Kael didn't scream. He didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
The wind howled past his ears as the Fallen dragged him through the sky like a ragdoll clutched by a child with no concept of mercy.
Its claws were buried into his torso like a jealous lover refusing to let go, and each gust of wind lashed across his face like knives.
The valley floor below rushed toward them like a bloody painting. And at its center—glowing red, pulsing like a heartbeat—was the blood formation.
The trap they had laid. The trap that was never meant to include him.
Yet Kael's face was calm. Cold. Not because he wasn't afraid, but because he couldn't afford to be.
Inside his skull, his thoughts were racing like a gambler calculating odds at a rigged table. No one was coming to save him.
Helga was still screaming his name from somewhere behind, the fury in her voice slicing through the air like a blade, but her boots were too far away from the battlefield, and her war cry wouldn't outrun gravity.
Which meant Kael had to save himself.
He shifted his weight ever so slightly, elbow cracking against the Fallen's throat. It didn't care. Didn't flinch. Its grip tightened, almost affectionate.
Bam!
He jabbed his knee into its ribs. Nothing. He even tried headbutting the damn thing. All it did was growl—low, guttural, almost pleased. Like it enjoyed the struggle.
Its madness was suffocating, its embrace unbearable, and still, Kael remained eerily composed, even as they plunged like a missile straight into the heart of the formation.
Thud!
They hit the ground with a meaty thud that shook the valley floor.
A bone cracked—Kael didn't know whose. The Fallen let out a delighted screech and rolled, pulling him into a grotesque hug right atop the formation's center.
Red sigils erupted around them instantly, glowing like molten chains, and Kael felt it at once—like something had pierced his very soul and started drinking.
The formation was working. Too well.
The Fallen clawed at him in a frenzy, and Kael fought back with everything he had. He elbowed the beast's face, drawing a spray of dark, thick blood.
He slammed his knee into its jaw. He grabbed a nearby rock and smashed it into the creature's temple. But nothing worked.
The thing wasn't just strong, it was inhumanly strong. Even as it bled, even as its flesh tore, it held him down like a father disciplining a rebellious child.
His every motion was absorbed by muscle-packed limbs that didn't seem to care about pain or damage.
The more he struggled, the tighter it held him, snarling like a dog burying its prize!
And the formation was draining him. Fast.
Kael's veins felt like they were on fire. His skin went pale, his strength flickered, and a sharp ringing filled his ears.
He had seconds, maybe less. With a slow inhale and a soft curse under his breath, Kael made a brutal decision.
Rule Two of the Gray Gospel: Hesitation is a luxury for the dead!
Without remorse, he bent his arm awkwardly against the creature's thigh, gritted his teeth, and snapped it.
Crack!
The pain was white-hot. Stars exploded across his vision. But he didn't scream. He barely grunted.
Instead, he yanked the broken arm out from the beast's grip, now limp and useless. But it wasn't enough.
The Fallen simply wrapped its other arm around his waist and dragged him back. Kael growled. Time for the other arm.
He slammed his left elbow against the beast's shoulder, wriggled until it bent at the right angle, then twisted his own wrist with a jerk so violent that the bones cracked like dry twigs.
Crack!
A searing wave of agony flooded his chest, and yet, his face was calm. Focused. Cold.
Now both arms dangled like meat ropes, but he was free. Kind of.
He wriggled like a snake, flattening his torso, digging his heels into the dirt. The Fallen howled behind him but couldn't grip his slippery, blood-slick body.
Inch by inch, Kael dragged himself toward the edge of the formation. His lungs screamed. His heart thundered. His vision blurred. Still, he moved.
Then he felt it, claws grazing his ankle!
The Fallen lunged with a desperate snarl, its long fingers closing around his boot just as he reached the edge.
In a split-second decision, Kael twisted violently, rotating his leg sideways, letting the tension snap the bones in his ankle like snapping a chicken leg at dinner.
He didn't even cry out. He just twisted, and was free.
The creature's claws missed his foot by an inch.
Kael collapsed just outside the formation, every breath a hurricane in his chest. Behind him, the Fallen screamed and flailed, trapped in the pulsing red cage.
Its claws gouged at the lines, its body convulsed, but the formation was already working.
The sigils were draining it now, ripping away at its soul like vultures picking clean a corpse.
And still, it stared at Kael.
Its yellow eyes weren't full of rage. Not anymore. Now there was something else; something tragic. Regret.
Deep, bottomless sorrow hidden beneath all the madness, like a man waking up from a nightmare only to realize he was the monster.
Kael, lying there with both arms broken, his ankle a twisted mess, his clothes soaked in sweat and blood, looked into those eyes and laughed.
It wasn't a joyful laugh. It was raw, cracked, laced with bitterness. A sound dragged from somewhere deep inside his ribs where irony and exhaustion lived together like roommates.
He laughed at the cruelty of life, at the absurdity of being hugged into a death trap, at the fact that the monster seemed sorry as it died.
He laughed until the life finally drained out of the Fallen's eyes, until the thing collapsed inside the formation, unmoving, defeated.
The valley grew quiet.
Kael leaned back against a rock, both arms limp at his sides like noodles, one leg mangled and crooked.
"Well," he muttered hoarsely, "That sucked."
Then his eyes rolled back, and he fainted with a lopsided smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.