The wall stretched endlessly in the dungeon. They looked for a turn—a detour—anything to escape the Shattered Angels chasing them down the corridor.
Wolfe fought to breathe. Normally, he wouldn’t have a problem. But this much running? His boots hammered against stone as he sprinted through the labyrinth.
Behind him, the Shattered Angels glided—drifting unnaturally, more like sliding on ice than running on stone.
They sang like hymns. Maybe a forgotten psalm.
“Shit—shit—shit—shit!”
Wolfe cursed between breaths. His lungs burned. His legs ached. But stopping meant death.
Laying down meant death.
So neither were options.
“How many?!” Mason yelled, his steps shaking the ground.
Wolfe turned back—making eye contact with one of them.
Did they have eyes? Souls?
He snapped his gaze forward, speeding up.
“Too many!”
“I told you we shouldn’t have taken that left,” Lucy’s voice rang behind them, high-pitched and frantic.
“Oh yeah, Lucy, now’s the time for a lecture—”
A screech cut through the air.
The nearest Shattered Angel twisted forward, elongated limbs lashing out.
“Down!” Mason bellowed.
Wolfe ducked on instinct.
A clawed hand ripped through the space where his head had just been.
Lucy screamed, stumbling. If it had gone for her instead—it would’ve ended her.
Mason swung his axe in a wide arc, slicing through the angel’s glasslike form.
It reeled.
Its arm shattered into dust—
But it didn’t die.
Lucy’s horror cracked through her voice.
“They—they’re not breaking!”
“No shit,” Wolfe snapped. “Just keep running!”
The corridor twisted again, swallowed by dark.
He didn’t know where they were going anymore.
Just away.
“We can’t keep this up!” Lucy shouted.
“You want to fight those things? Be my guest,” Wolfe fired back. “I’d rather—”
He let his guard down.
Just for a second.
Another screech.
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Another blur of motion—too fast to track.
This time, the blow landed.
A hammer slammed into Wolfe’s spine.
His body buckled. His feet lifted off the ground.
He slammed into the stone—hard—rolling onto his back with a choked gasp.
Pain.
Shock.
Vision flickered—then vanished.
When it returned, a creature loomed above him.
It raised an arm.
This is it.
This is how he dies.
Reckless. A child. But what else was he supposed to be?
In this world, you don’t get the life of a human—not as a halfling.
Mason moved faster than a bullet.
He intercepted the Shattered Angel’s hand—with his heart.
Blood burst from his chest, front and back.
He didn’t get a chance to breathe.
The Shattered Angel decapitated him.
Flinging Mason’s body aside like a broken toy.
His blood splattered across the cold stone.
His head rolled, stopping at Lucy’s feet.
She didn’t scream.
She couldn’t.
Her breath hitched. Her legs moved before her brain caught up.
She ran.
Faster than ever before.
Away from Wolfe.
Away from Mason.
Away from the nightmare.
The angels split—some chasing Lucy.
Others turned their hollow, eyeless masks toward Wolfe.
They crawled forward.
Click. Click.
Their limbs clicked like insects.
Wolfe barely noticed.
His eyes locked on Mason’s corpse.
The blood.
The stillness.
The wrongness.
It crushed Wolfe’s chest like a hand squeezing his heart.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t think.
Who sent them here?
Why were they here?
Just to die?
His stomach twisted.
His mind screamed.
It doesn’t make sense.
It does make sense.
A bunch of halflings.
A poor girl.
An orc.
A perfect group to throw away.
If the guild never came—they wouldn’t have to pay them.
Lightning cracked through the air.
But the storm didn’t come from the sky.
It came from him.
From his soul.
Sparks crawled up his arms.
His veins burned like candles—white-hot.
His body melted like wax.
He trembled with fury.
They had to die.
All of them.
There was no logic.
No hesitation.
Only truth.
Anything less would be an insult to the man who died for him.
Wolfe roared.
His voice was a beast set loose.
Electricity wrapped his body, gold-accented marks glowing along his skin.
He moved.
Past the one who killed Mason.
The first Shattered Angel lunged.
Its broken wings kicked up dust.
Wolfe jumped into the impact.
His feet barely touched stone.
He drove his fist forward—
Lightning exploded from his knuckles—
Shattering the creature’s mask.
The crack echoed through the dungeon.
It staggered like a puppet cut loose.
Wolfe grabbed its throat.
Slammed it into the ground.
The stone cratered beneath them.
His arm nearly dislocated from the force.
Another Angel screeched, claws flashing.
Wolfe spun—
Caught its wrist mid-strike.
Twist.
Snap.
The arm bent wrong, limp.
The angel didn’t scream.
Wolfe didn’t care.
He headbutted it—hard.
Porcelain cracked.
The mask split.
He tore the broken limb free.
Blood dust filled the air.
He shoved his hand into its chest—
The body convulsed—
Then turned to dust.
Three more rushed him.
They didn’t fear.
He didn’t either.
The first swiped—he ducked.
Grabbed its leg.
Spun.
Used its momentum to whip it into the second.
They crashed into a heap.
The third came from the side.
Its hand, sharpened like a blade, arced downward.
Wolfe caught it between his palms.
Voltage surged through him as he held the bone still.
The angel pushed, blade nearing his throat.
But Wolfe bared his teeth, twisted, snapped its wrist, flipped it into the air.
In one motion—
He jammed his fingers into its eyes.
Electricity flooded the skull.
No scream.
Only silence.
He turned to the two on the floor.
One was rising.
Wolfe grabbed its wing.
Ripped it off.
The creature howled.
He ripped the second wing.
It collapsed.
He crushed its skull beneath his boot.
The last angel hesitated.
Just for a second.
Too long.
Wolfe shot forward.
Grabbed its face.
Slammed it against the wall.
Again.
And again.
Cracks spread like spiderwebs—
CRUNCH.
Its head caved.
Dust.
And then—
The last one.
The one who killed Mason.
It didn’t run.
It should have.
Wolfe stepped forward.
He reached for Mason’s axe.
Fingers wrapped around the hilt.
He pulled.
It didn’t move.
He growled.
Muscles burned.
Vision faded.
But he refused to let go.
He grabbed his vision back.
Pulled it to him.
Rage and grief bleeding together.
The angel watched.
Silent.
No song.
No psalm.
No hymn.
Th
en—
A hand covered Wolfe’s.
A shadow behind him.
The weight lifted.
Not by his strength alone.
His body surged forward.
Together—
They swung.
The axe met flesh.
The Shattered Angel—
Turned to dust.
