With the heat rising by the second, his weary body slowly beginning to suffer, and the understanding that he was facing something, so far out of his league that it wasn't even funny, he did the only thing that made sense at the time.
He tried to run.
For his escape to work, he had to count on several different factors. The most important of them, being the hell hound's own intellect. If it was as smart as the average human, then it probably believed that it's sense of smell would allow it to know exactly where he was.
In its mind, he was in the toilet, where the bloodied clothes it had tracked had been dumped.
When in reality, he had only been standing a step away from the door separating them. His hope was that it would be surprised enough at his sudden appearance that it wouldn't be quick enough to react.
Trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, he braced himself for what would hopefully not be a sudden death.
Multiple things happened within the same second.
The shroud covering his body unravelled at his lunge, wrenching the door open hard enough to make it smack against the wall beside it. The abomination, startled and confused, looked up from his chest, and met its burning eyes with his dull gold.
Recognition flashed through them a moment too late.
The most important factor had failed, but he still had others to rely on.
With a flick of his wrist, and a motion he had practiced too many times in his youth when training, the throwing knife he had found only a minutes before appeared in his hand.
The hell hounds jaw unhinged to unnatural proportions in the same instant, revealing layers upon layers of razor-sharp pointed teeth.
It lunged for his throat, and with all the force his pitiful body could create, he stabbed the blade through the roof of its mouth. It gurgled, eyes widening as it fell on top of his body.
He grunted as the large abomination toppled them both to the ground. Gripping the knife with all his strength and trying to ignore how the pointed fangs of its lower jaw pushed into his stomach, he wretched it free with a powerful pull.
The hell hound whimpered from pain, trying and failing to push itself up to stand. Its clawed feet thrashed on his body, tearing through clothes and skin alike in its effort, but it only kept getting tangled in his clothing.
He ignored the pain he was feeling with gritted teeth and used the panic of the situation as an opportunity.
Many people forgot that Fallen Spawn didn't truly understand pain. Oh, they felt it, but they could never truly comprehend what it was. To them it was but another useless sensation that didn't bother them.
This mindset changed when they began to gain sentience. Not because emotions and intelligence were inherently linked, but because their understanding of what they were feeling became different.
It was no longer a useless sensation. But a warning that they were in danger, a sign that they were hurt. For creatures who spent most of their lives never truly comprehending what that meant, well, it became overwhelming for them.
It was one of the factors his entire plan had hinged on.
Overstimulating the Corvus Spawn had worked earlier, and whilst it was a leap in logic to believe the hell hound would react in a similar way. The way it had tried to kill him without a direct fight had given him an insight into its mind.
He had hoped that it was as unfamiliar with pain as the Corvus Spawn had been.
He had been right.
Ignoring the pain of what felt like hundreds of knives stabbing into him, he expertly spun the small blade in his left hand, and with a weak wheeze, stabbed it into its neck.
It whimpered again, trying desperately to get away from him. But he didn't let it. Pulling on that murderous rage from before, and thinking of the feather laying in one of his pockets, he threw his right fist into its eye, feeling its squishy form burst from the impact.
It reeled back in pain, its eyes squeezing shut with a howl. His grip on the knife in its neck tightened, and with a terrible shout, he pushed it down. Through inky flesh and bone, the knife slid down to the base of its neck and slipped free.
He pulled it back from there, ignored the Deviants cries and whimpers of pain, and pushed himself up just enough, to drive the stained blade into its left eye. It screeched from the pain, its entire body shaking as it finally got free of his torn clothes and fell onto its side.
His entire body burned from pain, but he didn't let it stop him.
He would survive this.
He had to.
His longsword, which had been thrown to the ground beside them in the initial tumble, lay just close enough for him to roll over and grab it. With strength he didn't know he had, he jumped for its handle.
Grabbing it with shaking hands. He turned on the spot, and lunged for the rolling abomination, aiming directly for its exposed flesh.
His blade dug into its underbelly with no resistance, it let out another injured cry, and he slit the blade across its body, exposing its corrupted insides to the living world.
The heat which had steadily been growing and cooking him alive vanished not a moment after. Leaving him bloodied, exhausted and covered in enough sweat that he could bathe in it.
Falling to the ground beside the still hell hound, his body finally succumbed to the stress of the battle.
Taking shaky breaths and trying his best to ignore the pulsing pain coming from every corner of his body, he allowed himself a moment to rest. He couldn't wait to finally leave this infested city and get some sleep.
Maybe even have a nice warm bath with some bubbles too.
It was probably the blood loss making him so delirious, but he didn't care. Right now, such simple desires sounded like heaven to him.
He knew he would have to leave this place soon, probably get some new clothes too to not be left in rags. But for now, he would enjoy the simple pleasure of laying down.
He deserved it.
Even with the smell of sweat, blood and corruption so prominent.