Letecia could barely make out what was happening—only bursts of light, swirls of smoke, and blood falling like rain.

Down there, William fought—and with every strike he became less a man and more a storm wearing human skin.

The creature faced him—a mass of rotting flesh and shifting limbs, its body a blasphemy of shapes. Arms multiplied where none should be; teeth glistened on things that weren't mouths; eyes were pits of crawling roots, slick and pulsing with pus. It moved like the earth itself was breathing beneath it, cracking open with every step.

And William—he was losing himself.

Each blow tore at existence itself. The pain and fury blurred until all that was left was something primal—a pulse that had no place among human beings.

— Do you feel it, boy?

The voice filled his bones, deep and slow, like something speaking from inside his own marrow.

— Taste it… the blood. It ain't theirs. It's yours. Always was.

"No…" William growled between clenched teeth, tearing down another creature that lunged from the smoke. "Not you. Not now."

— We're one, the voice said, purring now. You were made for this—to break, to rend. That demon down there thinks he's ancient? We were old when stars were dust. We took what we wanted before the world learned to breathe.

His claws sank deep into rotted flesh. Black blood—thick and stinking—splashed across his face. The monster answered with a crushing blow that sent him sprawling, ribs cracking like dry wood.

But William didn't fall.

He exhaled, and something inside him twisted—heat and ice curling up his spine. Bone shifted beneath flesh. Joints snapped.

Then the claws came, unfurling like knives from his fingers. For one brief, terrible instant, he saw his own hands: the skin turned to scaled hide, veins lit from beneath by something alive—some star-fire breathing through him.

— That's it, the voice murmured, almost tender. You feel that power? Give me the reins. We'll tear him apart—slow, sweet. We'll cut him open and listen to him scream. Then we'll eat his heart while it's still trying to run.

"Shut up!" William roared, leaping forward. His claws cut through the demon's chest, ripping meat and sinew; a wash of sulfur and decay blasted into the air.

And God help him, he liked it.

The taste of blood—hot and metallic. The crunch of bone like distant thunder. It crawled under his skin, seductive and foul. The beast's whisper fused with his heartbeat, its laughter blending with his breath.

— She sees you now, it hissed. Look at her, boy. Look how Letecia stares. Not at him—at us. She knows what you're becoming.

"I'm not a monster!" he gasped, driving his claws deeper, feeling flesh yield and tear.

— You've always been, child. I'm just the one who remembers.

The demon shrieked, its body rupturing. From the wounds poured legions—tattered shades of faces and gnashing mouths, crawling out like a nightmare given flesh. They fell upon William, biting, tearing, drinking his blood.

He staggered, choking, sinking to his knees. His hands trembled.

The beast inside laughed.

— You're fading, it said. No matter. I'll lead. I know how to kill. I know how to end pain. I am your hunger. Your pulse. The drum in your blood. I am you made free.

"No! I'm not—"

Something snapped inside.

From above, the Demon Lord thundered, his voice shaking the plain:

— Ah, so the cub remembers! Go on then. Devour them both, monster, and I shall welcome you as kin!

But there was a crack in his laughter now. A tremor.

William looked up—and what looked back wasn't quite human. His face had partly dissolved into smoke; black spines jutted through torn skin, teeth glinting where flesh once was.

The thing smiled.

"You talk too damn much," it said. Its voice was a growl, echoed and doubled.

"We want to hear you scream."

Letecia stood above, trembling.

"Sweet Lord in Heaven," she whispered, voice thick with her Cajun drawl. "Will… what you done turned into? This ain't no battle—it's a damn birth of a demon."

William stood hunched, one hand pressed to the ground, his shoulders rising and falling in a wild rhythm.

Every breath came out as smoke — thick, hot, animal.

His skin was darkening, not all at once, but slowly, layer by layer, the night sinking into him as if drawn by thirst. Beneath it, his muscles coiled and writhed, steel cables straining against bone. His heart hammered hard enough that the sound itself cracked through the air.

— Yes… that's it, the beast inside purred, low and hungry, like some old animal catching the scent of blood after winter starvation. One more breath and he'll fall. Listen—the dead are laughing already. They smell their own graves.

William stepped forward.

Rot sucked under his feet; each footprint filled with hissing smoke.

Ahead, the tree‑monster rose again, its body swelling and twisting. Tendrils of bark flexed like wet whips, splitting to show rows of teeth and bone glistening underneath. From the cracked bark dripped dark resin that gleamed like blood.

The demon roared and drove its spiked limbs downward. Each strike made the earth swell and groan.

William did not retreat.

He leapt — not man, not beast, something molten between. The world trembled; for a heartbeat, sound itself fled, as if reality couldn't keep up with his motion.

Claws slashed through the air and sank deep.

A wet explosion, a scream like timber tearing apart in a storm.

The creature shuddered, faltered.

William struck again. And again, and again.

Each blow came with a roar that wasn't just his own — a hundred voices, all of them him, all of them feeding on the chaos.

— Give it all up, the beast whispered. Stop fighting it. See how easy it is to break the world once you quit being afraid of yourself.

He tore at the corruption, lost in it, and didn't notice how his hands no longer looked human. The claws lengthened, veins bulged like serpents that had found their will.

His breathing thickened, eyes darkened to molten amber.

Blood sang in his ears — not from fear, but from power.

The creature fell back, its massive body splitting apart from the inside. Steaming foulness gushed out, carrying the stench of burning grave dirt. William, the beast that wore his name, pressed forward and enjoyed it — every shriek, every collapse.

From the ridge, Letecia watched him dissolve into the carnage.

Firelight spells flared on her fingertips, trembling. She couldn't bring herself to release them.

Her cry tore free anyway.

"WILLIAM!"

He turned.

And for the first time, she saw his face clear of blood and fury — only pain.

The skin stretched tight, the eyes flaring with twin fires: one human, one feral.

She stepped closer, rain glinting in her hair.

"Please," she said softly, her voice thick and low with that Cajun warmth. "Dat ain't you, cher. Come back. Come back 'fore it swallows what's left of ya."

That single word come back sliced through something inside him like a thin, cold blade.

Pain cracked open behind his eyes. The beast's roar turned into a deep, grinding hum.

— She wants to take us away, the voice hissed. She'd rip out the heart we just reclaimed. Kill her. Or we die.

No…

William clenched his eyes shut.

He stood trembling, fighting himself. Steam poured from his shoulders; the shadows on his skin pulsed like living things. His chest rose high, as though the fire inside would split him apart.

The Demon Lord saw it—and smiled.

— You dare indulge your little identity crisis in my presence? he bellowed, dragging himself upright from the heap of rotted meat, reforming in blood and smoke. Then die as beasts are meant to die!

The ground swelled. From beneath his hands, a forest of black spikes burst forth—roots thick as arms, spearing the air with wet cracks and the scent of burning resin.

Letecia screamed.

William's eyes flared open—too late.

The first spike drove through his chest.

The second and third ripped his shoulder, thigh, belly.

His body arched, a soundless gasp.

The earth shuddered as he crashed down, blood spraying—heavy, nearly black, steaming where it met the rain.

He convulsed, throat locked, face twisting. Inside him the beast roared — not in agony, but in rage.

Each heartbeat was a burst of fire behind his eyes.

— Enough! it howled from within. We do not fall. We feed. We breathe pain!

But the Lord was already gathering new spikes, drawing them from his own chest like black spears torn from a wound. Through the gale, his laughter rolled like thunder:

"Look, witch! Watch how I tear your bastard beast asunder!"

Blood steamed from the punctures in his body, pouring into the mud, hissing as it met the rain. Each drop crawled, seething, as if unwilling to die.

William sagged forward on one arm, his vision trembling between light and blackness. The Demon Lord's laughter gusted across the field, thick with rot and pride.

Then the breathing changed.

It came ragged at first, then deeper, like bellows dragging air through fire. The ground thumped in rhythm with it. Every heartbeat sounded closer to thunder.

Beneath his torn skin, something moved. Bones realigned with the dry crack of lumber snapping. His wounds steamed shut, black veins stitching the edges.

— Take it, the voice murmured again, lower now, almost gentle. There's no dying for us. There's only remembering what we are.

His hand clenched in the soil; it glowed faintly, the light crawling up his arm, seeping through muscle, up into his throat.

"William, stop that!" Letecia shouted, skidding down the slope toward him. Her voice broke with fright and her words came slow, heavy with her bayou lilt. "You gotta fight it, bébé! That thing inside you ain't love nor life, it's just hunger wearin' your face!"

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