Capítulo 44: Finding out
song - Easty E - Monster (Full Remix)
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Thoughts raced through my mind, a thousand each second, each demanding attention, each bringing a new strategy, an insult, or some form of mocking observation. But none of them mattered. There was no point in wondering about the why and the how of my situation, even if I knew deep down it was most certainly due to screwing with Golbin's magic stone.
The eyes on the ceiling remained fixed, staring at me in a way that shouldn't have been possible. They seemed to bore through layers of me, as if the mere act of watching was enough to flay the mind apart.
And the seconds passed.
I had a catalog of responses ready—polite, snarky, neutral. I even considered a scream or two for good measure. But in the end, I remained silent. Helmet on, no facial expressions to read, no movement that betrayed intention. Silence was the best play in front of the unknown. I doubted anything short of kneeling in worship would help here, but that would be jumping the gun. The eyes were terrifying, yes, and my soul still trembled, but showing weakness before the first strike was begging to be exploited.
That would have been the case if I was dealing with a human-ish mind. I had no idea what the hell this was.
I didn't blink, yet somehow, I still missed the moment the eyes disappeared. One second they were there—black and vein-lined, cracking reality in reverse—and the next, the world felt colder, emptier. Like they had blinked out of existence, taking the very air with them.
Then, without a sound, the wall in front of me shattered, and I was already moving, Golbin tucked underneath my armpit as I leaped back. Rubble scattered like shrapnel, and from the dust emerged a war shadow. But unlike the black tar color I was used to seeing, this one burned a deep crimson, like fresh blood in the moonlight.
Its form was a blur of muscle and rage, and it didn't take long to understand that running was pointless.
The Red Shadow was fast—too fast. Faster than anything I'd seen, faster than the needle rabbits, and those things were quick. This creature made them look like snails. It was only thanks to my compound eye that I could track its movements at all. My vision was split, fractured into a thousand smaller frames, letting me catch the slightest twitch, the smallest ripple in the air.
But it was still a nightmare to follow.
I threw Golbin's body aside, hoping the distraction might slow it down. It didn't work. The creature's focus remained locked onto me, as if nothing else existed.
The air screamed as its claws cleaved through it, a vicious blur that collided with mine mid-air. For a moment, there was resistance—bone against bone—but it didn't last. Its claws cleaved through my claws, keratin armor, and flesh all the same, scraping against the bone beneath. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the heat and sting as I jumped back, my eyes never leaving the beast.
The instant my feet touched the ground, the creature was already on me again. The world blurred as I dodged sideways, the only thing saving me the sound of its claws tearing through space. My eyes widened, and the compound lenses adjusted, splitting my vision further, trying to track every movement.
It struck again, faster this time. I twisted, ducking low as its claws skimmed past, close enough that I could feel the air shift against my skin. I slashed upward, catching its side. My claws met resistance—brief, shallow—before it jerked away, my attack leaving only a faint scratch on its hide.
No time to think, no time to pause.
It lunged again, and I met it head-on, using the momentum of its strike to spin us both, deflecting its claws just enough to angle my own attack. My claws grazed its torso, the briefest of contacts, but that was enough to draw blood.
The shadow barely reacted, its crimson form disgustingly alive, twisting and contorting with each step.
It feinted left, and I jumped right, twisting in the air and catching sight of its claw swinging toward me from below. I pushed off the wall, using the force to change direction mid-air, narrowly avoiding the swipe. I laughed—a wild, reckless sound, because why not? It was either laugh or scream, and even now the teeth of fear couldn't sink into my mind.
Alas, the next exchange was different. It anticipated a feint, its movements adapting as it pivoted mid-air, claws coming from below. I twisted, bringing up my arm to deflect, but its strike was already shifting, angling up to pierce my shoulder. I felt the claws tear through flesh, rip through muscle. Pain flared, white-hot, but I grinned through it, twisting my body to lock its arm and drive my own claws into its ribs.
We separated, but it was already closing in again, a relentless tide of red. Its movements flowed, smooth and deadly, each strike faster than the last. I tried to match its pace, using every trick I knew—deflections, redirections, angling my body to minimize impact while setting up counterattacks. But for every hit I landed, it adapted, moving with a precision that felt almost mechanical.
Its claws came for my throat, and I barely managed to twist, letting them glance off my helmet. The next strike aimed for my leg, and I dropped, using the momentum to sweep its feet, clawing at its exposed side. I felt the impact, saw the flicker of annoyance in its movements, but the shadow was tireless, undeterred.
Every exchange was faster, each strike more precise. We moved as one, a blur of motion and violence. I took hits—too many. Its claws tore through my arms, my legs. I bled, but I kept pushing, knowing that if I slowed for even a moment, it'd be over.
And still, I laughed.
It was funny, in a way. The sheer absurdity of it all. The thrill of facing death, of feeling my body move faster, strike harder, of knowing that each second alive was another stolen victory. My claws met its chest, carving deep enough to draw more of that dark red blood, but it retaliated with a savage swipe that sliced across my torso, shedding the last bit of keratin clinging to my skin.
Then it came—too fast to dodge, too sudden to prepare for. Its claws drove deep into my gut, and I felt them tear through flesh, sinking into what should've been organs. Blood sprayed, painting the ground beneath me in a dark red splash. I laughed again, a raw, guttural sound that echoed in the narrow corridor. I could feel the claws twisting, digging, but there was no pain—just the dull awareness that they were there.
It yanked its claws out, but before it managed, I grabbed its arm, muscles tightening as I dragged my regrown claws down its flesh, carving crimson lines into the crimson surface.
"What's the matter?" I taunted, my voice rough, strained. "Expecting something softer?"
I twisted my body, driving my claws into its shoulder, the motion forcing it back just enough for me to yank free. We separated, the air between us charged and heavy. Blood dripped from my wounds, pooling on the floor. The red shadow's very mask seemed to flare, and it charged again.
My compound eyes flickered, capturing the blur of movement, and I twisted, avoiding another slash aimed at my throat. The momentum carried me forward, and I raked my claws along its face, but it was already moving, already countering.
It was fucking learning.
We were locked in a spiral of violence, every second more desperate than the last. Its claws danced, a blur of red streaks that tore at the air. My body moved on instinct, each dodge, each parry a calculated risk. But I knew the score. I was losing ground.
Still, I kept grinning, kept on grinning. It was grotesque, it had nothing to do with joy—no, it was something deeper. The thrill of the fight, the pure, unadulterated madness of survival.
I didn't know how long we went on. Seconds, minutes—it all blurred together. But I knew one thing: I wasn't backing down.
And neither was it.
The air was thick with the scent of blood—mine and the shadow's. Each movement left streaks of red, each strike echoed through the narrow corridor, and still, we fought. My claws met its flesh time and time again, carving shallow wounds, more trails of crimson. But it was not enough.
When its claws pierced my other shoulder, I leaned into the blow, feeling the tip pierce bone before I used the momentum to twist, driving my own claws into its side. The shadow shuddered, a semblance of a hiss escaping its form as its claws withdrew, and I backflipped, landing a few feet away, panting but steady.
I was a mess, I knew, just like I knew that the odds were against me time.
But it didn't matter. My soul was still thrumming, that familiar hum of defiance.
I readied myself again, every nerve alive, every fiber of muscle primed.
And I kept laughing.
Because I decided long ago that I might be killed, but I would never be broken.
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