The beast screamed as Draven's blade pierced its flank, but the sound was not only flesh. The cavern itself roared in harmony, chains rattling like laughter. The iron links across its body groaned as though savoring its torment, tightening inch by inch.
Yorin's chant cracked the air again, voice trembling yet steadying with each word. Black ichor poured from the beast's chest wound, spattering the stones, burning where it touched.
The monster staggered back, molten eyes blazing. Its tail swept across the cavern like a whip of steel. Draven braced, tugging Yorin into cover behind the jagged stalagmite. The tail struck the rock instead, stone exploding into shards that whistled like arrows. One shard caught Yorin across the cheek; blood spattered, but the boy kept chanting.
Draven's gaze sharpened. He learns. Pain has finally taught him.
Gorath roared as he swung his axe down upon the beast's leg, the chain dragging his Silent Veil partner with him. She cursed, but her dagger flickered in the same heartbeat, finding soft flesh between armored scales. Their unwilling synchronicity drove the monster to one knee, its roar shaking loose stalactites from the ceiling.
One crashed down upon the nameless disciple who remained. He screamed once, cut short as stone crushed him flat. His partner had already been killed earlier. Now there were six survivors left.
The Overseer's mask shimmered high above in the gloom. Its voice slithered down like a serpent.
"Yes. Yes. Let the chains teach you. Alone, you die. Bound, you bleed—but you live."
Seraphine's laughter answered it, wild and ringing, as she leapt onto the beast's back with her chained partner dragged stumbling behind her. Her dagger sank deep into the monster's neck. The Bellhound boy screamed as fire spat upward from its wound, burning his arm raw. He shrieked, trying to pull away, but Seraphine yanked the chain cruelly, forcing him to press in closer.
"Don't whimper! Be useful or be ash!" she sang, stabbing again and again as his blood mingled with the monster's ichor.
The beast reared back, fire flooding its throat.
Draven saw the pattern—the swelling heat, the flex of ribs beneath steel scales. "Now!" he barked at Yorin.
The Bellhound disciple dropped to his knees, voice cracking but fierce, intoning the rites of binding. The chains across the monster's chest blazed with runes, constricting like serpents around prey. The fire sputtered. The monster gagged, choking on its own inferno.
"Again!" Draven pressed.
The chant rose, faltered, then rose again. Each word trembled, but each one bound the beast tighter.
The Silent Veil girl's dagger plunged into its blinded eye. Gorath's axe cleaved down upon its joint. The creature buckled, roaring a death cry that made the cavern quake.
Draven surged forward, dragging Yorin with him. "One strike. At the heart."
The molten chest heaved before them, ribs of steel splitting apart as the chains constricted further. Inside, black fire pulsed like a heart trying to burst free.
Draven's eyes narrowed. He guided Yorin's shaking hands, pressing both their grips on his blade. "Together. Push."
The beast thrashed, claws gouging trenches into the stone. Seraphine shrieked in delight as she clung to its back. Gorath howled, blood streaming from gashes across his chest. The cavern thundered with the sound of steel on flesh, the rattle of chains, the chorus of agony.
Draven and Yorin's blade pierced between ribs, sinking into molten flesh. The heart burst in a fountain of ichor and flame.
The scream that followed was no longer bestial—it was human, raw, endless, echoing every throat in the cavern.
The beast collapsed, chains clattering in triumph as though applauding. The cavern floor trembled one last time, then stilled.
Silence fell.
Only six figures remained standing, swaying, drenched in blood and soot. Seraphine dragged her half-burnt partner to his knees, giggling as though she had won a game. Gorath leaned on his axe, his Silent Veil partner smirking coldly despite the gashes painting her pale skin red. Yorin gasped, hands shaking violently, eyes wide with the enormity of what they'd done.
Draven released his grip on the blade, wiping ichor from his face with the calm of a man who had merely endured a storm. Inside, though, his thoughts spun: The Overseer forced us into unity. But they will break it next. They do not want allies—they want sharpened knives. And every survivor is a blade aimed at another throat.
The Overseer's mask descended again, luminous in the dark.
"Well done, fledglings," it crooned. "The beast is dead, and so are the weak. Six remain. Six chains. Six sharpened edges."
Its smile widened into something inhuman.
"Remember this: the Hollow does not reward friendship. It rewards survival. In the end, only the strongest fang pierces the dark."
The mask faded back into shadow. The chains snapped free from their wrists, falling with a clatter. Freedom lasted only a heartbeat.
Above, new chains unfurled from the ceiling, coiling like serpents, eager for the next game.
The survivors did not cheer. They only breathed, ragged and hollow.
Draven wiped his blade clean, his gaze sweeping across them. Seraphine, mad with joy. Gorath, bloodied but unbroken. The Silent Veil girl, eyes like razors. Yorin, trembling but still alive, his chant still echoing faintly in his throat.
Six survivors. Six knives. Six shadows cast beneath the Hollow's cruel smile.
And Draven's own shadow lengthened among them, unseen, quiet, waiting for the moment when chains would bind them all in a different way.