Chapter 6: The Fall of the Beast

  On the far edge of the battlefield, General Charles froze, his blade pressed against the chest of the enemy general. A fifteen-meter demon had risen from the North, its massive shadow swallowing the sunlight like a dark omen. Before this absolute nightmare, Sentry stood—not as some legendary protector, but as a tiny matchstick flickering in the heart of a hurricane.

  The soldier beside Charles dropped his spear, hands shaking uncontrollably. "C-C-Commander... what the hell is that? In God’s name, what is that thing!"

  Charles didn't answer. Even the enemy general had forgotten the weapon at his throat, staring in pure shock at the monster they had birthed. Charles turned to him, teeth gnashing in fury.

  "You son of a bitch! Did you cut a deal with the depths of hell just to take us down? What kind of low-life treachery is this!"

  The enemy general’s shock melted into a blood-chilling grin. His eyes were locked on the beast. "So, this was it... Magnificent!" he muttered, completely losing focus. Charles didn't waste the opening. "Die, you bastard!" he roared, lunging forward with everything he had. Instead of a swing, he threw his entire weight into a thrust. The steel ripped through the general’s armor and skewered his gut.

  The general lurched in pain but didn't flinch. Through the blood spraying from his mouth, he laughed right in Charles’s face.

  "I don't have to do a damn thing anymore, Charles! That monster... it’s gonna burn you all to ash! Every last one of you is just meat for the pile!"

  With his dying breath, he shrieked to his own army: "RETREAT! GET OUT OF HERE!"

  The enemy soldiers, as if waiting for that very word, raised their shields in panic and began a desperate crawl backward. Charles yanked his bloody spear from the corpse. "I won't let 'em run!" he barked. "MOVE UP!" He handed the southern front to his ranking officer, spurred his horse, and charged straight toward the hell breaking loose in the North. Toward Sentry.

  In that moment, Sentry was living through the worst seconds of his life. Gunner’s hundreds of hands, tipped with razor-sharp claws, were coming at him from every angle. Sentry was parrying over fifty strikes a second, dodging by millimeters, ripping arms off at the wrists with every counter. If a single claw caught him, he’d be sliced like paper. But for every limb he tore away, Gunner sprouted a new one instantly.

  Charles tore into the fray like a lightning bolt. "Hold on, kid!" he roared, driving his spear into the massive legs supporting Gunner’s bulk. A leg was severed, but Gunner’s flesh bubbled like a swamp, regenerating the limb in a heartbeat. Charles’s mind went numb. "What kind of twisted sorcery is this!"

  Gunner raised his arms to crush Charles beneath him. Sentry, driven by a primal madness, made a leap no human should be capable of—fifteen meters straight up. He blurred through the air like a bullet, coming nose-to-nose with Gunner’s shriveled, hideous face.

  Gunner thought Sentry was a sitting duck mid-air and swung a massive claw from below. But Sentry contorted his body as if stepping on an invisible ledge; he swerved past the claw and buried his fist right into Gunner’s snout. The impact was so violent Gunner’s head snapped to the side.

  Before clinging to Gunner’s face, Sentry screamed: "NOW!"

  Charles leapt from his horse, catching his sword mid-air, and began unleashing over a hundred strikes a second. Above him, Sentry began tearing Gunner’s head apart. Gunner tried to cover his face with a hundred hands, but it didn't stop Sentry. Sentry went feral, ripping through those hands one by one until he cracked the skull open, sending bits of brain matter spraying into the air.

  Sentry was gone—completely out of control. He was tearing at the flesh with his fists, his bare hands, even his teeth, unmaking the monster’s head. But in that final moment of victory, Gunner managed one last reflex, dragging a lethal claw across Sentry’s abdomen.

  Blood sprayed from Sentry’s gut as he began to fall, descending fifteen meters toward the mud. Gunner, meanwhile, began re-weaving his shattered head as if nothing had happened, his flesh coiling back together.

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  The moment Sentry slammed into the earth like a fallen titan, General Charles burst through the dust cloud, retreating. Gunner straightened his massive frame, raising his arms for the killing blow. Then, the world seemed to warp.

  Viktor appeared in front of Gunner like a ghost—a sudden, violent gust of wind. He was moving so fast the eye couldn't track him; there was only a light breeze, and Gunner’s attacking arms were suddenly shredded from his torso. Blood erupted everywhere.

  Gunner, unable to finish his regeneration, tried to crawl back in agony. That’s when the command of the 2nd Division Commander tore through the air: "FIRE AT WILL! GIVE 'EM EVERYTHING!"

  The archers behind the cavalry loosed. The sky went black; flaming arrows and steel-tipped death rained down on Gunner. The beast couldn't find a single second to hide or heal. Sentry had wounded him so deeply from the inside that Gunner thought, “At least I’m rid of him,” just as the true horror began.

  Sentry rose from the dust, slow and heavy. He could barely stand, blood leaking from every part of him into the mud. He looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over, but to Gunner, he was a bigger threat than ten thousand horsemen. The moment Gunner saw the hellfire in Sentry’s eyes, he knew he was done. From a throat that sounded like a thousand dying voices, he shrieked: "SHIIIIIIIT!"

  The frequency of the scream was so foul that soldiers’ ears began to bleed and horses bolted in terror. Gunner tried to fold his limbs into himself, shrinking back to his core form to escape. Sentry didn't let him. Like a dark blur, he latched onto Gunner’s back, clinging to his waist and raining down a relentless, lethal barrage.

  Charles and Viktor attacked from below, arrows rained from above, and Sentry was a demon on his back. Gunner screamed with everything he had—a sound loud enough to burst eardrums. But Sentry didn't stop. The battlefield was silent except for the overlapping death-shrieks of these two monsters.

  Gunner’s body began to melt and warp—a giant infant, a rabid dog, a revolting pile of meat. Just as it seemed over, Gunner tried to bolt out of the mass of flesh. Sentry spotted a broken blade on the ground, snatched it, and was on Gunner in a flash. As the blade bit into Gunner’s neck, the monster landed a heavy blow to Sentry’s stomach. The sound of Sentry’s ribs shattering echoed in Gunner’s own ears.

  Sentry was fighting on pure instinct now, throwing haymakers that felt like sledgehammers. He realized why Gunner’s neck was hard as stone—it was his life-center. Cut that, and the nightmare ends. They punched and clawed at each other, screaming until their throats tore. Sentry flexed every muscle, digging his claws and the broken steel into Gunner’s throat. To any onlooker, it was the final death-dance of two ancient beasts.

  But it wasn't enough. Sentry needed ten times the power—no, a hundred. In that instant, Sentry gave himself over completely to the darkness inside. A black aura exploded around them, and flames licked the earth. Sentry’s eyes were glowing embers. Realizing he was dying, Gunner grabbed Sentry tight, planning to take them both down in a suicidal blaze.

  As Sentry hacked at the neck, Gunner’s voice turned into the screeching of a thousand tortured souls. Gunner triggered a massive explosion within himself. Blood poured from Sentry’s eyes as smoke engulfed the field. When the dust settled, Gunner’s head fell to the ground. But he had one last card—he began splitting himself into millions of pieces to detonate and take the whole army with him.

  Charles saw it coming: "GET BACK! GET DOWN, NOW!"

  Sentry didn't move. As Gunner began to fragment, Sentry hugged him tight. He couldn't let those pieces hit the soldiers. His vow came back to him: "I will protect them."

  BOOM!

  A horrific blast shook the world. As the smoke cleared, a silhouette stood in the center of the carnage, drenched in blood. Sentry stood over the mangled remains of Gunner, motionless as a statue who had given up its soul. The field was silent. The war was over, but Sentry only stared at the corpse.

  A deafening silence hung over the battlefield. Sentry looked down at the pile of meat at his feet—the thing that used to be Gunner. The black smoke had left his eyes, replaced by a hollow, dead stare.

  The soldiers were in total shock. No one dared to even sheathe their sword. One officer whispered, "How the hell is that kid still breathing?" Another stared at Gunner’s remains: "Did we really take that demon down? Did a human just kill a god?"

  Seconds later, a roar erupted from every corner of the front. Fear turned into a savage joy. "WE WON! THE BEAST IS DOWN! THE DEVIL IS DEAD!"

  Soldiers and commanders embraced, thrusting their blades into the sky. Viktor cut through the crowd to reach Sentry. Sentry was leaking blood from everywhere; it was a miracle he was even upright. Viktor touched his shoulder, eyes wide with worry: "Sentry... you okay?"

  Sentry did something no one had ever heard him do. His shoulders shook, and then a loud, hysterical laugh erupted, drowning out the cheers of the army. "We won!" he laughed, his voice cracking. "You see that, Viktor? It's over... the goddamn curse is finally dead!"

  The laugh faded as quickly as it came. The strange joy on his face was replaced by a sudden, sharp memory. He looked at Viktor, voice trembling: "Viktor... Leo... how's Leo—"

  He couldn't finish. Sentry’s knees gave out. It was as if his soul had finally severed its connection to his body; he dropped into the mud like a fallen log. Before Viktor could even react, a soldier yelled:

  "Holy shit, the kid fainted! Somebody get over here, NOW!"

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