The night was silent, the air thick with tension as the blood-red moon hung ominously overhead. The Messiah, with his once-magnificent robes now tattered and stained with blood, gripped Neato's severed upper body with one hand and dragged it across the cracked stones toward the crumbling pyramid. Each step echoed with finality, the heavy scrape of Neato's lifeless form trailing behind.
But then, as the Messiah dragged Neato closer to the ancient structure, a weak yet defiant voice broke the silence.
"I am hope... I... am... Chaos."
The Messiah stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in disbelief. Before he could react, Neato's lower half suddenly regrew in a grotesque, rapid burst of flesh and bone, reattaching to his upper body with a sickening squelch. In one swift, savage motion, Neato's right hand plunged deep into the Messiah's chest, his fingers ripping through flesh and bone like they were nothing.
The Messiah gasped, his body jolting in shock as blood gushed from the wound. The sudden, searing pain forced a spasm through his body, and blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. Yet, even as he was impaled on Neato's hand, the Messiah managed a twisted smile.
"Impressive," he whispered, a glint of admiration flickering in his eyes. With a quick, brutal swipe, the Messiah brought his hand down, severing Neato's arm just above the elbow. Neato's right hand, still embedded in the Messiah's chest, fell to the ground with a dull thud, the blood that coated it pooling beneath them.
The Messiah leapt back, distancing himself from Neato as he staggered and fell to one knee. His hand instinctively reached up to his chest, where a gaping hole now resided, blood pouring out in steady streams. He winced, the pain almost unbearable, but he forced a chuckle through his blood-choked throat.
"Wow..." the Messiah muttered, his voice barely a rasp. "I didn't think your immortality would be this... powerful."
A coughing fit overtook him, blood splattering from his mouth onto the stone floor. He shakily stood up, his legs barely supporting his weight as he stared at Neato, who remained standing, dark and foreboding, despite the loss of his arm.
Neato's form was horrifyingly still, his blackened skin shimmering in the moonlight, the dark markings on his body pulsing with a strange, chaotic energy. The intensity in his eyeless gaze bore into the Messiah, who couldn't help but feel a shiver of both fear and respect.
As the Messiah steadied himself, he spoke again, his tone eerily calm despite his grievous wound. "Neato... do you know the truth about this world?"
END OF CHAPTER 40