Rate was trapped within the Voragnathe's maw.
His arms were thrust upward, elbows locked, palms pressed flat against the ridged roof of the creature's mouth. His legs were planted wide, boots jammed against the lower jaw, every muscle in his body screaming as he fought to hold the colossal maw open. The drilling teeth, thousands of rotating, serrated spirals gnawed relentlessly into his forearms and shins. Each tooth spun like a living auger, boring through flesh and bone alike. Dark energy poured from the wounds in thick, oily ribbons, only to be greedily vacuumed down the beast's pulsating throat.
The suction was obscene. A wet, hungry vortex that ripped away pieces of his power and digested them into nothingness. Where the void blast had already scorched his torso raw, the creature's maw now widened the damage, widening craters of annihilated flesh. Rate's regeneration fought desperately to keep pace, but the Voragnathe's corruptive saliva and relentless suction dragged every thread of dark matter back into its gullet before it could properly knit.
His real blood, thin and black mixed with the leaking void essence, splattering across the creature's rotating teeth in steaming droplets. The pain was apocalyptic, a white-hot symphony that threatened to shatter his mind. Yet Rate refused to scream. His blackened eyes burned with fury even as his body was being slowly ground apart.
He forced two fresh tentacles to erupt from his ribs with wet, ripping sounds. They lashed upward, blades slicing into the roof of the maw, trying to pry it wider. The tentacles trembled under the strain. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
The Voragnathe's jaw began to close.
The pressure increased exponentially. Rate's arms buckled. His legs shook violently. The drill-teeth sank deeper, grinding through muscle and scraping against bone. A low, involuntary groan escaped his throat as the mouth continued its inexorable descent.
No… not like this.
His mind, stained by exhaustion and the lingering psychic poison of the earlier void blast, flickered with dark thoughts.
I was planning to use this power for the witch. I can't die here. Not to this thing.
Rate bowed his head, teeth clenched so hard they creaked. He shoved every extraneous noise from his consciousness, the grinding of teeth, the wet suction, the thunder of his own pulse and sank into a deep, dangerous concentration. The world narrowed to a single point of will.
Then he spoke, voice low, ragged, and reverent.
"From the dark spaces between the stars, where time itself bleeds and the old laws die…
In the Lightlessness beyond all light, I beseech thee."
The words carried weight. Ancient weight.
"ELDO!"
The invocation cracked through the chamber like breaking ice.
"Heolstor of the Void, Eternal Blackness,
Foundation of the Deep, Pillar of Creation and Unmaking!
Look upon your dying servant.
I have no pride left, only blood and will.
Bind the flesh of my enemy.
Enthrall its soul in your endless night.
I bleed my life into the dark…
Take half my remaining days as toll.
Reach through the shroud,
Unfold your terrible power,
And let me drag them screaming into your embrace."
For a heartbeat, the entire battlefield fell into absolute silence. Not a single sound. No grinding teeth. No labored breathing. No distant collapse of stone. Even the psychic pressure from the Voragnathe seemed to stutter.
Then reality tore.
A perfect sphere of nothingness bloomed around the Voragnathe. The air itself curdled, turning thick and oily. The ground beneath the colossal creature began to change, stone rippling like water, darkening into an inky, bottomless mirror. The Voragnathe's massive feet sank immediately, its enormous weight working against it as the ground turned into a devouring portal.
The creature felt it instantly.
It thrashed with apocalyptic fury, trying to wrench itself free. But every violent movement only drove it deeper. Hundreds of whip-like tendrils of pure solidified darkness erupted from the corrupted earth, lashing upward with vicious speed. They coiled around the Voragnathe's segmented limbs, its fan-crested head, its thrashing spearhead tail. The more the abomination fought, the tighter the bindings became, the deeper it sank.
A hollow, reverberating cry tore from its drill-lined maw, an unnatural sound that was neither scream nor roar, but something closer to the death rattle of a dying universe. The cry vibrated through Rate's bones.
More whips erupted. Thicker. Hungrier. They wrapped the creature's torso, constricting with crushing force. The Voragnathe's legs had already disappeared to the knees. Its powerful tail lashed wildly, slicing through several tendrils only for twice as many to replace them.
Rate saw his window.
With the last dregs of his strength, he elongated his right arm. The limb stretched like living shadow, extending far beyond its natural length. At the end of it, his dark saber sword gleaming with unstable malevolence. He drove the sword into the stone wall near the entrance pathway with a resounding crack, embedding it deep.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled.
A guttural roar of pure agony and defiance ripped from his chest as he tore himself free from the Voragnathe's drill-teeth. Flesh shredded. Dark energy sprayed in wide arcs. The pain was so intense that his vision whited out for a split second, but he did not stop pulling. Inch by brutal inch, he dragged his mangled body out of the maw.
The moment he cleared the jaws, the Voragnathe's mouth snapped shut with a thunderous crunch on empty air.
Rate slammed hard into the wall. The impact drove the breath from his lungs. He dropped like a broken doll, collapsing onto the ruined floor in a heap of blood, shadow, and trembling limbs. His elongated arm retracted slowly, sword sliding free from the stone with a metallic rasp. He lay there for several long seconds, chest heaving, every nerve on fire.
Behind him, the Voragnathe's struggle reached its horrifying climax.
The creature was sinking faster now, waist-deep in the devouring darkness. Its hollow cries grew louder, more frantic. It thrashed with every ounce of its alien strength, but the whips only multiplied. They crawled over its armored carapace, forcing its arms down, pinning its deadly tail, wrapping around the fan-like crest of its head. The ground had become a living maw of Heolstor's domain, patient, inevitable, and utterly merciless.
With one final, earth-shaking bellow that echoed through the collapsing chamber, the Voragnathe was dragged under.
Its head disappeared last. The fan crest twitched once… twice… then vanished beneath the rippling black surface. The darkness swirled for a moment longer, hungry and satisfied, before smoothing out like still water. The portal sealed. The abomination was gone. Completely, no trace remained except a circular patch of unnaturally dark stone.
Silence returned.
Rate sat slumped against the cold wall, legs splayed out before him. His breathing was ragged, shallow. Slowly, painfully, the massive wound across his chest began to regenerate. Threads of dark energy knitted across the ruined flesh, pulling torn muscle and shattered bone back into place. It was agonizingly slow but it was working.
He retracted the remaining tentacles with a wet, exhausted slither.
For the first time in what felt like hours, Rate allowed himself a single moment of stillness. His head leaned back against the stone. The shifting mask of darkness over his face receded completely, revealing his true features once more: the pitch-black eyes, the sharp nose, the mouth still twisted in a grimace of lingering pain.
He turned his head to the left.
Bulk was there, several meters away, face-down on the debris-strewn floor. The large man's massive shoulders trembled. Sweat poured off him in sheets, dripping audibly onto the stone like rainfall. He was breathing in short, panicked gasps, trying and failing to compose himself after witnessing horrors no ordinary human mind was built to endure.
Rate stared at him for a long moment. No disgust this time. Only a tired and heavy silence.
Rate stood up slowly, every joint in his body protesting with deep, grinding resistance. He tried to flex his shoulders, then his elbows, then his wrists. Nothing responded cleanly. The limbs moved with unnatural stiffness, as though the darkness inside him had thickened into rust. The massive hole in his chest continued stitching itself together in agonizing slow motion. Threads of dark energy wove across the ruined cavity like black spiders spinning a web, pulling torn flesh and shattered ribs back into alignment. Each tug sent fresh waves of dull, throbbing pain radiating outward. The healing was sluggish, crippled by both crushing physical exhaustion and the deeper mental fatigue that clouded his thoughts.
He breathed through it, jaw tight, refusing to show weakness even in front of his subordinates.
Bulk finally stirred. The big man pushed himself up using his massive projectile weapon as a crutch, the metal groaning under his weight. His legs trembled as he rose, face still pale and slick with sweat. "Captain?" he called out, voice hoarse and uncertain.
Rate's blackened eyes flicked toward him. "Back to your senses now, aren't you?"
Bulk walked closer, slow and deliberate, each step crunching over debris. The acrid stench of urine still clung to him, sharp and unmistakable in the dust-heavy air.
"Don't get any closer," Rate warned, voice flat. "You reek of disgust."
Bulk stopped mid-step, shame flashing across his broad features. "I'm sorry… The tension in the air has subsided. I could..."
"I don't blame you for crumbling under the earlier pressure," Rate cut in. "Your apology is useless at this point. You have to make up for the time of your absence."
Bulk swallowed hard, then nodded with grim determination. "I'll do what I can. The best I can."
Rate gave a curt nod, but before he could say anything more, a new agony ignited across his body.
It started as a deep, crawling heat beneath his skin. Everywhere the dark energy coated him. Then it sharpened. The darkness was no longer merely covering him. It was eating through his flesh. He looked down in mute horror as his arms began to shrink, muscle and fat visibly wasting away. The shadowy essence hissed and sizzled as it permanently merged with his tissue, rewriting him from the inside out. His limbs grew skinnier, almost emaciated, yet stronger in a grotesque, unnatural way. The same process spread across his torso, legs, and back. A constant, searing hiss filled his ears, his own flesh being consumed and reforged.
Aside from his face, which remained pale and human for now, the rest of him was transforming into something sickening. Rate dropped to one knee, slamming a bony, darkened hand against the cracked floor to steady himself. A low, guttural groan escaped his throat as the pain peaked. It felt like thousands of microscopic hooks pulling his body apart and stitching it back with living shadow.
"Captain, are you alright?" Bulk called out, instinctively stepping forward.
"Stay back!" Rate commanded, voice cracking with strain. Bulk froze immediately.
What is happening to me? Rate thought, teeth gritted against the fire in his veins. This isn't the usual backlash from drawing power from the dark dimension. I suffer strain and get weakened afterward… Could it be… the bargain from the prayer? Lord Eldo's taking? Half my remaining days… Is this the payment?
The pain crested, then slowly began to ebb, leaving him breathing hard. Rate trying to push himself back to his feet, swaying slightly. He looked down at his transformed body. The pale human skin of his face now contrasted horribly with the rest of himself, a deformed, emaciated silhouette wrapped in living darkness. His limbs were unnaturally thin yet corded with shifting black veins.
Bulk stared in open shock, mouth slightly agape, the earlier humiliation momentarily forgotten in the face of this new horror.
From the far left wall, near a huge deep crater, movement stirred. Quinn crawled out of the rubble on his hands and knees, having been dropped hard onto his back from a significant height during Agatha's explosion. He staggered upright with visible effort, pieces of his upper armor clattering to the ground in broken shards. Agatha's spell had completely destroyed the chest and shoulder plating, leaving him bare-chested except for the deep, ugly wound scar that ran across his upper to torso and continued around to his back. His lower armor pants and boots remained mostly intact, though scorched. His gauntlets, thankfully, were still functional.
Quinn reached up with both hands, gripped the damaged grill helm, and ripped it off with a grunt. It clattered away into the debris. His face was revealed: youthful, framed by burnt brown hair, with two stylish cuts in his left eyebrow. His caramel eyes scanned the chamber with sharp alertness despite the pain he clearly felt. He saw the Captain metres away on one knee, and decided to meetup with him.
He staggered at first, then straightened his posture as he closed the distance, covering the remaining meters with forced confidence.
Rate's pain had finally subsided enough for him to stand tall again. Quinn's eyes widened as he took in the captain's new form.
"Captain… what happened to you?" Quinn asked, genuine concern threading through his voice.
"It's not something you should worry about," Rate replied curtly.
"Are you sure…?" Quinn pressed, the question almost rhetorical.
Rate brushed it off with a small, dismissive motion of his darkened hand, as if the topic was beneath discussion.
Quinn couldn't help but study him more closely in silence. What do you mean not to worry? You don't look okay. You're becoming less of a human and more of a monster that could spread airborne disease. The thought sent a chill down his spine, but he kept his face neutral.
He turned his gaze forward. The chamber was in complete disarray, dark, shattered, and in shambles. Massive sections of ceiling had collapsed. Cracks spider-webbed across the floor. Dust and faint traces of dark energy still drifted through the air. The only source of blooming light came from very deep ahead, at the far end of the long floor, where Agatha stood watching them like a distant, malevolent star.
"What happened to the monster?" Quinn asked.
"It's taken care of," Rate answered. "We won't have to worry about that anymore."
"Taken care of?" Quinn muttered under his breath. Did he kill it himself? That's not bad. I'm quite envious of the captain's level. Maybe his new look is the result of the power he used against that abomination.
Quinn scanned the ruined space again and realized someone was missing. The name hit him immediately. "Where's Camilla?" he asked flatly.
"Camilla's gravely injured," Rate replied.
"Is she dead?" Quinn asked.
"She's not…" Rate glanced at Quinn briefly before looking away again. "She's buried among the rubble somewhere due to the explosion earlier."
"That blast…" Quinn rubbed the side of his neck with his right gauntlet, wincing slightly. "I have to admit, that witch is scary as hell. I can't believe she took out my armor like that. My gauntlets are barely holding up." He flexed his fists, and the gauntlets responded with a low mechanical hum, golden sparks flickering along the knuckles.
Rate's injuries had finally finished healing. The last threads of darkness sealed the chest wound completely. With a wet, fluid motion, twenty long blade-tentacles manifested from his back, writhing with renewed menace despite his thinner frame.
"Do you have some fight left in you?" Rate asked, voice steady once more. "Can you keep up?"
"I can pull through," Quinn replied, slamming his gauntlets together with a resonant clang. Golden energy surged visibly along his arms. "If it's support you want, I'll deliver it with two packs of punches."
"Quinn… you're with me. We're taking the witch head-on this time," Rate declared.
"Understood!" Quinn answered sharply, excitement and determination mixing in his caramel eyes.
"BULK…" Rate turned slightly toward the large man. "You'll find and rescue Camilla from the rubble!"
"As you instructed, I'll do my best," Bulk replied. He slammed his left palm against his chest in a salute, the sound echoing.
"Better not fall to your feet this time," Rate added in a low, warning tone.
"Hey, old man," Quinn said, glancing sideways at Bulk with a smirk. "You stink for some reason. What is that?"
Bulk stammered, face flushing with fresh embarrassment, but Rate cut in immediately. "Enough with that. Let's focus on the given task."
The air between them grew charged. Rate's tentacles wobbled with restrained power, wielding his dark saber in hand. Quinn ignited another surge of golden energy that crackled around his bare torso and gauntlets, casting flickering light across the devastated chamber. The two of them leaped forward together toward the distant blooming light where Agatha waited.