The air in the clearing grew thick, as though time itself hesitated in the presence of the towering bird-like monstrosity. The cloaked man remained rooted where he stood, his back stiff, dagger held low but ready, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.
The nightmare devil stared back at him, its head cocked at an unnatural angle, the sharp curve of its beak gleaming faintly under the muted light filtering through the trees. It seemed almost playful in its stillness, its talons flexing one at a time, scraping furrows into the soft earth. Yet, there was nothing casual about the sheer force it radiated—an invisible storm that pressed against the cloaked man's chest like an iron weight.
His breaths came shallow, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain. He straightened his back, his free hand brushing briefly over his ribs, the dull ache of his earlier crash pulsing like a distant drumbeat. His hood shifted with the motion, the shadow it cast across his face masking his narrowed eyes and the thin line of his lips.
"You're not leaving, are you?" he said, his voice low but steady. It lacked the confidence he usually commanded, replaced by a grim acceptance of the battle ahead.
The creature's response was a slight tilt of its head, the black feathers around its neck ruffling as if responding to an unheard whisper. Its shoulders rolled in slow, deliberate motions, every joint creaking like strained leather. The gesture seemed almost casual, but the cloaked man noted the way its knees bent subtly, its backward-hinged legs coiling like springs ready to launch.
The air shifted. A subtle, almost imperceptible sound—a faint crack of twigs far off to the right. The cloaked man's eyes flicked in the direction of the noise instinctively.
And then, the earth shook.
A thunderous thud reverberated through the ground, followed by another and another, the rhythm irregular yet impossibly heavy. Leaves quivered on their branches, and birds took to the skies in frantic bursts. The sound was distant but growing closer, each step accompanied by the deep, resonant groan of the forest itself bending under the strain.
The cloaked man's head whipped back toward the nightmare devil, the sudden noise gnawing at his nerves.
But the monster was no longer there.
For the briefest of moments, his eyes registered movement—blurred, fleeting, and utterly silent—vanishing into the shadows between trees. His muscles tensed as if expecting an ambush, but there was nothing. Just the hollow, deafening quiet left in the creature's wake.
His knuckles whitened around the dagger's hilt.
"The hell is going on?" he muttered under his breath, his tone sharp with frustration and unease.
The thudding steps continued, louder now, their approach accompanied by a distant crash as something massive collided with the trees. The sound of splintering wood filled the air, a violent symphony of chaos echoing through the forest.
The cloaked man's gaze darted to the right, where the sound was loudest. His body turned slightly, knees bending in preparation for movement, but his mind was still reeling. Should I track the devil? Or—
His jaw tightened, and he let out a sharp exhale.
"No time for second-guessing," he growled to himself. Boyd could be in danger, and whatever was causing this destruction was tied to the nightmare devils. He couldn't ignore it.
He turned back toward the empty clearing and muttered under his breath, as if addressing the vanished creature. "You'll come back. You always do."
With that, he surged forward, his movements quick and fluid despite the lingering ache in his ribs. He weaved through the dense forest, the trees rushing past him in a blur of greens and browns. His boots barely made a sound against the undergrowth, a testament to years of practiced stealth, but his thoughts were anything but quiet.
What in all the hells is causing that racket?
The noise grew louder as he advanced, the ground beneath him trembling slightly with every step. He leapt over fallen logs, ducked under low-hanging branches, and pushed through shrubs that tore at the edges of his cloak. His breaths came faster, the air colder the deeper he went, carrying the faint metallic tang of blood and ash.
Then, he broke through the treeline.
His feet skidded to a halt, boots scraping against the forest floor. He stood at the edge of devastation.
The clearing ahead was unrecognizable—a battlefield of shattered trees, craters in the earth, and the smoking remains of what could only be described as a slaughter. Giant stone limbs lay scattered across the ground, some shattered into rubble, others still twitching faintly as if resisting death. The charred remains of what he recognized as lava giants littered the area, their molten cores extinguished and oozing sluggishly across the dirt like dying embers.
The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning wood and sulfur, the heat still radiating from the corpses making the atmosphere feel heavy, oppressive. His gaze swept across the scene, taking in every detail—the gouges in the earth, the shattered trunks, the bloodied remnants of what might have been servants caught in the fray.
His stomach twisted.
"What the hell happened here?"
He stepped forward cautiously, his boots crunching against debris. His eyes scanned the wreckage for any sign of Boyd, but the deeper he ventured into the carnage, the more his unease grew.
***
The forest seemed alive with tension, as though the trees themselves leaned in to watch the unfolding scene. The cloaked man, though weary from the pursuit, moved swiftly, each step precise and deliberate. The devastation he had stumbled upon only deepened his unease.
His sharp eyes traced the outlines of the fallen lava giants. Even in death, their forms were terrifying—a grotesque mix of molten stone and sinewy muscle. Steam hissed from the cracks in their bodies, the molten cores cooling into jagged, obsidian remnants. The air reeked of sulfur, its oppressive heat a reminder of the battle that had raged here.
The ground beneath him was uneven, scarred with deep craters and claw marks that hinted at a ferocity beyond his comprehension. He crouched low, his fingers brushing against the charred earth. Boyd was here, he thought. The faint imprint of boot marks amid the chaos was enough to confirm it. But where was he now?
The man straightened, his hood casting a shadow over his face as his mind raced. He scanned the tree line, the valley below, and the distant horizon. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, though nothing stirred in the wreckage.
***
Boyd's feet crunched against the brittle remains of scorched grass as he descended into the valley. His breathing was measured, but his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. He kept them locked on the gargoyle in the distance, its imposing figure towering over the remnants of the battlefield.
It wasn't just its size that unnerved him—it was the stillness. The gargoyle stood like a sentinel, its jagged, stone-like form an unyielding monument of terror. Its wings, folded tightly against its back, exuded an ominous presence, as though they could spring open at any moment and blot out the sky.
The remnants of the servants' caravan lay scattered around its feet, a grim tableau of splintered wood and lifeless bodies. Blood stained the earth, pooling in the cracks and crevices of the rubble. The sight churned Boyd's stomach, but he kept his focus.
His hand hovered near his side, ready to draw his weapon. His fingers twitched with anticipation, each movement a subconscious preparation for what he knew was inevitable.
"So this is the big man right." he muttered under his breath, his voice steady despite the dread curling in his chest. "Once I deal with you, I'll make it out of here."
As if in response to his words, the gargoyle stirred.
The motion was slow, almost deliberate, like a beast waking from slumber. Its head tilted slightly, the sound of grinding stone filling the air. Glowing fissures along its body pulsed brighter, their eerie blue light illuminating the battlefield in a ghostly hue.
Boyd's lips pressed into a thin line. His heart quickened, but he refused to let it show.
The gargoyle shifted its weight, its massive stone feet cracking the earth beneath them. The sound was deafening, a visceral reminder of its sheer mass. When it finally turned its gaze toward Boyd, the full weight of its presence bore down on him like a physical force.
Boyd's breath hitched for a moment, but he straightened, his posture defiant.
"That's right," he said, his voice cutting through the silence. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."
The gargoyle responded with a low rumble, a sound that seemed to reverberate through the ground itself. The air grew heavier, thick with an almost tangible malice.
Boyd took a cautious step forward, his boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. The gargoyle's head tracked his movement, its glowing eyes unblinking.
Then, without warning, it raised a massive foot and slammed it into the ground.
The impact sent a shockwave tearing through the battlefield. Boyd leapt back instinctively, the force of the upheaval sending rocks and debris flying in all directions. His feet barely touched the ground before he was forced to move again, dodging as the gargoyle lunged with terrifying speed.
Its claws raked the air where he had stood, the sheer force of the missed strike sending a gust of wind that flattened the nearby rubble. Boyd spun on his heel, his movements fluid as he circled the beast, searching for an opening.
"How the hell is it this fast? he thought, his mind racing. It's Rank C, but this… this is something else entirely."
The sudden movement was so violent that it uprooted the remaining trees around them, sending them toppling like dominos.
Boyd gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on his weapon. He darted forward, his feet a blur as he closed the distance. The gargoyle lashed out, but Boyd anticipated the move, sliding under its massive arm with a burst of speed.
He twisted as he passed, his weapon slicing into the gargoyle's side. Sparks flew as the blade scraped against its stone armor, leaving only a shallow mark. Boyd cursed under his breath, his momentum carrying him to safety just as the gargoyle's tail swung toward him.
The tail smashed into the ground with enough force to leave a crater, sending a plume of dust and debris into the air. Boyd stumbled slightly, his lungs burning from the effort, but he refused to let up.
The gargoyle turned to face him again, its glowing eyes narrowing. The faint light from its body seemed to intensify, the cracks along its surface widening as though it were drawing power from some unseen source.
Boyd wiped the sweat from his brow, his expression grim. This isn't just a fight anymore—it's survival.
The creature charged, its movements a blur of stone and raw power. Boyd braced himself, his muscles coiled like springs, ready to react. As the gargoyle's claws came down, he dove to the side, rolling to his feet in one fluid motion.
He could feel the ground tremble beneath him with every step the gargoyle took. Each movement it made seemed to defy its massive size, its speed and agility a cruel twist of nature.
"How the hell am I supposed to beat this thing?"