Phased out

The battlefield was unrecognizable. 

Torn flesh, shattered bone, spilled intestines— a grotesque, bloody mural of absolute violence.

The air was thick, suffocating, putrid. 

It wasn't just the smell of death. It was worse. 

Like a thousand rotting corpses, all decomposing at once, filling the space with an unbearable stench that clung to their lungs like poison.

Karlos' stomach churned. 

Ethan coughed, covering his nose, trying not to gag. 

And then—the final blow. Gravibus, bleeding profusely, face torn, brain exposed, skull shattered—

With one last act of monstrous strength—

It ripped Unguibus apart. 

Tore it in half. 

The wet, sickening sound of muscle splitting. 

The sharp, snapping of bones breaking in two. 

The thick, sloshing of internal organs spilling onto the ground.

Unguibus was dead. 

Its insides lay scattered like a butcher's leftovers, its twisted body split into two grotesque, unrecognizable pieces.

But Gravibus? 

It was still alive. Barely. 

It swayed on its feet, trembling, body shaking, its open wounds leaking an endless stream of thick, dark blood. But it wasn't dead. 

Not yet. 

It was dying—slowly. 

Karlos' breath was unsteady. 

He snapped out of the daze, his focus shifting back to the broken fang. 

It was still there. 

Coated in thick saliva, drenched in grime. 

It was disgusting. 

The thought of touching it made his skin crawl. 

His fingers twitched. 

He hesitated. 

He felt gross. 

He didn't want to touch it. 

But he had no choice. With a frustrated sigh, he reached for the hem of his T-shirt— And pulled it off. 

Underneath, his black tank top clung to his athletic frame, revealing his toned, defined physique.

Not overly bulky. 

Not thin. 

Just the perfect, powerful build of a trained athlete. 

Without wasting time, he wrapped his T-shirt around the fang, wiping off the thick, slimy residue that coated it.

Even through the fabric, it felt warm, wet, disgusting. 

But he didn't stop. 

Once it was clean enough, he grabbed it. 

His fingers curled tightly around the jagged, broken bone. 

It was heavy. Dense. 

And sharp enough to tear through flesh. 

He gripped it like a sword. 

His first real weapon. 

And soon—

He would use it. 

The sound of ragged, uneven breathing filled the air.

Gravibus whimpered, a sound that didn't belong to a beast—

But to something suffering.

Something dying. 

Its massive, broken body twitched, its exposed intestines lying in a pool of blackened, steaming blood. 

The once unstoppable war machine was nothing more than a bleeding husk, barely clinging to life.

But Karlos didn't move immediately. 

He just stood there, gripping the broken fang like a blade—watching. 

And hesitating. 

Karlos' heart pounded against his ribs. 

This should have been the easiest part. 

Gravibus was dying. Helpless. 

All he had to do was walk forward and end it. 

But his instincts screamed at him. 

Something wasn't right. 

"What if… What if it's waiting for me?"

"What if this is just a trap?"

"What if the second I get close, it'll lash out and tear me in two?"

"What if I die here?"

"What if this whole fight was just its way of luring me in for the final kill?"

His fingers tightened around the weapon. 

His breath felt heavy, thick with doubt. 

This wasn't just an animal. 

These creatures weren't wild. 

They weren't just mindless monsters. 

They were smart. 

Cunning. 

And this one? 

It was still breathing. 

It could still move. 

And yet— It just laid there. 

Suffering. 

Bleeding. 

Dying. 

Karlos' mind was racing. 

But there was no more time to hesitate. 

The stench was unbearable, searing into his skull like a thousand rotting corpses piled into one room. His lungs burned. His stomach twisted. 

He had to end this.

Now. 

So— He stepped forward. 

One step. 

Then another. 

Gravibus didn't move. Karlos raised the jagged fang high above his head— And with one final breath—

He brought it down. 

SHHK. 

The blade sank deep into Gravibus' skull. 

The massive beast twitched once. 

Then— It stopped. 

No breath. 

No sound. 

Just silence. 

And then—

It was dead. 

Karlos staggered back, breath heavy, hands still gripping the bloody fang. 

Gravibus was dead. 

Unguibus was in pieces. 

And the battlefield? 

A complete mess of gore, shattered bone, and rotting flesh. 

The stench was still unbearable, thick like a poisonous fog hanging in the air. 

Karlos let out a slow, shaky breath. 

It worked. 

The plan actually worked. 

But as he looked at the carnage they created, he felt something else claw at his mind. 

Disgust. 

Not just at the monsters. 

Not just at the blood, the mess, the pain. 

But at the reality of what they had to do to survive. 

And as that feeling settled deep inside him— The memory of how it all started flooded back. 

(Flashback: The Planning Phase)

Karlos sat on the wooden floor of the cabin, eyes locked onto Ethan.

The room was dim, lit only by the weak flickering of the overhead lights.

Their breathing was the only sound filling the silence. 

Then Karlos spoke. 

Karlos: "Unguibus attacks everything that moves."

His voice was calm but sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. 

Karlos: "That's the first clue we have." 

Ethan listened intently, his fingers gripping his own knees, already sensing where this was going.

Karlos: "And Gravibus? It's the guardian of the exit. That's obvious."

He paused, tapping a finger against his knee.

Karlos: "If you connect the dots properly… this is a puzzle."

Ethan's brow furrowed. 

Karlos: "Whoever designed this—whoever put us here—knows a normal human can't fight them."

Karlos' voice grew darker.

Karlos: "They want us to figure it out. They want us to connect the pieces."

Ethan swallowed.

He already knew what was coming next. 

Karlos leaned forward.

Karlos: "I think Unguibus is strong enough to kill Gravibus."

Ethan's breath hitched. 

Karlos: "Or at the very least, injure it so badly that we can land the final blow." 

Ethan: "But how do we make them fight? What if they're not hostile to each other?" 

Karlos smirked.

Karlos: "You're right. But the rule says Unguibus attacks anything that moves."

He let that statement linger in the air. 

Ethan's still confused waits for Karlos to elaborate further. 

Karlos: "If that's true, then it should attack anything—even Gravibus. That rule contradicts the idea that they'd ignore each other."

Karlos exhaled slowly.

Karlos: "Which means… it has to work."* 

Ethan: "And if it doesn't?" Karlos hesitated. 

Because he didn't know. 

Because if it didn't work… they were dead. 

Ethan stared at him for a moment before asking— 

Ethan: "How are we going to lure Unguibus to Gravibus?" 

But then— 

He realized. 

His eyes widened. 

His body froze. 

Ethan: "…Wait."

His voice dropped to a whisper, shaking slightly.

Ethan: "Are you gonna use me… as bait?"

Karlos nodded. 

A slight hesitation in his movement.

Karlos: "You've already survived Unguibus once." 

Ethan's body stiffened.

Karlos: "You know its speed, its attack patterns. You've seen how it moves."

Karlos: "Which makes you far more suited for this role than me." 

Ethan's jaw clenched. 

His breathing became uneven.

Ethan: "I survived once… that doesn't mean I'll survive twice."

His hands shook. 

The weight of the plan crushing down on him. 

But then— Karlos' voice softened. 

Reassuring.

Unshaken. 

Karlos: "…I trust you, Ethan." 

Ethan's breath hitched. Karlos: 

"You won't fail us."

Silence. 

Ethan stared at him. 

And then— 

Slowly, reluctantly— He nodded. 

And the plan was set. 

(Back to Present)

Karlos stood atop Gravibus' corpse, staring down at the grotesque, blood-soaked battlefield. 

His fingers felt numb. 

His breathing was uneven. And for the first time since this nightmare began— He felt sick. 

Not from exhaustion. 

Not from fear. But from disgust. 

The stench of death was unbearable. Thick, putrid—a cocktail of rotting flesh, spilled organs, and something far worse. His stomach twisted. 

He had never seen anything like this in his life. 

Not in books. 

Not in movies. 

Not in his worst nightmares. 

And now that the fight was over—the adrenaline had drained from his system.

His normal self clicked back in. 

And all that was left… was pure, suffocating horror. 

His eyes slowly lifted from the mess and landed on Ethan. 

Ethan was sitting against the wall, his head tilted back, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. 

His eyes were hollow, unfocused—like his brain was still processing what had just happened. His hands were clutching his stomach. 

A deep, burning pain radiated from the spot where Unguibus had kicked him. 

The bleeding from his mouth had stopped a while ago, but the ache in his ribs felt like his insides were twisting and bruising with every breath. He didn't speak. 

Didn't even move. 

Just sat there, gripping his stomach, while his mind kept replaying the brutality they had just witnessed. Karlos, still standing on Gravibus' lifeless body, met 

Ethan's gaze. 

They locked eyes. 

And in that moment, they both realized— This was just the beginning. 

Neither of them spoke. 

Because there was nothing to say. 

Just the sound of their heavy breathing. 

The distant, eerie flickering of the overhead lights. 

And the suffocating weight of what they had just done.

Ethan didn't move. 

Not because he was too weak. 

Not because he didn't want to. 

But because he was scared. 

His thoughts spiraled, looping in his mind like a never-ending nightmare. 

"What if I move and the bleeding starts again?" 

"What if I stand up and something inside me shifts—" 

"My ribs, my organs—what if they're already damaged beyond repair?"

"What if I speak, and it causes everything to rupture inside me?" 

"What if I just… die?"

The fear paralyzed him. 

He stayed still, gripping his side, staring at nothing. 

But then— A voice snapped him out of his panic. 

Karlos had forgotten. 

Forgotten that Ethan had been injured. 

Forgotten that he had taken a brutal, full-force hit from an inhuman monster. 

The moment Karlos realized— 

His heart dropped. 

Without thinking, he rushed toward Ethan. 

His boots splashed through the blood-soaked ground, closing the distance between them in seconds.

Karlos: "Where does it hurt?" Ethan didn't answer. 

Didn't even try. 

He was too scared to move, too scared to speak. Instead, he lifted a weak, trembling hand— 

And pointed toward his left ribs. 

Karlos' eyes narrowed. 

He crouched down, scanning Ethan's body like a doctor assessing a patient. 

Karlos: "Is there any trouble breathing?" Ethan shook his head. 

Karlos: "Do you feel like more blood might come out? Not from movement—just on its 

own?"

Ethan focused on his body. 

He took slow, careful breaths, testing himself. 

Then, he shook his head again. 

Karlos exhaled in relief. 

Karlos: "I think it's just some minor blood vessel damage and a few cracked ribs."

He looked Ethan in the eye. 

Karlos: "Does it hurt too much to bear?"

Ethan swallowed before trying to speak. 

Ethan: "No… not too much… it just… burns."

Karlos nodded, his tone gentler now. 

Karlos: "Don't worry. You'll be good."

And with that, he offered his hand. 

Ethan hesitated—then took it. 

Karlos helped him up, careful not to put pressure on his ribs. 

Ethan winced, his body aching, but he could move. 

He was exhausted. He was in pain. 

But he could move. 

And for now—that was enough. 

They turned back toward Gravibus' lifeless corpse. 

The Key Book had to be here somewhere. 

They walked forward, stepping over blood, organs, shattered bones. 

Each step was slow, deliberate. 

But then— 

CREEEEAK. 

They both froze. 

A mechanical sound echoed through the room. 

Their heads snapped toward the source. 

And then—they saw it. 

A small cabin, its wooden door slowly creaking open. 

Revealing itself. 

Like it had been hidden in plain sight all along. 

Ethan and Karlos exchanged a glance. 

Because they both knew— Whatever was inside… 

would change everything.