Despite the pounding bass and metal guitar that reverberated within my skull anytime the adrenaline of battle rose its bloodied head, I was not one for dancing. Not in the traditional sense. Never had much rhythm, so the lingering Siren curse that had stuck somewhere in my gray matter was perhaps wasted on me. What I did well, however, was the fluidity of battle.

Pearl had accentuated this. While Hunters usually work alone alongside their patrons, I had developed a methodology to pair with her skills. Against the thrumming in my head, the motions became an expression of our duality. Two shots between the gaps at the approaching fishmen. Imbue the dagger with my power and slice my net. Two more bullets of energy into the clammy flesh of our assailants. Dart over to her to free her feigned imprisonment.

“My hero.” She rolled her eyes, a blazing pink twirling down her blade. Unfair of her to act in distress but still give me sarcasm when I had assisted. Perhaps I should have made some kind of flourish to look more impressive. She saw the look of defeat on my face and smiled, then darted forth into the throng of amassing demons.

I turned to face her and fired my leveled revolver. The shot went over her shoulder and wounded her opponent as she slashed upward with her dark blade. I continued to empty the five rounds of the cylinder, narrowly missing her each shot, before focusing on reloading.

This was one of our little dance moves. Impressive, even though it may not have much flair to it. I had raised my eyebrows when she had suggested it - but she had been right. If I didn’t want to hit her, then I didn’t. Whether this was a part of the demonic power or something that had bound our souls due to our… entwining… no, I was distracting myself.

Every time it became standard procedure - and in a straightforward battle, it had become more than just convenience. Someone who could engage in melee and save my sorry ass from getting punched by the monster of the day was worth their weight in gold. Especially when I could fire into the horde with little regard for friendly fire. It was almost like shooting fish in a… hmm.

I reloaded the cylinder as she became a twisting dervish of pink energy. Each swing of the blade carved chunks for the outmatched fishmen. It was almost unfair. The fishmen would certainly see it that way. A couple of them managed to flank her and snake their way towards me. As much as I’d hoped not to get this outfit ruined as well, it seemed as though that was just the natural outcome of delving into the Hells. Where Pearl kept finding replacements, I hadn’t the heart to ask.

The first fishman was bulbous - his pale gray skin heaved as he bounded on webbed feet towards me, yellow eyes twisted and crazed. His outfit was a mismatch of tiny netting, dark leather, and dirtied cloth. All of it soaked through with whatever brine juice these monsters seeped with. My nose was fast becoming inert, but often it was a benefit to have some manner of dull senses in the Hells.

He swung down at me with a worn trident - perhaps a bit too cliche for my tastes, and that was saying a lot. I sidestepped and swung away from his arm. When Wight was in my gun, it was possible to block such attacks. My own power couldn’t absorb much extra energy, and I had learned that the hard way when a pigman almost shattered my arm.

I got one shot off before the second one was upon me. The blast blew a chunk of pale flesh out of the thigh of the demon. A brief shock as there was no blood, just white meat and a cloudy water-like substance that coursed from the wound. I preferred it when demons bled in the traditional way. And profusely.

It wasn’t often that I’d bother to categorize demons into their Level. Often, the only time when it became relevant was when I was vastly out of my depth. Which had happened a handful of times now and usually ended up either driving me half crazy or half dead. Thankfully, it was different halves each time.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

A breeze of gross air waved over my hat as I ducked down beneath a sword. Two shots into the guts of this second fishman - which I immediately regretted. Even with my nose hanging an Out Of Order sign very clearly, there was always something more terrible to rouse it into action.

These demons were a mix of Levels One and Two. Pretty paltry pickings for me at this point. Danger was ever present, but with concentrated effort, any Hunter acting appropriate for their Level should have no struggles with taking on demons of similar fare. Of course, I wasn’t acting my Level as I shouldn’t even be here and functional without my patron.

For Pearl, this would be like cutting the weeds. I think I had only seen her get hit twice in our little adventures in the Lowers. Careless with the nettles. If anything, it made me wonder more where Wight came from and what he truly was. Patrons were meant to hail from the Formless layer between the Lower and Middle Hells. The power he had used in the fight against the Jailer was way beyond that.

Naturally, the next thought would be the Ascended - the layer between Middle and High Hells. Even then, the jigsaw pieces weren’t fitting. The Org knew he was special and had ground their teeth in waiting for me to stop avoiding the call to action. I wondered what they thought about how fast things were developing. No - now that I had put that out in the world, I knew that I would find out soon enough. For better or worse. Probably worse.

Thrown weapons clattered across the stone, dark with fishman guts and their weird blood. The Titan had begun moving around, and the heavy footsteps shook our melee and paired well with the heavy bass in my head. I realized the irony in thinking that I was a terrible dancer when now the intrusive gave me purpose and flow to the battle. It may dim out some background noise but-

“Eric, above!”

-but certain things like Pearl’s voice cut through the angry malaise and burrowed straight into my mind. I rolled, my leather jacket picking up a generous amount of enemy goop that was now sizzling under the overbearing heat of Hell. Standing and looking up at the danger was the surest way of taking a descending spear to the gormless open maw of the unwary. I was rewarded with the sound of metal and splintering wood as the thrown weapons hit the ground behind me.

The heat of the rocky ground here had started to scorch and cook the fallen foes. Each new demon was a whole new assault on the senses. Two shots into the approaching shins of a fishman. Just when you get used to the pigman filth, there’s Mantid ichor, fishman guts, or the strange drugs the devils smoked. I grappled with another fishman, putting a bullet through his chest, and then spun to the side to put another shot through the head of the one with maimed legs.

Reloading. I mimicked the way that Wight used to say it. Our telepathy must have a limit, as we had not spoken to each other since the day he had vanished. After saying he wasn’t able to cease or move his reality-stripping sphere of power, the third option seemed to be to undo himself. Somehow he had reformed, although now had the actual form of some manner of bipedal bird. My disbelief had not only been suspended, but full-on fired from duty.

My hopes were that he could return to me soon and things could settle back into some kind of normal. A stretch for my line of work and the company I kept. I unloaded most of the cylinder into the soft, exposed flesh of the demons. Not the best of times to be distracted by my thoughts, but Pearl looked to be toying with her prey, and the numbers had already thinned substantially. It didn’t help that my head had started to ache.

With the brief lull, I risked wiping my forehead and tried to focus my senses. Felt like a migraine. I winced as the thrumming music increased. It normally sat at a reasonable level, but now it pounded away at my temples. I felt almost deafened. Squeezed my eyes shut to will it to quieten. This was worse than when the Siren had infected me, although at least I wasn’t dancing to the beat this time.

And then darkness, as a rush of stale air buffeted my jacket. The ground shifted beneath my feet, and I fell to my knees. I felt the pulse of foul blood within cold flesh. There was a lumbering weight, a pressure surrounding me that kept me humbled.

The Titan had taken a bite towards me and overshot the mark, burying its mouth into the ground around where I had stood. I was lost within the pried-open maw.

As I managed to stumble back onto my feet, cold sweat began pouring down my back. A lump welled up in my throat as I struggled to adjust to the inescapable darkness around me. It was familiar, but wrong.

I shivered and became one with the void.