When Mike's eyes opened, the light was dim and flickering. The air smelled of smoke, oil, and blood. Somewhere close by, wood cracked under strain, and a distant groan of metal hinted at a building on the verge of collapse.
He lay on a makeshift cot made from welded scrap and a blanket that smelled faintly of damp earth. His body felt heavier than it should, as if each limb had been replaced with stone. The wound from Woden's spear burned in slow, dull pulses, matched by the throbbing ache of fresh bruises from the day's fight. He hadn't consumed anything to heal his wounds. Thinking about his mistake, anger started to build. The voices kept him distracted and out of focus.
The whispers constantly there. Driving him closer to madness.
You were slow.
You should have finished it.
Let us help.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his temple, breathing slow to keep from answering out loud.
Movement caught his eye. Across the small corner of a half-collapsed garage a woman stood watch by a broken window, a spear resting lightly against her shoulder. Her dark hair was bound in a tight braid, streaked with ash, and her armored coat was battered and streaked with giant blood. Her gaze never left the street outside.
Mike pushed himself up, the cot groaning under the shift. She turned, eyes scanning him quickly, then nodded once in silent acknowledgment. She said something in Romanian, short, clipped syllables and gestured for him to stay put.
"I don't understand you," Mike said, voice rasping. His throat felt like he'd been breathing smoke for hours.
The woman hesitated, then crossed the room. She crouched so she was level with him and slowly tapped her own chest. "Sorina," she said, the name accented but clear. Then, after a beat, she added in halting English, "Chosen… of Bendis."
Mike's eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't know who that god was. Trying to suppress the whispers and hear Bahamut's voice he nodded slightly. "Mike."
Sorina's gaze flicked to his shoulder wound, then to the faint glint of scales along his forearm. She didn't recoil. Instead, she pulled a battered canteen from her belt and held it out.
He took it, drank deep. The water was warm, metallic, but it was water.
From somewhere outside, shouts broke the uneasy quiet, defenders calling to each other. Sorina stiffened, grabbed the spear, and motioned toward the window. Giants were still out there.
Mike's claws itched at the thought, the whispers pressing harder now. Go. Finish the hunt. Tear them down.
He gritted his teeth. "Not now."
Sorina gave him one last look, part warning, part… something like recognition before slipping out into the smoke.
Mike sat there, staring at the doorway, the weight of exhaustion pulling at him. His body screamed for rest. The divine power in him, and the voices it carried, wanted the opposite.
In the distance, another giant's roar split the night. He knew he wouldn't be staying on that cot for long. The roar was closer this time. Mike forced himself to his feet. His knees nearly gave, and the room tilted hard to one side before his balance caught up. The spear wound in his shoulder burned with every movement, his muscles aching like they'd been wrung dry.
He stepped into the street.
Smoke still clung to the ruins, curling in ghostly ribbons between the collapsed buildings. The defenders were regrouped behind overturned cars and chunks of concrete, their rifles aimed down the main road. At the far end of it, framed in the haze, the larger giant emerged.
It was easily forty feet tall, its frame a bulging mass of scarred muscle beneath patchwork armor made from twisted steel beams. In one hand, it dragged a length of rebar thicker than Mike's torso; in the other, a slab of cement it wielded like a shield. Its small eyes locked on the defenders with a glint of cruel amusement.
Mike's vision wavered from the exhaustion that hollowed him out. The whispers in his head clawed at the edges of his thoughts.
You can't win like this.
Let us burn them all.
He shook his head hard.
Sorina appeared at his side, her braid swinging over one shoulder. Her eyes locked on the giant without a flicker of hesitation. She said something sharp in Romanian, likely a command and pointed her spear toward the monster.
Mike didn't have the words, but he understood.
They moved together.
The defenders' gunfire opened up, rattling through the air, the sound barely slowing the giant. It raised the cement shield, letting the bullets chew harmlessly into it, and advanced in heavy, ground-shaking strides.
Sorina broke left, Mike broke right. She was faster, darting between wreckage with the precision of a predator. Her spear flashed in the dim light, cutting shallow lines across the giant's legs, drawing its attention down.
Mike took the opening. He lunged, claws digging into the edge of the cement shield, wrenching it sideways with a roar. The giant reacted with brutal speed, swinging the rebar like a bat. It caught him across the ribs, the impact sending him skidding into the side of a burned-out car.
The voices surged.
Get up. Take its heart.
He pushed to his feet, spitting blood, and forced the dragon power up just enough to keep moving. His skin rippled with patches of blackened scales, his eyes glowing faint gold.
Sorina vaulted off a pile of debris and drove her spear into the giant's shoulder. It bellowed, swatting at her, but she twisted away, using the haft to vault back out of reach.
Mike charged again, slamming into the giant's knee with enough force to buckle it. Sorina struck from above, her spear punching deep into its neck. Together, they forced it back step by step until, with a final roar, the giant staggered and turned, limping into the smoke.
The defenders cheered faintly from behind their barricades, but Mike barely heard them. Reaching out his hand toward the fleeing giant. His opportunity for healing vanished. His vision spun, the ground tilting under him.
Sorina caught his arm before he hit the dirt, but his legs had already gone. The last thing he saw was her face streaked with soot, eyes still sharp and watchful before everything went darks.