CHAPTER 58: PRIMAL INSTINCT

It had been days since he left the mountain where he fought the serpent. Days of endless flight above the forest, wings aching, eyes burning from the strain of staying open.

He had thought at first that his demon form would fade as usual, but an hour turned into two, then many more. His body remained transformed.

The more he considered it, the more it seemed like this realm itself was holding him in that state of a demon whether he wanted it or not.

The forest beneath him was alive in ways he didn’t want to test. Once, when his body gave in and he laned on the ground, the ground itself seemed to move.

A lump in the earth rushed toward him at terrifying speed, breaking open to reveal the head of another monstrous centipede. Its body was thinner than the one he’d fought before, smoother, with armored spikes—but no less threatening. Its eyes glowed as it lunged for him.

Caelen had shot an arrow into its face as he launched himself back into the air, the arrow driving into the side of its head but angled enough that it wouldn’t lodge permanently, so he could retrieve it later.

That was the lesson: keep distance, avoid the ground, stay alive. Since then, he had remained in the skies, even as his wings screamed with pain, even with pain resistance.

But now even that was no longer an option.

"Argh..." Caelen groaned, his wings trembling with every beat. The pain had gone from stinging to unbearable, splitting through his back with each flap.

His muscles burned, threatening to give out entirely. He knew landing was dangerous, but forcing himself to stay airborne any longer would kill him just the same.

He searched the forest below, eyes looking through the endless green. He needed a clearing, some space to see what came for him.

Finally, on his left, he spotted a break in the canopy. It was far, farther than his wings could manage at their current state. His jaw clenched. Only one option left.

He used demon energy on his body, his skin glowing faintly with its dark aura. His breath hissed out between his teeth as he forced the energy into his limbs.

Then, with a violent burst, he bolted forward, diving toward the open patch of forest. His wings screamed, tearing him apart from the inside, but he pushed harder.

The sound followed, heavy footsteps, running through the undergrowth. Something was chasing him.

He risked a glance. Through the trees, he caught a glimpse: eyes, glowing yellow in the dark, attached to a black form that slipped effortlessly between the trunks.

"Dammit..." Caelen said, sweat running down his forehead. His wings faltered, every flap carving pain deeper into his back. He couldn’t keep this up.

The clearing came into view. He angled higher, using what strength remained to glide, then aimed straight for it. His hand moved automatically, drawing an arrow.

As the ground rushed closer, he loosed it blindly toward the creature’s path, not caring if it hit, only that it would slow it.

The sound of movement shifted, the creature adjusting. Good. That was enough.

Caelen cut his wings off mid-flight, canceling the demon energy too. His body dropped like a stone, crashing hard into the ground.

Pain surged through his legs, but he forced his hand to his dagger, yanking it free from his bag as he rolled back to his feet.

The sound of claws against earth came closer. He turned, blade raised, his breathing sharp and rough.

The creature emerged from the trees.

It was tall, humanoid in shape, but wrong. Its skin was a crawling black, its arms long and crooked, ending in claws sharp enough to glint in the dim light.

Spikes jutted from the back of its head like twisted hair. Its yellow eyes locked on him with hunger.

Caelen’s jaw tightened. "Pain resistance, my ass..." he said under his breath, rolling his shoulders to loosen them.

The shadow-creature growled low, crouching into a stance.

"Leave!" he shouted, his voice echoing. The word carried no power here, no command—only a desperate hope it might understand and leave.

It didn’t.

The creature blurred. Faster than anything he’d ever seen, faster than even Lucy. One moment it was crouched, the next its claws were inches from his throat.

He barely got his blade up in time, the steel ringing as it deflected the strike, the claws grazing his cheek.

He stumbled back, but the creature didn’t relent. It flowed sideways, impossibly smooth, cutting around his guard. Caelen hurled himself forward, rolling, the ground tearing open behind him where its strike landed. The sound sent a shiver down his spine.

He turned, breath ragged, forcing his body to move despite the fatigue. He slashed toward it, forcing aggression, but the creature slipped aside, its movements like smoke.

"Tch... this won’t work." He realized it, brute force wouldn’t be enough. He needed to outthink it.

The shadow lunged again, this time with a spear-like thrust of its arm. Caelen twisted, dodging to the side, but kept his blade angled to deflect if needed.

He caught it, redirected, and with the opening, he drove his sword upward. The steel sliced clean through one of its elongated arms, severing it at the joint.

The creature screamed, a piercing wail that made the trees shudder.

Caelen’s stomach sank. That sound would draw others. He couldn’t let this drag out.

He lunged, dagger stabbing forward, piercing its chest. For a moment, he thought he’d ended it. Then, right before his eyes, the severed arm sprouted anew from the wound, black flesh twisting back into place.

"What?!" He tried to drive the dagger deeper, but the creature’s other arm swung.

He dodged too slow. Its claws raked across his leg, purple blood spraying from the wound. Pain erupted, white-hot, ripping a scream from his throat.

The creature laughed. A horrid, screeching laugh that rattled his skull. Its claws hooked around his throat, lifting him with crushing strength.

Caelen gagged, vision blurring, but he forced his dagger up, stabbing into its forearm again and again. Black ichor splattered, but it only roared in rage.

He dropped the dagger, hand fumbling at his pack. His fingers closed around an arrow. He channeled demonic energy into it, the wood glowing faintly black, and jammed it into the creature’s gut.

The energy exploded inside, forcing it to drop him with a furious howl.

Caelen staggered back, leg trembling under the blood loss. His regeneration was working, but too slowly. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move, forcing himself to fight.

The shadow-creature ripped the arrow from its stomach, tossing it aside with a hiss.

Caelen drew his bow, ignoring the pain in his arms, ignoring the sting in his torn leg. He nocked another arrow, eyes locked on the monster.

He released. The arrow buried itself in its thigh, slowing its movement. Another followed, striking lower, pinning its leg briefly to the ground.

It screeched again, ripping itself free.

The creature shrieked, fury boiling out of its broken form, and lunged for him. Even with one leg crippled, it still moved unnaturally fast, black claws slashing through the air.

Caelen braced himself, breath harsh, knowing pain was unavoidable. His leg burned from the earlier wound, but he forced his body to respond.

With a guttural groan, he summoned his wings again. Agony tore through his back as they ripped out, the flesh around them raw, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it.

The sudden burst lifted him just enough to glide over the charging shadow. He twisted midair, forcing himself behind the creature.

The bow was useless now; he went for the dagger. His arm swung, blade driving toward the black mass’s chest.

For a moment, resistance met him, as though the flesh wanted to reject the strike—but then it sank in, driving into where its heart should be. The creature convulsed, its screech cutting short, its limbs spasming as black ichor spilled.

Caelen didn’t stop. He ripped the blade free and immediately drove it upward into its skull. The head burst like rotten fruit, spraying purple blood across his hair. Silver strands turned purplish-silver and wet, dripping down into his eyes.

For a moment, he just stood there, watching the body twitch and collapse into the dirt.

His dagger slid from limp fingers.

"Finally..." His voice was ragged, almost breaking. He fell backward, his body collapsing onto the ground. The wings vanished on their own, leaving behind nothing but fire pain in his back. For the first time in days, he allowed himself to just breathe.

The grass beneath him, the smell of rot and iron. He closed his eyes, chest rising and falling, and realized how dry his throat felt.

His lips cracked when he licked them. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t even thought about food in—how long had it been? He didn’t know anymore. This place twisted time.

"Didn’t give me food, that damn elf," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. "Now that I think about it... does he expect me to fry these monsters?" His mouth opened wider as he spoke, and he felt it.

His teeth.

They didn’t feel the same.

He ran his tongue across them, and a sharp sting came from his gums. He touched them with trembling fingers. Thin. Sharper. More of them than before.

They lined his mouth like the maw of a beast.

"What the hell... is this?" His voice hesitated, both anger and confusion in it.

Then the smell hit him.

A strange aroma crept into his nose, one that wasn’t there before. Thick, heavy, impossible to ignore. His head turned on instinct, his gaze locking onto the corpse sprawled only feet away.

"This is—" His words cut off. His mind went quiet.

The sharpness in his eyes changed, the glow of reason dimming. Hunger bloomed in its place, primal and unrelenting.

His tongue slid from his mouth before he even realized it, longer than it should have been, split at the tip. It flicked the air, tasting it, moving like it belonged to someone else.

His body moved without thought. One blink, and he was crouched inches from the corpse. The dagger lay forgotten. He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. His mouth opened wide, and instinct took over.

He bit.

The flesh tore under his teeth, warm ichor spilling across his lips. His body shuddered as he chewed, swallowed, bit again.

"Aaaahh..." The sound escaped him, half moan, half growl. His jaws worked like never before.

He devoured the body, tearing chunks, ripping deeper, uncaring of anything but the taste that filled his mouth.

It was wrong. He knew it somewhere deep in the back of his mind—but that voice was fading, drowned out by the rush of energy flooding into him.

His wings burst out again, unbidden. This time, they were different. The soft, dark, and stretched sharper edges.

His skin shifted too, the warmth of his usual appearance drained away, leaving something colder, harsher.

His handsome face—the silver-haired, sharp-eyed demon form—was warping, fading into something more demonic.

The place had the sound of tearing flesh and steady, hungry breathing.

By the time Caelen raised his head, the corpse was unrecognizable, nothing but scraps left clinging to bone. His mouth was stained dark, his hair matted with dried purple.

His chest rose and fell with unnatural steadiness, the hunger sated for now, but the change it had carved into him refused to fade.

He dragged his sleeve across his mouth, smearing blood further across his face. His eyes caught the corpse that was lying there.

He didn’t feel like himself.

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