Thump. Thump.
Damian's consciousness flickered back like a dying candle. His body felt like ice, a numbing chill spreading through his veins. When he coughed, something warm and metallic filled his mouth—blood. The taste clung to his tongue, thick and suffocating. Pain wracked his frame, sharp and all-consuming, yet something felt... off. His legs, his lower half—where was it?
No, he realized with a slow, sinking horror—he couldn't feel it at all.
Trembling, he forced his gaze downward. His breath hitched in his throat.
His entire lower body was gone.
Panic surged through his fading mind, but what could he do? He was half a corpse, sprawled helplessly upon the cold, unyielding ground. His fingers scraped weakly against the ancient stone, slick with his own blood. The agony should have been unbearable, but a strange numbness was creeping in, dulling his senses. Was this what dying felt like?
The air was thick with an unnatural stillness, the silence broken only by his ragged breaths and the distant clash of battle. Thick, ghostly fog curled around him, swirling like restless spirits whispering in hushed voices. The scent of sulfur and decay clung to the air, a grim reminder of where they had ventured. Behind him loomed the colossal gates of the underworld, their iron surface etched with cryptic symbols that pulsed faintly with eerie light. A suffocating pressure emanated from them, as if the very presence of the doors rejected the living.
This was what they had come for. The risk, the sacrifices—they had all led to this moment. And yet, what good was it now? If only he could stand. If only he had time left.
Boom.
The ground quaked beneath him. The vibrations rattled his very bones, each tremor a reminder that he was little more than dead weight. Damian's head snapped to the side, his blurred vision focusing just enough to take in the sight before him.
Falco was still fighting.
Still trying.
The battle-worn warrior stood firm, his muscles taut with exhaustion, his grip tightening around his scythe. He charged yet again at the monstrous guardian of the underworld—Cerberus. The three-headed hound of legend, its abyss-black form shifting in the mist, loosed a growl that sent a deep, reverberating chill through the air. Its eyes—red as smoldering embers—locked onto Falco with a mixture of amusement and irritation.
Falco's weapon gleamed under the dim, ethereal light of the underworld, arcing through the air with deadly precision—only to be stopped short. With a deafening crunch, Cerberus's jaws snapped shut around the scythe, its fangs cleaving through the metal like brittle bone. The weapon splintered, shards scattering across the ground like dying embers.
"Falco... just go..." Damian croaked, barely managing a whisper.
His friend faltered, his breath ragged. His knees buckled, and for the first time, Falco let out a bitter chuckle that quickly dissolved into something else. Silent tears streamed down his dirt-streaked face, his shoulders rising and falling as he clenched his fists.
"What were we thinking?" Falco whispered hoarsely. "Thinking we could just waltz into the underworld? Now we're going to die here... killed by this damned mutt." He turned his head toward Damian, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "Guess we were never the heroes in this story, huh?"
Damian wanted to respond, wanted to grasp at even the smallest thread of hope, but the words died in his throat. A low, guttural growl from Cerberus shattered the moment.
"You humans never fail to amuse me," the beast rumbled, its voice deep and ancient, vibrating through the very air. All three of its heads loomed over Falco, its red eyes glinting with predatory hunger. "Especially you, scythe user."
Falco had always been the stronger one, the more capable fighter, the one who had drawn others in with his confidence and effortless skill. With his golden-blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and the powerful build of a seasoned warrior, he had always seemed untouchable. Damian, in contrast, had been nothing but average—mousy brown hair, dull eyes, a wiry frame that barely scraped 174 cm. But none of that mattered now. Not when he was little more than a broken, bleeding husk on the stone.
Falco let out a shaky breath, his body trembling, not from fear, but frustration. He glared up at the beast, his face twisting into something dangerously close to defiance. "Well, if we're so amusing, how about you spare us, you overgrown fleabag?" he snapped, surprising even himself.
Silence hung in the air. Even Cerberus seemed taken aback.
Then, the gate behind them trembled.
The ground rumbled violently, cracks splintering beneath them as an unseen force stirred. Something flickered across Cerberus's many eyes—something close to panic.
"Alright, humans, I'll cut you a deal," Cerberus rumbled, his three heads tilting in eerie unison as a wicked grin spread across his grotesque maw. "I can't steal souls on my own—only my master has that power. But if one of you willingly sacrifices your soul to me, the other may leave."
A flickering blue flame erupted before the gate, its ethereal glow pulsing like a heartbeat, beckoning them forward. The fire radiated an unnatural chill, whispering tendrils of energy slithering through the air. It almost felt... alive.
Falco's head dropped, his shoulders sagging. A single tear fell, splashing onto the cold, unforgiving stone beneath him. Slowly, he turned to face Damian.
"You heard him... right?" Falco murmured. When his gaze met Damian's, something dark and unfamiliar gleamed in his eyes—pure malice.
Damian's breath hitched. "Falco, wait. Do you understand what losing your soul means? I'd never see heaven or hell—just be trapped in limbo forever. Is that what you want for me?"
"Shut up!" Falco's voice cracked like a whip, raw and vicious. Damian flinched. "You know just as well as I do—it's better one of us dies than both. And even if you lived, you'd just be a damn cripple. You probably wouldn't even be able to use magic anymore."
Falco took a deliberate step forward. Damian tried to move, to escape, but his ruined body refused to obey. He could only flail his arms helplessly as Falco loomed above him.
"Traitor!" Damian screamed. "May God strike you down if you do this!"
Falco smirked. "Goodbye, weakling."
With a grunt, he grabbed Damian's head and, without hesitation, hurled his mangled body into the blue fire.
The flames roared to life, swallowing him whole. Damian's screams echoed, then faded. And then—nothing.
Falco stood motionless, staring at the spot where his friend had been. The eerie silence pressed in around him. A moment later, the flames flickered, then vanished.
Cerberus let out a pleased growl. "A deal is a deal," he said. "Go."
Falco turned away from the gate. He did not look back.