The sky burned with crimson smoke.
Ash rained from the black clouds above, mixing with the dust of shattered stone and pulverized cities. Somewhere in the distance, mountains rumbled with thundering echoes. Giants wielding ancient weapons, creatures that had not seen light since before the first gods, rushed toward him.
Mike tore through them as they approached, roaring between each slaughter of the oversized, human-looking creatures.
His body was no longer what it had been.
Claws as long as scimitars. Scales harder than steel. Black and red flame curled from his mouth with every breath, charring the very air. Each limb he devoured brought him more power. More size. More control over what he was becoming.
He didn't care what he looked like anymore.
He only cared about killing every divine being and finding Hecate.
The bitch who stole Kelsey's soul and desecrated everything he cared about.
He would burn every god, every horror, every pantheon and pit-dwelling creature until she screamed for mercy and then keep going.
He landed hard on a jagged cliff, the rock crumbling beneath his weight. Below him, a plain of chaos stretched to the horizon. Cities razed. Creatures from Tartarus locked in battle with dying armies of man, djinn, and remnants of the divine.
Mike tore into a hulking beast, six legs, a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, and a dozen eyes. He ripped out its throat with his teeth. The creature shrieked, thrashing wildly. Black blood spilled across the broken stone as Mike dug his claws into its abdomen and ripped.
Organs hit the ground like wet sacks.
He dove into the gore and consumed.
The heat flooded him. His wounds healed. His muscles surged again; his limbs grew longer. The air around him rippled as Bahamut's essence flowed through his body.
"Foul creatures should have stayed underground," Bahamut growled.
Another horror leapt from the broken skyline, winged, plated, covered in talismans stitched from skin.
Mike bellowed and sent a cone of black and red fire into the sky.
The thing vaporized mid-air.
His power boiled. His eyes glowed like molten core.
But then a bright flash from above.
"Feathered bats..." Bahamut said in a low growl.
Mike's head turned slowly.
Descending from a glowing rupture in the clouds came a formation of angelic warriors, twenty of them, all clad in armor forged from celestial light, with wings that shimmered like polished marble.
The angels' chosen.
Their weapons were glowing spears and flaming swords. They did not descend toward the horrors still loose from Tartarus, but toward him.
Mike narrowed his eyes. "Are you fucking serious?"
The angels said nothing. They formed a wide circle around him, floating above the ground like judgment incarnate. Their leader stepped forward, eyes silver with divine command. His halo burned with blue fire.
"Michael," he said, voice devoid of warmth. "By decree of the Celestial Accord, your existence is no longer permitted."
Mike looked at the rivers of demons and monsters tearing through remnants of cities. Looked at the world burning. Then looked back at the idiots in the sky.
"You see the literal hell spilling out of the ground and you fucking attack me?"
A sinister laugh echoed below them. The familiar sight of a tall demon wearing a top hat briefly caught Mike's attention.
"Oh dear! What a fascinating predicament you find yourself in, dragon!" With a tip of his top hat, he continued, "So much opportunity for the best entertainment! Show me the angels' innards and I shall reward you!" Mephistopheles shouted, clapping as he settled into his obsidian chair.
The angel didn't flinch. "You are the dragon of Bahamut. The mortal tainted by pitfire. You are corrupted. An abomination."
Mike grinned.
"I'm not corrupted. I'm fucking pissed."
He launched upward, claws first.
The first angel didn't even get to blink. Mike's claw shot through the glowing armor and tore the Chosen's body in half. The two pieces spun away in opposite arcs, blood scattering like fireflies.
Screams erupted. Light exploded.
Mike moved through them like a storm.
He twisted, spun, feeling their flames and blades strike his scales. For every wound they inflicted, he paid back in full, biting off wings, crushing bones, dragging angels from the sky by their throats and slamming them into the ground until the crater became a shallow grave.
Two stabbed him in the back. One drove a spear through his abdomen.
Mike turned and devoured his arm, then ripped out the angel's spine like a cord from a machine.
Blood splattered across his scales. The massive black dragon, soaked in blood, glared at the remaining Chosen.
"You want judgment?" he roared, slamming a Chosen into the earth. "Then I sentence you to death."
Lightning cracked. A divine blast hit him in the ribs, exposing muscle and bone. He didn't stop. He leapt, caught the attacker mid-air, and bit off his head.
By the time it ended, only one angelic Chosen remained.
"Kill all the feathered bats," Bahamut roared.
She hovered, trembling, blood dripping down her shoulder.
Mike stood atop a mountain of corpses, angelic, demonic, and monstrous alike.
"Begone," he said.
She hesitated, then grabbed an ornate horn from her belt. A melodic sound echoed across the battlefield.
"Oh joy! More lambs to slaughter for my dear dragon!" Mephistopheles shouted between laughter and clapping.
Mike dropped to all fours, breath heaving, blood steaming from a dozen wounds. Ignoring the horn, he started eating the mountain of slain enemies. He felt it—his body changing again. Growing. Evolving.
He was closer to something primal.
It wasn't enough. He needed more.
Another legion of angelic Chosen appeared behind the bleeding woman, still hovering, a look of horror frozen on her face as she watched the massive black dragon feast on the corpses of her comrades. Her voice cracked as she pointed with a trembling finger.
"That abomination must die!"
The legion charged with weapons drawn.
Mike met them head-on, biting the head off the lead Chosen. He swung each arm to the sides, grabbing a Chosen in each hand and using them to pummel the rest, wielding their bodies like clubs. Blood and body parts splattered across the battlefield as he smashed the others with their own brethren.
Screams of horror filled the air before he finally tore apart the woman who blew the horn.
"Pure art! What a fantastic display!" Mephistopheles clapped. "There are caves beyond the ruins that lead to your goal," he said with a sinister smile, tipping his hat before vanishing.
"I hate that fucking demon." Mike muttered while consuming the corpses of the chosen.
"I agree. Be careful of that helpful bat." Bahamut growled.
Mike crossed into the ruins of Anatolia at dusk. The sun barely touched the horizon anymore. The sky was a scar. The earth bellowed black smoke.
Mike walked. He could feel Hecate's presence like rot behind silk. A taint in the air.
Then the ground cracked.
A chilling breeze passed by him.
Hecate.
Her presence brushed the edge of reality, whispering taunts. Mocking.
Mike bared his teeth.
"I'm coming for you, witch."
He turned toward the mountains, his body glowing from within. His skin split and regrew. Horns elongated. Wings folded tighter.
And far away, deep in the dark halls beneath the world, Hecate smiled.