The Escape

The night had become a living thing—a predator circling the battlefield with slow, deliberate hunger. The air itself seemed to curdle with the stench of burning flesh and spilled magic, each breath tasting of copper and despair. Somewhere in the distance, the earth trembled with the force of unseen horrors, a constant reminder that the nightmare was far from over. 

Lazarus moved through the tunnels like a wraith, his boots silent against the blood-slick stone. The weight of the Viper's Kiss potion in his belt pouch felt heavier than it should have—a gift forced upon him by desperate civilians who still believed in miracles. *Fools.* The thought was bitter, but he shoved it aside. There was no time for regret. Not when Amelia was bleeding out in the dark, and Mikael—*Mikael*—was fighting a battle none of them could afford to lose. 

He found Amelia slumped against the tunnel wall, her armor dented and slick with blood. Her sword lay discarded beside her, its edge chipped from relentless combat. The sight of her like this—*broken*—sent a spike of cold fury through Lazarus's veins. 

"Amelia," he called, dropping to one knee beside her. 

Her head lifted slowly, her eyes glazed with pain. A ragged wound stretched across her torso, the edges blackened as if touched by something unholy. She tried to speak, but only a weak cough escaped, flecks of blood staining her lips. 

Lazarus didn't hesitate. He yanked the vial from his belt, the emerald liquid inside swirling like captured venom. 

"Drink," he ordered, pressing it into her trembling hands. 

Amelia's fingers curled around the glass, her breath hitching. "Viper's Kiss," she rasped, recognition flickering in her gaze. "You kept it?" 

"I didn't have a choice." His voice was rough. "Neither do you." 

For a heartbeat, she hesitated. Then, with a grimace, she downed the potion in one swallow. 

The effect was immediate. 

Amelia gasped, her back arching as the liquid fire of the potion seared through her veins. The wound across her torso twitched, the flesh knitting itself back together in grotesque patches—scales erupting where skin should have been, shimmering like oil in the dim torchlight. Her fingers clawed at the ground, her breath coming in sharp, pained bursts. 

"It burns," she choked out. 

Lazarus gripped her shoulder, steadying her. "Breathe through it. The pain means it's working." 

She shot him a glare, her teeth bared in a snarl. "Easy for you to say—*you're* not the one turning into a damn *snake*." 

Despite everything, Lazarus smirked. "Wouldn't be the worst thing you've worn." 

Amelia's laugh was more of a wheeze, but the tension in her shoulders eased slightly. Already, the color was returning to her face, though the scales along her arms and collarbone gleamed unnaturally in the flickering light. 

She flexed her fingers, testing her strength. "How long do I have before the side effects get worse?" 

"Three moons before the scales fade," Lazarus said, helping her to her feet. "Assuming you don't drink another one." 

"And if I do?" 

"Then the fangs become permanent." 

Amelia grimaced. "Fantastic." 

Lazarus didn't waste time. "We need to get Mikael and move south. Now." 

Amelia's gaze sharpened. "South? What's south besides more death?" 

"Hope," Lazarus said simply. 

She barked a laugh. "Since when do you believe in hope?" 

"Since I ran out of other options." His voice was low, but there was something in it—something that made Amelia pause. A certainty that hadn't been there before. 

"You really think we can make it?" she asked quietly. 

Lazarus met her eyes. "I promise we will." 

For the first time in hours, Amelia felt the crushing weight on her chest ease, if only slightly. 

In the heart of the ruins, Mikael stood over Darius, Endless Dirge gleaming in his grip. The sword pulsed like a living thing, its edge drinking in the light, the air around it warping as if reality itself recoiled from its touch. 

Darius was on his knees, his body a canvas of wounds that never stayed closed. The death loop had him in its jaws, and with every reset, Mikael carved into him anew. 

But this time— 

This time, Darius was laughing. 

1,027 Deaths.

That was the number it took for Darius to see the truth. 

The loop was a *script*. A meticulously crafted hell where every scream, every wound, every agonizing second was *orchestrated*. 

- 3.42 seconds after the fatal strike, the loop reset. 

- 2.07 seconds in, the pain peaked—like clockwork. 

- Mikael's voice, cold and relentless: "Again."

"Predictable," Darius thought, his lips curling into a grin. 

Mikael's blade came down. 

1,028.

This time, Darius didn't flinch. He didn't rage. He *laughed*—a raw, broken sound that echoed through the ruins. 

Mikael froze. *"What's so funny?"* 

Darius lifted his head, blood dripping from his teeth. "You. Me. This pathetic little game." His laughter grew louder, wilder, until it was less mirth and more *rupture*. *"You think you've won? You think this hurts me?"

Mikael's grip tightened on the sword. "It should."

"Oh, it did,"* Darius admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But I'm done *feeling* it."* 

And then— 

He let go. 

Lucifero's voice slithered through his mind, a serpent coiling around his thoughts. 

"You finally *understand*,"* the demon purred. *"The loop feeds on your suffering. So starve it."

The offer was simple: 

- Leave behind his humanity—his grief, his fear, the parts of him that ached. 

- Take only the fury, the hunger, the will to *burn the world. 

Darius didn't hesitate. *"Take what you want."

The demon laughed. *"Oh, I already have."

Pain. 

Not the sharp, fleeting agony of the loop—this was deeper. *Older*. 

His soul *ripped*. 

- His mercy stayed behind, screaming into the void. 

- His regret curled into a sobbing heap, condemned to relive every death. 

- His **compassion** withered, a forgotten thing in the dark. 

What remained was *hollow*. 

What remained was free. 

Mikael's blade came down again— 

And shattered on contact. 

The shards of *Oblivion's Maw* wept black tears as they clattered to the ground. Mikael staggered back, his eyes wide. *"What—?"* 

Darius rose. 

His body was the same, but *wrong*. His shadow stretched too far, twitching like a living thing. When he smiled, it wasn't with triumph—it was with absence. 

"You didn't break me," he said, stepping forward. *"You just remade me."

Lazarus and Amelia arrived just as the cavern exploded. 

Darius stood amidst the rubble, his new shadow writhing like smoke. When he turned to them, his eyes were empty. 

"Ah," he said, tilting his head. "The cavalry."

Amelia's scaled hand tightened around her sword. *"What the hell happened to you?"* 

Darius smiled. "I evolved."

And then He moved.

Somewhere, in the ruins of the death loop, the *other* Darius clawed at the walls of his prison. 

"Let me out," he begged, his voice raw. "Let me out"

But no one answered. 

And the night marched on.