The wall stretches endlessly in the dungeon, they looked for a turn, a detour, something so they could get away from the Shattered Angels chasing them down the corridor. Wolfe fought to breathe, normally he would have no problem. But this much running? his boots hammering against the stone as he sprinted through the labyrinth.

Behind him, the Shattered Angels glided after, their fragmented bodies drifting unnaturally, more like sliding on ice than running on stone. They sang like hymns, maybe a forgotten Psalm. “Shit—shit—shit—shit!” Wolfe cursed between breaths. His lungs burned, his legs ached, but stopping meant death. Laying down and giving up meant death, so neither were options.

“How many?!” Mason yelled, his steps shaking the ground. Wolfe turned back, making— eye contact with one of them again? Do they have eyes? Do they have souls? Wolfe shot his gaze back forward, speeding up just slightly. “Too many!”

“I told you we shouldn’t have taken that left,” Lucy’s voice came from behind them, high-pitched and frantic. “Oh yeah, Lucy, now’s the time for a lecture—”

A screech cut through the air. The nearest Shattered Angel twisted forward, its elongated limbs lashing out. “Down!” Mason bellowed. Wolfe ducked on instinct. A clawed hand raked through the air where his head had been a second ago. Lily screamed as she nearly fell trying to avoid the thing, if it was chosen to go for her instead of Wolfe she would have died. Mason swung his axe in a wide arc.

Slicing through its glasslike form. The Shattered Angel reeled, its arm falling and shattering into dust. Yet, it didn’t die. Lucy was the most horrified out of the three of them. “They—they’re not breaking!” Lucy screamed, now running with Mason and Wolfe. “No shit,” Wolfe snapped. “Just keep running!” The corridor stretched ahead, twisting into another dark turn. He didn’t know where they were going anymore. Just away.

“We can’t keep this up!” Lucy shouted. “You want to fight those things? Be my guest,” Wolfe shot back. “I’d rather—” he let his guard down even while it was practically in the clouds. He put more energy into replying back to Lucy than in running. Another screech. Another movement too fast for him to track. This time, the blow landed.

Something slammed into Wolfe’s back, a force like a hammer driving into his spine. His body buckled, his feet leaving the ground as he was hurled forward. He hit the stone hard, rolling onto his back with a choked gasp.

Pain. Shock. His vision left him, abandoned him when he needed it, when it returned all he saw was the creature standing above him. It raised an arm. This was it. This was how he died, being reckless… being—a child. But what else was he supposed to be? In this world, you don't get the life of a human as a halfling. Mason moved faster than a bullet train. He intersected the hand of the Shattered Angel… with his heart.

Blood dripped and leaked from the front and back of his body as the devil stabbed him through his chest. Mason didn't even get a chance to breathe before The Shattered Angel decapitated him. Flinging Mason’s dead body aside like a broken toy, his blood splattering against the cold stone it made impact with. His head rolled, stopping at Lucy’s feet. She didn’t scream. She couldn’t. Her breath jerked, her legs moved before her mind could catch up, and she ran. Faster than she ever had. Away. Away from Wolfe. Away from the remains of Mason. Away from the nightmare.

The angels split—some racing after Lucy, others turning their hollow, eyeless faces toward Wolfe. They crawled forward, their limbs clicked as they did so. Wolfe barely noticed. His gaze was locked on Mason’s body. The blood pooling around his corpse. The weight of the stillness around him, the sheer wrongness of it, crushed down on Wolfe’s chest like a hand squeezing his heart. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

Who sent them here?

Why were they here?

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Just to die?

His stomach twisted.

His mind screamed.

It didn’t make sense.

It doesn’t make sense.

It does make sense.

A bunch of halflings, some poor peasants and an orc. This was the perfect group to throw away, if they don't come and save us then they don't have to pay us. Lightning cracked through the air. The storm didn't come from the sky, no. It came from him. It came from his soul. Sparks crawled up his arms, his veins burnt like candles, white-hot. He was hot, his body melting like wax he trembled with fury.

They had to die.

All of them.

There was no logic, no hesitation.

Only one truth remained. Anything less would be an insult to the man who gave his life for his. He roared out, his voice the beast inside of him. His body is covered with electricity as is his body with marks of gold accents. He moved past the one who took Mason's life.

The first Shattered Angel lunged, their broken wings beating hard enough to kick up dust. Wolfe met it head-on, he jumped into the impact. His feet barely touched the ground. He drove his fist forward, lightning exploding from his knuckles as he shattered the creature’s mask. The crack which came afterwards reverberated through the dungeon. The creature reeled back like a fish, its movements stuttering.

Wolfe took his chance, grabbing its throat and slamming it hard into the ground with enough force to crater the stone beneath them. The power in his throw almost dislocated his arm. Another Angel screeched and swiped at his back. Wolfe spun, catching its wrist mid-strike. He twisted hard—bone snapped. The arm bending at a sickening angle, and the angel didn't even shriek. Wolfe didn’t let go. He pulled it close and slammed his forehead into its face. The crunch of porcelain as the mask split apart. Stunned, it staggered, and Wolfe ripped its broken limb free, sending dusted blood sprayed into the air.

He shoved his hand into its chest, it convulsed violently before its body turned to dust. Three more rushed him. They didn’t hesitate, didn’t fear. He didn’t either. The first reached for him—he ducked, its claws grazing the air above his head. He grabbed its leg, yanking it from the ground and using its momentum to whip it straight into the second. Both collapsed in a tangled heap. The third one came from the side, its hand of a blade arcing downward.

Wolfe caught the strike between his palms, electricity surging through his veins as he held the bone in place. The angel pushed down, trying to stab through him, nearly at the halflings neck. But Wolfe bared his teeth and twisted the weapon out of its grasp, snapping the limb at the wrist as it flipped into the air. In the same motion, he jammed his fingers into its eye sockets and poured voltage directly into its mutated skull. It didn’t even have time to scream.

He turned to the two he’d knocked down. One had already begun rising. He grabbed its wing and wrenched it free, the creature howled in agony. In pain. He didn’t stop there. He grasped the other and tore that one off too. The angel fell forward, crippled, and Wolfe crushed its head under his boot. The last one hesitated. Just for a second. Just long enough. Wolfe shot forward, grabbing it by the face. His grip was iron. He slammed it against the dungeon wall, again and again, the cracks spreading like spiderwebs.

On the final impact, its head caved inward. He let the corpse slide down the stone, lifeless. Turning to dust. Then he stood before the last one. The one that killed Mason. His breathing was ragged. Blood on his arm—some his, some not. It dripped down his arms. His fingers twitched with static.

He stepped toward the Shattered Angel.

It didn’t run.

It should have.

Wolfe reached for Mason’s axe. His fingers wrapped around the hilt. He gritted his teeth and pulled. The weapon refused to move. He growled, his muscles burning, but the weight was too much. His vision abandoned him, but he grabbed it by the collar and pulled it back to him. Rage and grief bleeding together. The angel watched, silent. Waiting, it sung no song. No psalm. No Hymn. And then, out of nowhere, a hand covered Wolfe’s. A shadow stood behind him. Wolfe felt the weapon lift. Not by his strength alone. The weight, his body surged forward with electricity and together, they swung— The axe met flesh.

The Shattered Angel turned to dust.