A Body Rewritten in Flame — II

The ogre bucked hard, steam pouring from its mouth in short, ragged bursts. Cracked leg dragging as it turned, stumbling through rubble but refusing to fall. The flickering runes across its chest flared, then pulsed tight, synchronized with the sound of its breath.

Something was changing, accelerating.

Forcing himself upright, blood trailing down his scalp, stance unsteady. Eyes locked on the creature. Not with fear. Not with confidence, either. Just calm calculation. A slight move to the side, repositioning not to strike, but to draw its attention.

It twisted off-balance, one leg dragging exactly where Somchai had baited it. The wounded knee buckled again, a wet crunch jolting through the joint as the massive body swung wide to correct.

And that was when it exhaled.

Not breath.

Flame.

A sudden blast of heat and pressure roared from its mouth, not in a line, but in a cone of pulsing fire, sweeping out across the broken street in the direction it had turned, unintended, unfocused. A spray of molten breath, like a ruptured furnace venting straight from its lungs.

The asphalt bubbled and split. Streetlights melted in an instant. The shockwave shattered nearby windows in a chorus of imploding glass.

Anya barely avoided the edge of it. Diving behind a wrecked car, flames licking past just meters away. Skin burned from proximity alone, no contact, just the heat.

Somchai didn't stop moving.

Not thinking anymore. Just reacting. Muscle and instinct driving him forward even as his body screamed protests.

He surged low under the ogre's off-balance side, elbow finding the soft spot behind its hip where tendons met bone. The creature snarled, its massive frame beginning to pivot.

But then Anya was there.

She didn't try to punch. Didn't kick. Instead slamming her full bodyweight into the ogre's flank, right where the leg had buckled. Hands hitting cracked stone-flesh slick with heat, and something gave, a fracture line already forming beneath the skin. Her palms sizzled.

The ogre roared as it stumbled sideways.

Not far.

But enough.

Somchai lunged up from below, low to high. One knee striking hard into the ogre's gut, then again, higher, into the ribs. He felt something shift. Not break. Just… give.

His foot pivoted. Other knee came up.

Again. Again. Again.

The ogre's body bent forward, a slow, hulking collapse that resisted every inch. Its arms reached out, not to strike, not to grab, but to hold itself up.

It was faltering.

But it wasn't done.

Not yet.

It dropped suddenly, faster than either of them expected. Collapsing forward onto all fours, like a gorilla, or a beast caught mid-transition. Steam jetted from its mouth, back, even from the runes burning along its spine. Limbs bulged, reshaping. The light inside grew brighter, pulsing faster. Erratic.

It was burning itself up.

A low, shaking growl rippled from its chest. And then it surged.

Straight at Somchai.

He saw it coming. Too late.

The shoulder slammed into his gut, lifting him off the ground. Ribs folded inward. The world turned sideways.

He hit the ground hard, rolled, hit again. Somewhere behind him, Anya screamed his name.

Everything rang. Blurred. He couldn't breathe.

The world slowed.

Everything hurt.

Somchai's lungs seized, gasping but catching nothing. The impact had done more than crack ribs, he could feel jagged bone shifting inside his chest with each attempted breath. Blood pooled in his mouth, warm and metallic.

He blinked, once, twice. The ogre's footsteps pounded toward him again, relentless and thunderous, cracking pavement with each charge. No time. No air. Just movement.

But—

A shape flickered past the edge of his vision.

Anya.

She moved like lightning, no wasted motion, no hesitation. Her injured arm pressed close to her chest, but her legs still worked. She shot in from the flank, pivoted on one heel, and slammed her good elbow into the ogre's temple.

It barely turned its head.

Anya dropped low under the return swing, a backhand like a wrecking ball. Rolling under the massive forearm and slamming both knees into the ogre's damaged leg as she passed. Something cracked.

The ogre buckled hard, crashing down onto one knee with a bone-shaking thud. Each impact drove the creature closer to collapse, knees digging deep into the broken leg. 

Steam hissed from the cracks in its stone-like skin, and the pulsing runes flickered wildly, its strength fading, but its fury burning brighter than ever.

Somchai's vision swam with pain and exhaustion, but something fierce stirred inside, a flicker of resolve, raw and stubborn. Forcing himself up, every breath a jagged shard in his ribs. With trembling limbs, he crawled forward, driven by a single thought: this had to end.

The ogre's head swung around sluggishly, green fire leaking from its nostrils, eyes wild and blazing with rage. 

Pushing past the pain, reaching the creature's massive shoulder. He planted both hands, gathering what little strength remained in his shattered body, and drove his knee upward into the creature's jaw, into the soft spot just beneath its monstrous tusks. A crack echoed through the street.

The ogre staggered, the glow in its eyes dimming.

Anya moved swiftly, pain forgotten. She climbed onto the beast's back as it knelt, heart hammering. Her hands found the glowing orbs of its eyes, cold, hard, and filled with ancient malice. With a savage twist and desperate strength, she gouged deep.

Hands gripping the ogre's eyes, fingers clawing deep into the fiery orbs, her nails scraping against the raw, molten flesh beneath. The creature's deafening roar tore through the night, a sound of pure agony and rage.

A flailing arm swung blindly, smashing into Somchai's chest with bone-jarring force, sending him sprawling across the cracked pavement, breath knocked out in a harsh gasp. Pain exploded through his ribs, sharp and relentless. Darkness fringed his vision.

But Anya didn't hesitate.

She pushed deeper, twisting her hands, tearing through burning flesh and pulsing veins until the creature howled a final, tortured scream and its massive body shuddered violently.

The ogre collapsed fully onto its side, motionless except for shallow, ragged breaths.

Anya slid off its back, panting, blood mixing with sweat on her skin.

The silence felt wrong. Too quiet after all that noise and fire. 

Anya pushed herself up, ribs aching, and looked over at Somchai. He was sitting against the rubble, breathing hard but breathing. They'd done it. Actually done it. 

"Hey." She crawled over, grinning despite the pain. "Not bad for a washed-up old guy." 

He tried to smile back, but something was off. His breathing was too shallow, too quick. That's when she really looked at him. 

The burns across his chest and cheek from the ogre's flame breath were blistered and raw, worse than she'd realized in the heat of the fight. His scalp was still bleeding from where the tusk had caught him, dark rivulets trailing down his neck. The way he held himself, hunched and protective, suggested ribs that weren't just cracked but broken. Maybe even puncturing something vital.

And his hands. Knuckles split open, fingers swollen, blood seeping through the gaps in his wraps where he'd pounded against stone-hard flesh again and again.

"Somchai—" 

"I'm fine." But his voice was thin, strained. A tremor ran through his body. Shock, maybe, or just everything finally catching up.

She could see it now. Every hit he'd taken, every impact, every moment he'd pushed through pain that should have dropped him. His body had been running on pure adrenaline and will, and now that the fight was over... "No," she whispered. "No, you're not."

"We need to get you to the safe zone," she said, voice cracking. "The military medics—"

"Anya." His hand found hers, weaker than before. When he spoke, she could hear the wheeze in his lungs, something rattling that hadn't been there before. "Look at me."

She did. Saw the calm acceptance in his eyes. The same look he'd had when he first sized her up in that store, reading her in a glance.

"You did good out there," he said, each word measured against the breath he had left. "Better than good. You move like—" A cough cut him off, blood speckling his lips. "Like you've got a hundred fights under your belt."

"Don't." Tears stung her eyes, mixing with the soot and grime. "Don't do the mentor speech thing. You're going to be fine."

He actually tried to laugh, a weak, breathless sound that turned into a cough. Blood flecked his lips. "Sharp hips. Good balance. Just like I said."

"Somchai—"

"Listen." His grip tightened slightly, using what little strength he had left. "Whatever this world's becoming... it's going to need people like you. People who don't run when others need help."

His eyes locked onto hers, fierce despite everything. "Saw you tonight. Could've kept going to that safe zone. But you didn't. You stayed. You fought."

She wanted to argue, to shake him, to drag him to safety. But she could see it. The way his focus was drifting, the pauses between breaths getting longer.

"That instinct," he whispered. "That heart. Don't lose it. The world's going to try to break it out of you."

His hand went slack in hers.

Anya sat there for a long time, holding it. This man she'd only heard stories about, who'd become real for just a few hours before fading away.

When she finally stood, something had changed inside her. She looked down at Somchai's still form, then at the monster they'd brought down together. Two fighters who'd found each other in the chaos and carved out a moment of meaning.

"I won't," she said to the empty street, her voice steady now.