I gathered all the blood.
Every droplet in reach — from the shattered cathedral walls, from the corpses littering the ground, from the puddles that had soaked into the dirt — came crawling toward me like a crimson tide.
The air grew thick with it, humming as the liquid writhed under my will.
Then, slowly, painfully, I began to rebuild myself.
The process wasn't fast. It wasn't elegant. It was grotesque.
But it worked.
I was probably the only person in existence who could have done something like this — to rebuild a body with nothing but blood and knowledge. My unique vision let me see through flesh, through skin, into the inner workings of the human body — the veins, the bones, the pulsing heart of it all.
So I started from the foundation.
First, the veins and arteries. I wove them together strand by strand, shaping them from liquid and hardening them until they pulsed faintly with a heartbeat that wasn't quite mine.
Then came the spine — my broken backbone.
I shaped a column of blood, compressed it until it turned dark and solid, and fused it to the fragments of bone that still clung together. The pain was indescribable. Every nerve screamed, every muscle twitched in revolt. But I couldn't stop.
Next, the organs.
I built what I could remember — the lungs, the liver, the stomach — hollow shapes first, then denser as I molded the blood into their texture. Every beat of my heart pushed them closer to reality, closer to life.
Finally, I stretched a final layer of hardened blood over everything, letting it cool into a smooth red sheen. Skin. Artificial, but functional.
I took a deep, ragged breath.
The air stung as it filled my half-formed lungs, but… it worked.
I looked inside myself with my ability — tracing each reconstructed part — and everything seemed to function. Barely, but it did.
"Thank God I took those anatomy classes back in school," I muttered, half laughing, half delirious.
The wound where my arm had been was still bleeding faintly, so I sealed it with what little blood I had left — a rough scab of hardened crimson. That was all I could manage.
I needed flesh and blood to heal further. But I couldn't move. Every twitch felt like lifting a mountain.
All I could do now was ration what remained — keep my makeshift organs pumping just enough to stay conscious — and wait. Wait for Beast to recover.
Of course, that entire plan relied on a very small, stupidly optimistic chance that Father Anderson or that thing — the faceless fallen devil — wouldn't come looking for me before then.
But I doubted Anderson was still alive.
I had to doubt it.
So I waited.
And in the dark silence of that ruined city, I muttered to myself, "God, I hate my birthday."
Yes. Today of all days — my birthday.
The worst day of my life.
A year ago, on this same cursed day, I'd entered my first nightmare. One year later, and here I was again — bleeding, broken, alone in another nightmare that felt all too real.
How time flies.
But reminiscing didn't matter. I didn't have the strength for sentiment. Every thought drained me, so I focused on breathing — one painful inhale at a time.
I don't know how long I waited. Time had no meaning there.
Eventually, I felt it — that faint pull in the depths of my soul-sea. Beast had recovered.
Relief washed through me like a fever breaking.
Using the blood I'd rationed, I healed just enough to sit up. Not much — not enough to be considered alive, honestly — but it was something.
When Beast appeared, his form solidifying beside me, I almost felt guilty. The creature looked… sad. His molten red eyes flicked over my body, lingering on the missing arm. He rubbed his face gently against my side, a low rumble escaping his throat.
"Hey, buddy," I said weakly. "I'm okay. Don't worry."
I raised what was left of my arm. "But if you don't mind… hunt some blood and flesh for me."
Beast nodded once and bounded off into the mist.
It wasn't long before he returned — dragging the severed heads of the creatures I'd slain earlier. He dropped them beside me with a heavy thud.
I didn't hesitate. I feasted on their flesh.
The taste was awful — bitter and metallic — but it worked. I could feel my body slowly knitting back together. My spine straightened, my stomach closed, my breathing evened out. The bleeding from my arm stopped entirely. It was a stump now. Permanent.
"Thanks a lot," I told Beast between ragged breaths. "But I still need more. Don't hunt something too strong, though."
I patted his head gently. His scales felt cool against my blood-soaked fingers.
Beast vanished into the fog again.
Time blurred. Minutes, maybe hours later, he returned — dragging two corpses. One of an awakened beast, the other an awakened demon. Both looked vaguely bull-like, though twisted — extra horns, too many teeth, muscle so dense it barely resembled flesh anymore. Their necks were torn open, and one skull had a neat, clean hole burned through it — Beast's work, no doubt.
"Thanks," I said again, quieter this time.
I ate, forcing the flesh down even as nausea clawed at my stomach. Each bite brought back strength. My wounds closed further, muscles regrew, tendons pulled tight beneath newly-formed skin.
Beast didn't stop there.
He left once more — and this time, it took longer.
When he came back, he was limping. Scratched, blood dripping from his side. But he was dragging something enormous — a grotesque fallen monster shaped like a giant pig. Its skin was pale gray, its mouth wide enough to swallow a man whole.
He dropped it beside me, panting.
I looked at him, frowning. "You're injured."
He snorted, as if to deny it, and tried to turn back into the mist.
I placed my hand on his snout. "No. Stay here."
For a moment, he froze — then settled down beside me, curling his bloody form protectively around where I lay.
I smiled faintly. "Good boy."
Then I turned to the carcass.
The flesh of the fallen was tough and foul — bitter with rotten skin— but it did the job. Slowly, the last of my wounds began to close. The pain dulled. My body, rebuilt from blood and stolen life, was whole again.
I stayed there for a long while, just breathing — just existing.
My head rested against Beast's scales. The air around us was quiet now, broken only by the distant groan of the dark tide hitting the walls.