.

Steel bit into flesh.

A clean cut. 

Silence.

For the first time, the castle did not hum with unseen power. No stirring shadows, no whispers in the dark. The air was still, frozen in the aftermath of steel meeting flesh.

The severed limb hit the stone floor with a dull thud.

Then—

Laughter.

Soft at first. A trembling, wheezing exhale—like someone savoring a secret only they understood. Then it grew. Low, rasping, bubbling with something twisted and delighted.

"Ohhh… ohhh, that's wonderful."

The shadows stretched unnaturally. The severed arm, discarded and limp, twitched. Black tendrils snaked from the wound, writhing like starving creatures before sinking back into the flesh.

Then—

The arm moved.

Fingers flexed, clawing at the stone floor. The limb pulled itself forward, dragging like some grotesque thing returning home.

Revechol exhaled—long, shaky, grinning.

"I like you."

Max's grip tightened around his daggers. His breath was uneven, chest rising and falling too fast.

"How am I… what do I do? I… I… I don't think I can beat this guy…"

Panic clawed at the edges of his thoughts, but he shoved it down, forced himself to think. There had to be a way—something, anything—before that thing got bored and decided to stop playing with him.

"I'll have to cut his limbs off… faster than they can grow back."

It wasn't much of a plan. It was all he had.

His blades flashed.

A limb fell.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

Steel carved through flesh, relentless. Again. And again. And again.

But no matter how many times Max struck, it didn't matter.

The moment a piece hit the ground, it slithered, crawled, and stitched itself back together.

Revechol didn't fight back. He didn't even flinch. He just stood there, letting Max hack away, his body falling apart and reforming like some grotesque puppet show.

And through it all—

He laughed.

Quiet at first, but rising. Shuddering. Shaking. A low, rattling sound, like breath being sucked through broken ribs.

"Ohhh, Max…"

"You really thought… ohh… oh, that's so good."

His voice wavered, filled with something twisted and euphoric, like he had just been given the greatest gift of his life.

"But you don't get it, do you?"

The laughter stopped.

Revechol tilted his head. His eyes—deep, hollow voids—locked onto Max.

"This isn't a fight, Max. This is you trying to empty the ocean with a spoon."

The room grew smaller. The air, heavier. The castle itself seemed to lean in, waiting, watching.

"Tell me…"

Revechol took a step forward. Not fast. Not aggressive. Just… certain.

"How long before you realize you can't win?"

The air thickened, crushing down with an unbearable weight. Max's knees buckled. His body caved under the pressure, his daggers slipping from his grasp as he hit the cold stone floor.

Revechol loomed above him, watching. Unhurried. Amused.

Then—metal rang.

A blade, long and jagged, slid free from the sheath at the demon's side.

Step.

He advanced, slow, deliberate, savoring every moment.

"You've entertained me well," Revechol mused, his voice dripping with satisfaction. 

Step.

The tip of the sword gleamed under the dim light.

…

Gerry let out a long, exaggerated sigh and flicked the cigarette butt onto the ground, grinding it out with his boot. His grin didn't fade, but the edge of concern was there, barely noticeable. He shifted his weight, crossing his arms.

"Well, well, well," he said, his voice lowering slightly, more serious now. "Didn't take long for the kid to figure out just how fun those dungeons can really be, did it?" He turned toward the guard. "What's the sitch? F rank's usually a cakewalk, but I ain't naive enough to think that means it's always smooth sailing."

The guard gave him a stiff nod. 

Gerry's smirk returned, though it was tempered with a hint of grim knowledge. "Ah, of course it is. Who wants a nice, easy dungeon run anyway? Kid's probably in over his head, but he's got some fight in him. Gimme a second to sort this out." He glanced at Max. "You know, sometimes life throws you into a pit of monsters. But that's when you find out what you're really made of." He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Let's go. Time to save the day... again."

…

Max watched helplessly as the demon walked towards him. 

"Before I send you off, I think I'm going to have a little fun," Revechol said. 

He stabbed his sword through Max's hand, sticking it into the ground.

Max gasped for air. 

Solas's voice cut through the shock, cold and precise, like a lifeline in the chaos.

"Don't flinch. Don't let it see fear."

Revechol's grip was unyielding, his fingers like iron wrapped around Max's arm. The demon's strength was monstrous—effortless. With a sickening snap, the bones gave way, bending and splintering under the pressure.

Max's body trembled with agony as the demon's grip crushed his arm, the pain coursing through him like wildfire. The scream tore from his throat, raw and primal, as he felt his bones crack and splinter. His vision blurred, the edges of his consciousness darkening.

"AEUGGGGGGGGG!"

The sound of his own voice, distorted by pain, felt alien to him. His hand was still pinned to the ground by Revechol's sword, the weight of the blade making it feel as though it was sinking into his very soul.

Revechol's laughter echoed through the chamber, cold and cruel. It was the sound of a predator savoring its kill, the mockery of his suffering all too apparent.

"Endure it. Don't let him own you. Don't let him break you entirely." Solas's voice sharpened, a thread of something like urgency slipping into the otherwise steady words. "You're still alive. And that means you still have something to fight for."

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Max's scream echoed off the castle walls, a raw, anguished cry that would have shattered the world—if only the world were listening.

Revechol's sword slid in with ease, the cold steel sinking into Max's other arm. A slow, deliberate motion, as if savoring the way the metal pierced flesh, the way Max's body fought against the inevitable.

Then, with a twist—snap—the arm broke, the bones shattering under the force.

Revechol stepped back slightly, watching Max writhe in agony, his grin widening with sick pleasure.

"You're resilient, Max. I'll give you that."

"HUAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Revechol's sword pierced through Max's foot with a sickening ease, the blade cutting deep. The demon didn't rush—no, he savored the moment, the way Max's body jerked in response, the pain seeping through his every nerve. Then, with a violent twist, the sword struck again, breaking Max's leg with a sharp crack.

The sound was almost musical in its brutality. A symphony of agony, played just for him.

"Ahhh… Yes. Now that's the real sound of submission."

The sword slid into Max's remaining foot with cruel precision, sinking deep into the bone. A sickening crack echoed through the room as the final leg was broken, the pain unbearable, splitting through Max's consciousness like a jagged blade.

"KAUUUUGHHHHHHHHH!" 

The shadows around them seemed to shift, as if they, too, were waiting for Max's final crack. Revechol's breath was cold, like a chill that seemed to seep into Max's bones.

"What will you do now?"