The Veil felt it.
For the first time, Drenn's expression shifted.
It was no exaggeration to say the air around hummed with death...
The roots beneath their feet pulsed, not with life, but with dread.
Hiss!
It was as if the world itself was holding its breath.
The devil, held tight within the man's grasp was proof of that. The needles, frozen in mid-air were proof of that.
Hiss!
The Fang in the boy's hand quivered; not from fatigue, but from rejection.
A waft of smoke escaped his mouth as he just stood there.
He couldn't speak. The edges of his lips were cracked with blood; the taste still prevalent in the boy's throat.
He stood there, shoulder's sagging, the ground seemingly shaking beneath his touch.
One moment it was still, silent.
The next, warped, bending like a haze over a desert sand.
Reality couldn't decide whether to reject the place he held, or let him co-exist.
Sometimes... he seemed solid, human.
Then, a shimmer.
His outline blurred like a reflection.
Hiss!
The drips of rot continued to plague the ground, hissing with heat.
Whatever he had was slipping.
A pulse ran through the forest floor. A heartbeat that wasn't his.
The man's gaze burned at the medallion, chained around the tip of the boy's blade.
"Do you understand what you are holding, boy," his voice came deathly, a low grain against their pale surroundings.
Tap.
No answer.
His chest only moved; shallow and rugged.
"That is not some trinket."
Frrkk!
Yorant dragged against the ground.
"That medallion..." he uttered, staring its design; a blood-red chalice seemingly pulsing, hanged over the boy's blade.
"It is older than anything you can imagine."
Frrkk!
The circle around the pair seemed to be frozen, staring at the scene. The blood rain hanged mid-air, hesitant whether to drop to the ground.
"You think stealing it will save you?"
Frrkk!
The devil dragged further, its scraping biting into the ground.
"No..."
He stopped moving.
Frrk--
He then raised his head; that white mask shaking in his presence.
"You've doomed yourself."
There was still no clear reaction.
Was the world hiding it? Or was the boy truly that far gone?
The only semblance of humanity in his core was the faint rises of his chest.
There was nothing to feel.
No fear. No excitement.
Nothing.
Yet... something buried beneath the numbness trembled... faint, distant, alive.
Crk... Crk...
The ligaments within that tall figure's body seemed to creak and cram through the air; resembling the chains of a machine finally whirring.
"Give it back...and maybe I'll let you---"
The words were cut short.
SHKK! CHAK!
It was like time stopped.
The Fang had tore through...
The Medallion had been split, punctured like an artery; it lay cracked.
Unbelievable.
Crimson dust scattered through the air... the last remainder of what that tall figure had seemed to hold dear.
A haze floated, as even the world had seemed incredulous of what had transpired.
Cr--
Drenn's fingers shook.
"You..."
The word broke.
His voice, always calm, had something new within its depth; something raw.
He was stationary.
Frrkkk!
He was gone.
A mist left his wake, a ball of light converging through the dark.
WOOOOOH!
The wind howled as he moved. A blur.
Drenn was already there.
SHAAHHH!! SHOOOH!
Their blades met in the world's space again.
Fang and Yorant.
The force hurled the boy back.
SHRRKK!
But he didn't fall.
He was there again.
RIPPLE!
He reappeared by the man's side; the Fang ready to bite into his chest.
HUSH!
It was sudden.
The air behind him buckled.
For a moment the boy's body froze, his sword held mid-impact.
His knees shook, veins bulging purple across his neck.
It was as if the world was screaming: 'You do not belong here.'
Drenn didn't care.
SHROOOOM!!
Blood, rot and air screamed together as his long limbs swung.
As quick as the freeze came, the boy moved again.
RIPPLE!
Just in time.
DOOOF!
The ground splitting, where he stood rooted moments prior.
Appearing a few paces away, the boy hunched over, his body weighing him down.
A ball of dust had formed where Drenn had attacked.
Frrkk!
It broke, as the devil scraped through the floor.
"I swear in the Covenant's honour..."
Ominous.
Heavy.
The air stank with rot.
"I swear I shall bathe in your blood--"
His words scraped the air.
The ground trembled.
"...and offer your very essence, to the Red Sigil Above!"
Silence.
Then--
CRK!
The veins beneath his pale skin split open; not to bleed...
Burn.
SHHHH!!!!
A crimson steam rose from his skin, hissing as it tore through the air.
The medallion was gone, his neck now accompanied with heated skin, collapsing in steam.
SHHHHHHH!!!
It filled the air.
He was deathly.
The boy in comparison was ghastly.
The Fang hung at his side, his grip loose. Those purple veins pulsed beneath his skin evermore; slow and violent, it was eating pieces of him. Each pulse pushed... yet the world seemingly pushed back harder.
The ground beneath his feet bordered on distortion and rejection.
Colours were bending.
His outline flickering...
Real, then not.
SSHHHHHHHHKKKKK!!
The sounds of transformation ran hot.
It swelled.
That's when it happened.
Crack! Craackk!
The pale mask, smooth and expressionless...
It was burning.
At first, a whisper of smoke curled from its sides, running from the monsters face.
Crack!
Thin fractures split across its features in an instant.
The steam running through the cracks hissed against the cold air. It was glowing red from within.
"Hrmmmmm!"
A hum? Or a chant?
The man's breathing had deepened.
"Hrmmmmm!"
Black veins ran through his neck, charting across that pale skin.
CRACK!
Finally it had split fully.
Not clean.
Jagged fractures tore it apart, pieces crumbling off like flaking snow.
Still, he hummed.
"Hrmmmmmmmm!"
When it all crumbled away, he was revealed for what he truly was.
Indescribable.
Not flesh. Not entirely.
Skin, if it could be called that, was stretched thin and pale as wax. Veins black and swollen etched through its surface, pulsing like worms. Parts of cheeks had sunk inward, bone pushing sharp against skin. His lips were cracked, dry, almost gone.
And yet those eyes.
"Hrmmmmmmmm!!!"
A constant, consistent reminder.
Two narrow slits of ember-red, glowing furiously.
Unblinking.
Alive.
They burned harder than the night the boy had first gazed upon them.
...But this was different.
They did not belong to a corpse.
That was the trait of something alive.
Something that refused to die.
"Hrmmmmmmmmm!!!"
Could he even die?
SHHHHHHHHH!!!!
The steam rose and rose, as the pressure in the air built.
What was it?
Ki? Magic?
Both?
"HRRMMMMMM!!!"
Under the swell of steam and the roaring hums, the devil in the monster's hand was no quieter.
HIISSSS!!!!!
It burned.
Not like fire.
HIISSSS!!!!!
Like rot turned molten.
Hunger.
Pain.
Anger.
The Fang in the boy's grip trembled, not from fear, but because the world around it did.
The question was, could the sword feel it? That shift.
That the... thing in front of them, was no longer the same man?
"HRRMMMMMM!!!"
It was clear:
When his skin sagged, then tightened like something beneath was shifting, crawling upward.
As blisters swelled across his cheeks, then burst as steam leaked through its cracks.
As those black veins ran like ants, searching for harbour across his skin.
As steam curled from the corners of his eyes.
As his jaw unhinged with a wet click.
As his tongue blackened.
As the air refused to move.
As the roots underfoot recoiled.
As the boy in-front of him laboured in breath.
Yorant roared.
But there were two devils that night.