The cavern reeked of rot and fire, a stench thick enough to choke the lungs. Vel's armor was half-dissolved by ichor, Maera's staff lay splintered at her side, and the abomination before them had not died. It had only changed.
The carcass of the Elder Flesh Golem writhed, its sewn-together body splitting apart like overripe fruit. Skin tore, hooks snapped, chains rattled as coils of muscle slithered free. From the mass rose a nightmare—an unbound horror of limbs, jaws, and bone. No longer a creature stitched to mockery of form, but a storm of flesh unshaped, an answer to the Lich's madness: a thing that devoured its own corpse to become reborn.
Vel staggered, sword raised, though his arms felt like lead. His ribs cracked with every breath. Maera coughed blood, dragging herself upright, one hand pressed to her broken ribs. The abomination's screech cut through them, splitting stone, making the air itself quiver.
It surged.
Vel barely saw the swipe before it hit him. A claw the size of a wagon tore across his chest, flinging him back into the cavern wall. His armor split, ribs driven deeper into his lungs. He spat blood, vision flickering, but forced himself up before the second strike came.
"Vel!" Maera's voice was shrill, raw. She raised her hands, chanting through blood-choked breath. Light flared, a sphere of searing radiance that exploded into the monster's bulk. Flesh seared, sizzling black, chunks falling off in molten globs.
But the thing only screamed louder.
Dozens of maws opened along its body—human mouths, beast snouts, jagged holes lined with teeth—and they spat. Jets of black bile hissed across the cavern, burning into stone like acid. One splash caught Maera's arm.
Her scream cut the air. Skin sloughed from bone, flesh dripping to the ground. She fell, clutching the half-melted ruin of her limb, tears streaming down her ash-pale face.
Vel lunged, sword cutting into one of the monster's limbs. He hacked again and again, fury drowning pain, until the limb fell twitching to the ground. Black ichor sprayed, burning his hands, but he did not stop. He drove his sword deeper, carving a trench into the abomination's chest.
For a heartbeat, he thought he had won. The creature buckled, staggered, limbs collapsing beneath it. Vel yanked free his blade, chest heaving, face painted in gore.
Then the trench closed. Flesh knitted back, teeth sprouted from the wound, and the monster laughed—a chorus of voices, male and female, old and young, all shrieking with glee.
"No end," Maera whispered, clutching her ruined arm. "It… it doesn't end."
Vel's breath tore at his throat. His blade was corroded, his body broken, his strength spent. But he raised the sword once more.
"Then we end with it."
The abomination surged again, faster this time, as if mocking his resolve. Claws ripped at him, teeth snapping inches from his throat. He dodged, parried, rolled, each motion costing blood, bone, and breath. The cavern became a blur of shadows and screams, steel and flesh colliding in a dance of death.
Maera screamed behind him, voice breaking with her incantations. Lightning split the chamber, bolts striking the beast, tearing holes through its body. Vel used the openings, hacking, thrusting, driving steel into charred flesh.
But with every strike, the monster grew faster. Its limbs multiplied, sprouting from wounds. Its eyes swelled across its body, dozens of glaring orbs watching their every move. The ground shook with its every step, blood rising like a tide around their ankles.
Vel slipped, ichor dragging him down. A claw slammed into his leg, bone snapping, white pain flooding his skull. He roared and stabbed upward, blade piercing one of the gaping maws. The creature screeched, reeling, and he wrenched the sword free, dragging himself upright despite the ruin of his leg.
Maera crawled to him, her face ghost-white, lips blue. She clutched the remnants of her staff, its crystal flickering dimly.
"Vel…" her voice was a rasp, barely human. "We can't kill it. Not like this. But maybe… maybe we can end us before it takes us. Don't let him… turn us…"
Vel's heart clenched. He knew what she meant. The Lich. This was not the true foe, only a puppet, a nightmare sent to wear them down. If they fell here, they would not find peace. They would be bound into something worse, sewn into another horror, voices added to the chorus of despair.
He shook his head, blood running down his chin. "No. If we're ending… we take it with us."
The abomination loomed, limbs spread wide, ready to crush them both. Vel met Maera's gaze. In her eyes, there was only exhaustion. But also trust.
Together, they rose.
Vel surged forward one last time, every broken bone screaming. He drove his blade into the monster's chest, burying it to the hilt. At the same instant, Maera pressed her cracked crystal against the wound, whispering her final incantation.
Light erupted.
The cavern became a sun, blinding, searing. The monster shrieked, its flesh bubbling, bones snapping, eyes bursting. Vel's flesh blistered, his armor melted, his blood boiled in his veins. But he held fast, sword buried deep, refusing to let go.
"Burn," he whispered through his teeth. "Burn with me."
The explosion tore through everything.
Stone split, chains snapped, screams filled the void. For a moment, there was no cavern, no monster, no life. Only fire. Only death.
Silence followed.
Vel lay on the ground, armor molten, sword shattered, body broken beyond recognition. His vision was nothing but blood and flame. Beside him, Maera was still, her eyes open but glassy, her lips frozen in her final prayer.
He tried to breathe, but no air came. He tried to move, but no strength remained.
Above him, shadows gathered.
A figure stepped from the smoke—tall, robed, face hidden beneath a hood. In one hand, a staff tipped with bone; in the other, nothing but silence.
The Lich.
Vel's vision dimmed, but he saw enough. The abomination was gone, reduced to ash. But the Lich only looked down, almost amused.
"You struggled," the voice rasped, dry as dust. "And you burned. Yet still… you failed."
Vel wanted to curse him, to spit blood in defiance. But no words came. Only darkness.
His final thought was not of victory, nor vengeance. It was of Maera's hand on his shoulder, of Bren's laugh, of the faces of comrades long dead.
Then came nothing.
The battle was over.The grave had claimed him.