The next two hours blurred together.
Four encounters.
Two Starspawn fell quickly. His enhanced strength and improvised weapon made short work of them, earning him two more Remnants.
The third nearly took his eye. A concealed hooked claw slashed toward his face, and instinct took over. An orange field – his Will he called it – flashed into existence for a heartbeat, deflecting the strike. He beheaded the creature in the same motion.
The effort left him winded.
Less than before.
His control was improving.
The fourth fight changed everything.
He turned into a cul-de-sac.
A massive shape vaulted between rooftops ahead of him, landing with a crack that spiderwebbed the pavement. Twelve feet tall. Its movements were unnervingly fluid, too controlled for something that large.
Its body was built like a monstrous ape, corded with muscle and ash-flesh, but its head belonged to something else entirely- a rhinoceros beetle, crowned with a branching horn that glowed faintly as it moved.
Its claws were lethal.
Its tail was worse.
An unnaturally long whip extended behind it, splitting at the end into three heavy axe heads that dragged sparks from the asphalt as they shifted.
They faced each other.
Their eyes, or whatever passed for them, met.
Dorian stepped away from the car, sword raised. He didn’t hesitate.
A Fiend, he decided. A new class. Something higher on the food chain.
The creature launched forward at unreal speed, flipping through the air and snapping its tail downward like a falling blade.
Dorian dove aside just in time.
The axe heads smashed into his car. Metal screamed as the vehicle was cleaved clean through, the pieces skidding apart like discarded toys.
He came up slashing, aiming for one of the tail segments.
The Fiend moved that section independently.
The tail recoiled at the last instant, baiting him. His strike cut nothing but air.
It planned that.
The thought barely formed before the Fiend lunged, claws sweeping in to tear him apart.
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Dorian invoked his Will.
Sparks flared as claws met an orange barrier inches from his skin. The impact jarred his arms to the shoulder, but it held.
He surged forward into its reach and slashed across its midsection.
The blade bit deep.
Stronger didn’t mean tougher. Its ashen flesh parted like the others.
But this one reacted.
The Fiend leaned away mid-motion, twisting its torso to lessen the damage.
It wasn’t just fast.
It was thinking.
A rapid series of clicks burst from its insectoid head, the sound vibrating through Dorian’s bones. The Fiend leapt backward, then coiled, and struck.
The axe heads slammed into Dorian’s guard with crushing force, launching him twenty feet down the street. Skin scraped raw as he skidded across the pavement.
“Damn! No way!” he gasped, more shocked than hurt.
The Fiend charged on all fours, horn lowered like a battering ram.
Dorian braced. Will flared around his arms and shoulders as he brought his sword down with far more strength than his body should have been able to muster.
Obsidian-steel met horn.
The impact rang like a bell.
With a wrenching twist, Dorian redirected the charge to his left.
Momentum betrayed the Fiend. Its horn buried itself deep in the asphalt.
Dorian didn’t hesitate.
Will surged into his legs as he closed the distance and severed the base of the tail in one decisive slash.
The axe heads clattered uselessly to the ground.
Pain ripped through him in response. His nose and eyes bled freely, lungs burning as the strain of overusing his Will caught up all at once.
The Fiend tore itself free from the street and staggered back.
It hesitated.
It was afraid.
Dorian roared, beating his chest like a madman, whether to challenge the Fiend or just release the pressure boiling inside him even he didn’t know.
Think. Fast.
If he pushed his Will again, it might kill him. But there was no retreat. No recovery.
This was it.
All or nothing.
He sprinted toward one of the fallen axe heads and seized it.
The Fiend charged horn-first, then feinted mid-stride, claws slashing instead.
The blow tore deep gashes across Dorian’s chest, hot pain blooming as flesh parted.
He ignored it.
Dorian drove his sword fully into the wound he’d opened earlier and slammed his Will-infused palm against the hilt.
The blade vanished inside the Fiend’s body.
With the axe head in his other hand, he surged upward and uppercut the creature with its own weapon.
The impact rattled its skull, cracking chitin and horn alike.
They staggered together, bleeding and broken.
But the Fiend fell first.
It fell like a toppled statue, breaking apart as it disintegrated.
The Remnant it left behind was wrong.
Twice the size of the others. Brighter. It hummed rather than pulsed, a low vibration that made Dorian’s teeth ache.
He collapsed to his knees, blood pouring freely from his chest, nose, and mouth. Vision dimming, he crawled forward and cradled the Remnant like it was something fragile.
Warmth flooded him.
Wounds sealed. Torn flesh knit together. Exhaustion lifted in a rush so intense that it almost made him gasp.
It felt five times stronger than a normal Starspawn’s Remnant.
He realized that it wasn’t just his strength and resilience that got improved.
His coordination sharpened. His control became granular. He felt every inch of his body, every shift of balance, like a machine suddenly aware of every gear and bearing.
He could stop on a dime. Adjust midair. Move with precision he’d never imagined.
More than just gained power, he felt like he made an evolutionary step forward.
The sensation faded, leaving him upright, but not whole.
Exhaustion lingered beneath the surface. Deep exhaustion. The kind no Remnant could erase. His Will had been overdrawn, and his body demanded payment.
His eyelids drooped as he swayed on his feet.
Then he forced them open.
He straightened, spine locking into place through sheer defiance.
What are you doing, Dorian?
His own voice snarled in his skull.
Tired? People are dying. You have the power to save them, and you’re going to waste it sleeping off your weakness? Stand. Fight. Every moment you hesitate costs lives.
He listened.
He believed it.
The exhaustion peeled away like mist, replaced by grim focus. He gathered the remains he’d scavenged from the car and started running again.
“Running” was relative. The equivalent of eleven Remnants burned through his veins; his slow jog was as fast as his old sprint. In his delirium he barely noticed.
