‘Death comes for me,’ Pronthin thought.

One of the aspects of the adventuring life that no one ever mentioned to the new ones was the drawbacks of a body boosted by magical powers. The Priest felt the thousands of nerves in his lower abdomen scream in terror. Sometimes, he could feel his leg twitch. A phantom, he knew. He was all too aware of the discarded half of his body, lying not two metres away. His organs would have slipped out of the opening, had the Deathhound left him with more than his lungs and the beating heart that steadily pumped his lifeblood out into the air.

“Teacher… teacher please,” Aclysia whispered, lifting the torso of the man up. In her green eyes shone desperation and tears.

Pronthin felt a smile twitch on his face for a moment. ‘How odd… to feel joy at this moment,’ he thought. Hasty steps crunched on the battlefield.

“Mehily, please, help me heal hi-“ The words trailed off, Pronthin’s awareness faded, the field of his vision shrinking. With all he had, he held on to this happiness that illuminated his final moments. Healing magic poured into him. A bid with no chance of succeeding.

Turlesh laughed at the scene. Turlesh laughed at everything. He locked his hand with the one-armed Monk, whose body bulged with the unleashed power of the Physical Gate. “Sooooo persisssstent,” the demon mocked, beating back assailants from all directions with his other two arms and tail. Again and again, the teachers tried to get a singular swing in, only to narrowly escape having their bones crushed by the stray movements of the Tharnatos Class demon.

A screaming swirling of energy caught the Deathhound’s attention. Alarmed, then amused, he turned his head to Reysha. Effortlessly, he swiped away the swing of the redhead’s energy enveloped dagger. One eye dashed towards the smaller one who was right behind her. A leap brought her right up to Turlesh.

Borderline uncaringly, Turlesh caught Korith by one of her horns. Hurling her around like a ragdoll in a hurricane, he slammed her head first into the ground. The Deathhound felt the shock of the impact up his arm. It was like slamming a rock against an anvil. The plain grey colour of the magical scales that had instinctively protected her ebbed away.

Turlesh considered swirling her around again, but the body of the kobold slumped. Not dead, as the Deathhound realized the moment he let go. The blonde was staring with tear-filled and horrified eyes up at the Deathhound. “Korith, get the fuck out of there!” the redhead, whose presence had temporarily slipped Turlesh’s mind, screamed from a few metres away.

“I… can’t move!” Korith shouted back. The Ironscale had protected her skull, but something in her neck had snapped on impact. There was no feeling below that point. The closest she had was an aching pain. She couldn’t even turn her head directly. Dread beyond anything she had ever felt overcame her, towered over by this demon who held the strongest adventurer she knew at bay with just one arm.

Maltos did his best to not grit his teeth. He just struggled further against the Deathhound. The muscles in the demon’s arms bulged and tensed in response, his double-jointed legs bent to take in the force. They were keeping each other in check.

“You want me,” Apexus stepped up to the Deathhound and all four eyes focused on him. Measured steps brought the humanoid chimera closer. Then, he dashed forwards. His priority was solely to grab Korith. Concentrating on the Deathhound’s reactions, he prepared to redirect the flow of Turlesh’s attack.

The swing of the long tail came predictably. Apexus readied his magic, predicting the path of the tail swipe. Then, the tail suddenly reversed course. Turlesh bowed down, reversing the momentum, and grabbed Apexus by throat and arm.

“Arrogant mortals, every time, think you can best us, that we don’t learn,” Turlesh cackled, Monks at both ends of his arms. “Try and try again. The demon wears another flesh, the mortal dies and goes to heaven.” Turlesh raised the slime up higher and higher, mocking the weak attempts to hurt his arm with aggressive laughter. “In the Hellroots, all your wardens know this saying: Mortal Sparks circle through the Tree, while Parasytes gnaw at ME!” Turlesh threw Apexus with all his might, tearing the little bits of ooze that were spreading over his fingers from the source. “Abominable creature! Spark Eater! SPARK EATER!”

“The true abomination here is you!” Vulk shouted, then roared, bringing his half-broken body back into motion.

Distantly, the noise cut through the fog of Pronthin’s fading heartbeat. Still, the healing energy poured into him. Two sources, both bowed over him, trying to attach legs back to him. There was too much missing between them to make this possible even for the most gifted of healers. It would have taken a miracle to work this. A True Miracle. Something that he had been incapable of showing to these students of his.

Pronthin’s grey eyes beheld the sky. Beheld what was far beyond this empyrean. The veins of the Omniverse were clearer to him at that moment than they ever were before. He gazed into the heaven and heaven gazed into him.

Tears dropped from Aclysia’s eyes, as she so desperately tried to save her teacher. It was a tactical decision, that was what she needed to tell herself to remain so close to where the battle continued. Without the healing power of the Priest, they did not have the sustained might to overpower this creature. If she was being honest, she just could not stomach this terrible death.

Across from their bisected teacher, Mehily knelt and did the same. Then, the healing energy ebbed away from the Inquisitor’s hands. “What are you doing?!” Aclysia half-sobbed, half-screeched. Only for the Inquisitor to point at their cynical teacher’s moving lips, forming words in a conversation a lifetime away. “What… what is he saying?”

“He’s praying,” Mehily whispered, a tear rolling from her crystal eyes.

‘My Lady Meriala, how presumptuous it must be to hear from me this day.’ Pronthin’s mind meandered, his soul stretched between the mortal coil and the place all mortal souls strived to go. ‘I have abandoned you so long ago, forsaken you because you forsook me. I ask for no blessing for me, no forgiveness for my lack of reverence, for I ask you for none in return. Just… let me be of service to your aspects one more time.’

The veil of death parted before Pronthin’s eyes and a hand reached out to him. ‘It’s been a while, Thin. I see you haven’t put on any weight.’ Several humanoid forms rowed up behind the hand. ‘I’m glad our sacrifice let you live another day. Seems you’re ready to join us now.’

‘I’m unworthy, my friends,’ Pronthin responded. A warm, red light cascaded past the doors of death. Like layers upon layers of silk, they wrapped around Pronthin’s tormented senses. He closed his eyes and gave himself to the embrace of summer. He gave it all he had left.

‘You were never unworthy of anything, my child. One final lesson, for your last pupils.’

Turlesh’s head whipped around, the red radiance of summerly divinity burning on his skin. Barely, he caught the form of the Priest glowing, before it burst into a Nova of divine energy. Where it washed over the demon, his skin turned into ash, revealing raw muscles underneath. Screeching, the Deathhound stumbled back step for step, trying to protect his eyes from the radiance that turned them into shrunken orbs.

While the red heat of the summer burned the wicked, the just had their wounds mended. Arms realigned, flesh seamlessly flowed back together, Korith shot up into an upright position, feeling returned to her body. Where she let out a little happy cry, Vulk stood, biting back the tears. “I’ll miss you, cynic cunt.”

The light fixed what was broken, yet even it failed to restore what had been lost. The dead lay motionless on the ground, Maltos’ shoulder healed, yet the socket remained empty, and when the light ebbed away, all that remained of Pronthin were sparkling rays of sunlight that hung, without origin, in the air, and a shadow of ash where his body had laid.

‘I have shown you the True Miracle – use this knowledge wisely,’ Aclysia and Mehily heard inside their head, the parting words of a soul at rest.

“WRETCHED BLESSED! COWARDLY DIVINE! UNFAIR! UNFAIR! UNFAIR!” Turlesh screamed, his entire body covered by the black cloud of crusting dragon blood. Even now, he covered his eyes. Only one of them had survived the attack well enough to peek out behind skinless claws.

Aclysia and Mehily took a trembling breath, before rising to their feet. Together, they reached out for what divine power still hung in the air. They prayed to the goddess of Hope and Humility, to the first lady of the summer, and wove the magic into a spiral between their raised hands. Their Miracle was only an extension of his, a utility of the mana he had left in the environment for them.

Lances of radiant red light burst into being in their hands, then were launched at the Deathhound without hesitation. As they travelled, the supernatural sunrays bent to follow their path.

Turlesh shuffled to the side, but his body was still slowed by the divine energy pulsing through his demonic veins. Both nailed him in the left side of the torso, blowing holes where the remaining arm of that side was attached. “NOW!” Maltos roared, blood running down his chin. The healing power did much, the taxing effect of the Physical Gate was not something fixed or delayed by simple healing.

Grabbing the creature by one arm, Maltos threw him right into the middle of the fray. Turlesh, utterly disoriented with his damaged eyes, barely managed to see what approached him from the front. Each movement they made caused the fresh layer of dried blood to crack and release more of the black steam.

A sense of foreboding filled him, like he was missing something. Then the sound of whirling, screaming energy suddenly jumped into the foreground of his consciousness. He tried to move his last left arm, but then two Edges tore deep into his flesh. Mai and Reysha pushed forwards, until the damaged limb was attached by only a sinew. Reysha’s demon arm grabbed the creature whose kin had sponsored the blood used to create it and ripped the arm out for good.

Turlesh screamed in wordless rage and stumbled back. All he needed was time, time to regenerate his eyes, perhaps to plot an escape and heal. He would always heal faster than the mortals, could always come back when they could not sacrifice another of their holy men. While those thoughts rushed through his elongated head, Vulk stomped up to Korith.

“Trust me on this, pipsqueak!” the goliath said gently and picked the blonde up. With only a simple nod, the armoured kobold curled up and then was thrown with all the might the Warrior teacher had to offer. Ironscale Armour covered her exterior and she slammed into the stomach of the Deathhound.

Black blood and acid was vomited from the alien mouth of the monstrosity, as it struggled to realise what had just happened. A hand reached down, only to be pushed away by a firm and steady flow. Apexus covered for his party member and Korith slammed her hammer against the back of Turlesh’s knee.

The strike failed to crack any bones, yet the Deathhound collapsed to one knee instantly. Brought low, immobilized, slowed, and with Apexus pressing against the two right arms with all he had, Turlesh had no time to react to the golden palm that slammed into the left side of his head. The only eye still fully usable was disintegrated by a flash of radiance from the Divine Hand.

Turlesh collapsed to the floor. Blind and raging, he rolled around. He thrashed to the best of his ability, until several of the spears that had been used earlier once again hooked around his limbs. Weakened and with teachers aiding the students, Turlesh lacked the strength to resist. Secured to the ground, he was surrounded by people with ready weapons.

Apexus lost no time, leapt on top of the Deathhound and began to stretch out. As the acid burned his skin, the demon felt true dread. “YOU CONSPIRE WITH THE ENEMY OF LIFE!” Turlesh screamed, feeling pieces of his Spark dissolve alongside his body. “It’s a terror! A Parasyte! You betray the Omniverse! Traitors! Naïve Traitors! Complete Fools! Parasyte Helpers!”

Turlesh struggled against the bindings. His tail smacked against the side of one of the students, sending them flying several metres away. One Priest went to help, everyone else continued lending their hands to the tug of war. Several dozen people strained against the might of the crippled demon.

“What more do you want?” Turlesh hissed. “We protect you. We protect you. WE protect YOU! Is that worth nothing? Are we not entitled to our recompense? Can you slaughter us so easily, with no thought for the consequences? Are demons so worthless to you?”

No response from any of them. Turlesh went limp. The hopelessness of his existence flashed before his eyes. From the first moment of consciousness, pecking away at the gooey eggshell that spawned him, he had known he was dispensable. One of untold millions, born and consumed in the war below. Most of them were never even given names. A higher demon took notice, gave them one, allowed them to be summoned, to encounter the Omniverse above and the thanklessness that they had for their service. The few demons suffered below, so that the many mortals above could thrive.

And when those mortals did not care about them, they culled the demons. Even going as far as allying with a Spark Eater to do it.

A Parasyte.

Turlesh jolted back to life with one titanic scream. The effort exhausted was so great, he shattered his own bones while tearing his arms free. People flew up into the air, the Deathhound ripped Apexus off his half-devoured chest, then lurched on half-functioning legs towards the first person he saw. He was only left with teeth, tail, and leg, but that was enough.

The random adventurer saw the mass of teeth and rage come for his abdomen. In his mind, he saw himself transformed into the same bisected pile Pronthin had been. Moments before that could become reality, the one-armed form of Maltos tackled him aside.

The adventurer fell to the ground, the Monk was ripped back. Tossed left to right, like the prey of a rabid dog, the old man was barely more than a blur, until the people around succeeded in pinning Turlesh down. With a terrible crunch, the Deathhound took his final tool, ripping through the limb and leaving Maltos with neither arm nor leg on the left side.

Apexus hurried back over and went back to enveloping the Deathhound. With a series of noises, like an ancient tree toppling over, the bones inside his remaining arms realigned. Crusted blood extended into cruel replacements for his arms, brittle and ending only in thorns. Heavily breathing, the demon charged towards his next target in a mindless rage.

The students scattered as quickly as possible. The bravest of them, those that held the spears closest to the target, were ripped apart first. Teeth, claws, and blood-forged spikes ripped apart flesh like it was wet paper. The eyes of the Deathhound, little as they had returned, rolled around wildly, constantly assessing the situation, without ever focusing on anything.

No joy for the slaughter accompanied any of the motions of the demon anymore. He was a rampaging force. Vulk jumped in the way, rearmed with his shield. One of the blood arms shattered on his armament. The other three followed, whipping around with such cruel force that any difference of skill or thought was bridged.

Then, there was a pause. The Deathhound raised his head high. His one good eye focused on something to his left and the creature leapt, slamming against the wall of the pit.

In a tidal wave of ripping actions, the jump confused everyone around who had the luxury of distance. Turlesh ripped into the wooden boards, screaming hatefully the entire time. A mouthful of wood was crunched between his teeth.

“Enter stage left, the late arrival,” an androgynous voice caused Apexus’ left ear to turn. Suddenly, he spotted the figure that stood next to him. He was thoroughly unimpressive. An effeminate man with long, slender limbs and a face that could have passed as either sex. Short brown hair, brown eyes, and a nonchalant smile on his lips. He fit into the seriousness of the situation neither in how he acted, nor in how clean he looked in his colourful fusion of robe and suit. “My apologies. Delays were had.” With those few words, the smiling man rushed forwards.

The illusion that plagued Turlesh was ended the moment Anohal grabbed him by the tail. The fully regenerated Maltos vanished and instead the Deathound was hurled through the air. An impact of his own weight should not have bothered a spawn of the Hellroots of his stature. However, each cracking of the crusted surface let yet more of his lifeblood escape as black mist. Vast as the vitality of a Deathhound was, it was not endless.

Winded, Turlesh could not react in time to the strings of holy light that wrapped around his arms. The second blood arm crumbled away at the touch. Other limbs swiftly struggled, tossing Anohal off the creature. Immediately, the colourful exterior matched that of the other fighters, covered in dirt.

“A little help?” Anohal asked, his smile all the creepier for the bloody mud covering half his face. Terrorized as they were by the last outburst, the adventurers still grabbed the spears and rushed in again. Like a fish on land, Turlesh twisted around, attempting to escape the puppet strings that pulled at his limbs. With an esoteric motion, Anohal pulled them tighter between his hands. A short moment of immobilization that let the others wrap their hooks around the arms.

Apexus lost no time and jumped onto the exposed torso of the monster. As quickly as he could, he enveloped Turlesh once more. The pain of being dissolved jolted the reason within the panicking demon back to life. It was the only avenue to survival he had left.

“Please, please, can you not see how grotesque he is?” the demon begged, his four eyes wide and milky, failing to regenerate. A greyish, clear fluid ran from them. Demon tears, stained with the impurities the kind had sustained in such a long time fighting off the Parasytes.

Grotesque the sight was, but the adventurers had been prepared. Watching Apexus blob out and dissolve the Deathhound inside him, it was a sight they had been warned about. If Maltos trusted this was the right thing to do, then they trusted him. With grim determination, they kept the demon down.

“I don’t want to die,” Turlesh growled. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die… Empress… Empress I’m not done serving you… not done with the bloodshed, not done… not done… Parasytes… rip out the accursed Parasytes… Empress…. Jolene….” The name of his owner was the last word the Deathhound passed through his teeth, before life finally left him.

Apexus felt a sickening sweetness explode in every last bit of him that could taste. The Demonic Spark of the creature attempted to leave the flesh behind, only to be caught in the slime who could devour everything. The sweetness led to a rush that he could not describe. Energy was added to his core in a manner that he did not have control over entirely. He felt different and yet unchanged. He had no time to consider it much either. The entirety of the monster had to be dissolved.

One by one, the adventurers around let go of the immobilizing instruments and stumbled back, collapsing into the blood-soaked battlefield. What fresh wounds the end of the combat had opened, what muscles had been torn while keeping the Deathhound down, they were tended to swiftly by the healers. Aclysia and Mehily scooped what they could of their teacher’s ashes into a bag. Maltos gave a weak and assuring smile to the adventurer he had saved. His body was deflated now, thinner than it had ever been, barely more than skin and bones.

And it began to rain.