Cameraman Never Dies

The monster didn't move. It merely shifted, like a mass of horrors deciding which way to ooze first. The stench was indescribable — like a soup made from sin, rotting onions, and gym socks.

Judge's stomach churned as if his guts were trying to file for independent citizenship. He tightened his grip on Golden Eagle, his fingers sweaty, trembling, every instinct screaming at him to run.

"Okay... big, ugly, smells like a cursed cheese shop — this is gonna be fun," he muttered, adjusting his stance.

The abomination took a step forward. Judge half-expected a shudder in the earth or a guttural growl. But none came. It moved in perfect silence — not graceful, not violent — just wrong. Trees snapped, bushes crumbled, all without a sound, and the air grew colder in its wake. Its nine eyes locked on him, blinking in a maddening, arrhythmic pattern. Unblinking. Hungry.

Judge fired first.

A double burst from Golden Eagle — crack-crack — ether rounds streaking through the air like miniature comets. They hit its shoulder. A hiss. A wet squelch. Then... laughter? A rattling, breathless cackle, like someone gargling gravel and broken dreams. The wounds regenerated, pus bubbling over like boiling slime in a cauldron of disease.

"Oh good! A regenerating monster! That's just what I ordered!" Judge shouted, diving left.

The monster lunged.

Its pincers stretched unnaturally, shifting its form midair into an arm and swinging like a jagged whip. Judge ducked and rolled, the claws slicing a tree clean in half behind him. The tree fell with a crunch — except even that was muffled, as if the creature consumed sound like it did air. The forest recoiled, but the silence grew thicker.

"Left! My lord!" Solarae warned, flickering into view beside him.

Judge spun, barely catching the rib-bent tendril dropping toward him like an executioner's axe. He kicked off a branch and jumped, flipping backward onto a ledge of crumbling stone.

"Hey, spirit boy, instead of commentary, how about some fire?!" Judge shouted.

Solarae raised both hands. Ether trembled. The very air warped, then burned — not like fire, but like purity made tangible. The monster screamed — or rather, gurgled violently — as its side caught the invisible blaze, skin flaking off like burnt bark.

Judge didn't hesitate. He launched from the ledge, twin pistols glowing gold, and poured a dozen shots into the charred wound. Each bullet pulsed, digging deeper, lighting it up from the inside like a furnace.

He emptied the mags as they disappeared into thin air, new ones just came into existence within the gun. The studio was versatile in many ways.

BOOM. The abomination shuddered. And Judge was a second too late, busy concentrating on the reload.

One of its massive claws slammed the earth. A shockwave burst outward, uprooting entire trees, launching rocks, and flinging Judge like a ragdoll. He hit the ground, rolled, skidded across gravel, and coughed blood into the moss.

"Okay... that sucked. That sucked hard," he wheezed, ribs screaming every time he breathed. His left shoulder throbbed — possibly dislocated — and his vision pulsed in and out.

Solarae was already over him, shielding him from the next swing.

"It's adapting. My flames do less with each burst."

"Great! So now it's ugly, smelly, regenerates, and gets smarter?! What next — does it knit?!"

The monster barreled forward like a freight train of nightmares. Its arms stretched, jaws split, claws seeking blood. Judge braced, then ran toward it.

Reckless? Maybe. But hesitation was death.

He jumped onto its arm and ran towards it while dodging the incoming attacks.

He jumped again to land on its back. The creature twisted beneath him like a carnival ride from hell. Judge held fast, unloaded a full mag into its spine. Ether rounds burst, melting into cartilage, spraying viscous filth across the canopy.

Click. Chapter provided via M|V|L@EMPYR.

Empty.

Judge swore and clicked free the empty mags, summoning two fresh magazines into place. It glowed briefly as it synced with his ether.

The monster screamed — more rage than pain — and bucked. Judge was thrown like a doll, slammed into a thick oak, and crumpled to the ground. Bones cracked. Blood poured.

His left arm refused to move. His leg burned. Possibly fractured. He tried to stand, collapsed, then used a tree to push himself upright. His lungs screamed in protest as he tried to breath.

Solarae let out a cry of warning. Another burn wave surged, slicing across the monster's face. One eye burst like a grape in a microwave. The beast reeled, stumbling.

Judge stood. Barely. He was trembling, half-blind from blood in his eye.

"Not dying here. Not dying in discount horror forest with an antique cheesecake."

He triggered his studio. "C'mon, one final push."

Ether glyphs pulsed in the air. A catalyst appeared: a high-density ether grenade.

His emergency gift to himself. Something his years of artifact study made.

Looking over to the looming beast, he activated it and counted the time.

Ten seconds.

The beast roared.

Judge ran.

Six seconds. He slid under its claw, dove between its legs, and jammed the grenade into its pulsing chest cavity.

Three seconds.

He ran. Faster. Branches clawed at his face. Blood in his eyes.

Two.

Solarae floated behind him, weaving a dome of burning ether.

One.

BOOOOM.

The forest became daylight.

Ether exploded outward like a newborn sun. Trees vaporized. The ground cracked open. Leaves turned to cinders mid-air. The monster's chest erupted into a shower of molten bile and ash.

It staggered. Twitched. Its jaw fell open, letting loose a final breath that smelled like a tomb full of spoiled eggs.

Then it collapsed. A grotesque mountain of rot.

Judge lay in the epicenter of silence, blasted back by the explosion. Luckily, he didn't hit a tree. Everything was burning, glowing, smoking. His coat was scorched. His ribs screamed. His gun hand trembled.

"Did... did we win?" he asked, swaying.

Solarae hovered near, glowing faintly. "Yes. For now."

Judge tried to sit on the ground, but his body stopped. He gave up and just lay there, coughing, laughing weakly.

"Next time I say I'll be fine, slap me. Twice. And also remind me that going into the studio was a good idea to escape the blast."

The abomination twitched. Once. Then lay still.

And for now, the forest was quiet — except for the sound of Judge vomiting blood.

Because heroism is messy business.