Just beyond the teetering waves stood the warden, its claws prodding the waters. An instinctive fear burned into its corrupted soul. For the sea wasn't to be trifled with, and entering to chase the injured human could mean immediate dismemberment.
Then the light of the sun ignited in the sea.
When the battered silver figure burst into the sky, its mask shifted upwards, and though it betrayed no emotion, primal hunger smoldered deep inside its vile soul.
Grinding materials together, the artificial statue elongated, rising far into the air like a pillar of weathered stone to devour the knight.
Then, something crashed into the horrific Demon. Blood-drenched feathers puffed from its head and chest, and its hide was shredded from innumerable wide gashes. One wing hung limp, twisted at a grotesque angle. The other was flayed raw. Two upper limbs were torn off, leaving only fleshy stumps.
The Cursed Herald ripped into the Awakened Demon, claws gouging through rock and rotten wood as Nico passed by, crashing a couple dozen meters away from the ever-encroaching shore.
The Demon's entire body shook.
Nico screamed on landing. His warped, glowing armor seared his skin. It was a wonder it hadn't dissolved into sparks. The engraved pauldrons and chest plate were all but shattered. The sabaton, greave, and cuisse on his right leg was mangled beyond recognition by the depth dweller's tentacle. His helmet, surprisingly, was the only piece of equipment still functional, unlike most other times he had fought desperate battles in the Dream Realm.
He dismissed the abused steel, sighing laboriously when the pressure on his body was released.
Left only in his midnight tunic and pants, he tried, and failed, to stand. His legs — or rather, his right one — refused to answer his commands, buckling under the weight. It was broken at the femur.
Salty rainwater matted his hair down. His gaze became blank as his mind scraped together enough information from his soul sense to watch as the Demon brought its disjointed arm down, batting Shaman away.
A guttural, inhuman cry echoed in the distance.
"Sh—Shaman… return," he wheezed, wincing as another jolt of pain shot up his leg.
All rationale he had of killing the Demon was lost. It had a disorienting attack that Shaman would not be able to best. Not injured.
Rising to one knee, his thoughts resounded solemnly:
'The only option is braving the storm…'
For a moment he had considered granting Shaman his roots and trying to overtake the Demon's mind, but his Devil would be too weakened. Though it could sustain it indefinitely, maintaining his possession took a good amount of its essence passively, and using its mind-attack to cripple all the nearby Beasts constantly had no doubt drained its reserves.
Still… could Shaman even fly with its injuries?
Nico gritted his teeth.
'It will.'
Or…
Separated from both his weapons, Nico dismissed them, the meager essence returned revitalizing his blood-system. Still, he summoned one back and began scrapping the barrel for essence to fill it with.
He smothered its light with his hands.
Far away, the Demon pressed down on his Specter.
It barreled towards the spot where the Messenger had landed in a bloody heap, arms raised like the trunk of an enormous tree. Its hooves left networks of cracks on the island's surface. Then, the feathered head of the beaten bird turned towards it, two enraged flames flickering weakly in its sockets, beckoning it to stop — to kneel, to beg, to plead.
The Demon paused mid-stride. The will of a Devil, even an injured one, was overwhelming.
Injured as it was, the Specter used the opportunity to rise to its feet, wings flapping as it bounded upwards past the abomination, atop one of the coral mounds behind it and in the direction of Nico.
Shaking off the mental manipulation, the Demon whispered its repulsive song beneath the mask, catching the fleeing bird as it began another leap, this one into flight. Its wings shuddered mid-flap. The Messenger tried discerning its position in space, but to no avail, crashing into the coral as it veered downwards, carving even worse injuries into the beaten mass.
Marching with finality, the Demon loomed over the creature. One arm rose like the sickle of death, ready to fall at any moment, and… a glowing piece of metal collided with its head. Twisting, it peered upon the collapsed figure that had uselessly tossed it, then back to the injured opponent without care.
It swung down.
A powerful limb shot out of the darkness and coiled around it. Thousands of inky suction cups ripped and twisted, vicing around the Demon. Cracks splintered the surface of its body.
Without noticing, the dark sea had climbed up to their feet. Hidden only a dozen meters away in the depths was something not even an Awakened Demon could dare to challenge. And it was enraged — mad, scorched, missing the tip of one minor appendage.
Anything that had the misfortune of being within its sight would fall.
Anything within the light would die.
Nico watched as whatever the ancient Demon had been was unmade by the monster's grasp. Dragged into the waters. Bound by dozens of tentacles, each one ending with strange human-like hands.
An eerie assault of anguished screams hit his ears.
Underneath the water, the repulsive statue must've been being pulled apart piece by piece.
Then, silence. Nothingness. The storm continued thrumming — a heart of darkness beating still.
Five seconds passed in eons.
Nico dismissed his weapon.
Shaman barely regained enough strength to begin inland.
A tentacle rose from the water again. Three more followed behind it like towers of glistening obsidian. This time, it wanted the Messenger.
The Beast's flames snuffed, drenching the shore in black. Despite the time it was given, it was still captured, flailing wildly in its snare.
Yet, it put up no better fight than its former foe.
One strangled, inhuman caw resounded from the chimera before its body was torn end from end with a sickening crunch. The sea swallowed its carcass, and just like that, a Fallen Beast and Awakened Demon were devoured.
Two dozen meters behind them, kneeling weakly on a mound of coral, Nico's jaw tightened. It wasn't everyday you participated in purging uncountable monsters and escaping the clutches of an eldritch horror by exploding yourself.
Tired, he retreated up the slope, his injuries — searing burns from his armor, open cuts and bruises from the brunt force of glancing strikes — aching. His right leg pulsed with each limping step, but he climbed without care.
Shaman had retreated to his soul before the Spire Messenger was devoured, and not knowing what kind of creature he had aggravated, he didn't risk bringing it out.
A couple minutes passed. The storm was rattling his body, and the pain became a distant fog under the advent of his will.
Eventually, stopping just below the large cliff he'd earlier landed atop who-knows-how-long ago, he slumped against the coral. His breathes came out hoarsely.
Straightening his leg out with a raspy cry, he curled the rest of his body into a shivering ball, too tired to listen to Shaman's fear that the abomination might somehow crawl its way up to him, too beaten to stop himself from losing consciousness.