As the blinding light bled out of the sky, a figure continued to fall.
Straight down, cutting through the air with terrifying speed. The wind screamed around it, tearing sand upward as if the desert itself were trying to flee.
At first, it was only a silhouette, warped by heat and distance. Then the shape grew clearer, details snapping into place as it tore closer to the ground. Limbs stretched unnaturally long, joints bending at angles no human body should endure. Hands had become elongated metallic claws, fingers tapering into cruel, reflective blades that gleamed dully in the fading light.
Its eyes and ears were sewn shut with thick black thread, the stitches uneven and brutal, pulling skin tight until it warped. The bare torso and hairless head were a patchwork of mismatched skin tones, slabs of flesh sewn together like a grotesque quilt. Black threads crisscrossed its entire body, puckering the skin wherever they bit deep. Its mouth looked like it had been surgically widened, the edges pulled and stitched into a permanent, unnatural shape.
The only recognizable thing left was a piece of torn breeches clinging from knee to waist.
The same breeches Shane had been wearing.
The thing falling from the sky looked no longer like Shane, but an abomination.
As it plummeted, Shane's chest convulsed. Its sewn mouth began to open—not by will, but by force. Threads stretched, then snapped one by one with wet, tearing sounds. Black blood spilled freely as the jaw wrenched itself wider than anatomy allowed, revealing jagged, overcrowded teeth.
A roar erupted.
"RRRROOOAAARRR—!"
The roar tore across the desert like a physical force, rattling stone and sending loose sand dancing.
Inside the rock formation below, the sand wyrm answered.
Its massive body coiled, stone grinding against plated scales with a sound like mountains shifting. A deep, thunderous roar echoed back as an orange glow bloomed in its throat—hot, molten, alive.
Without warning, a torrent of fire exploded upward.
The flames rushed toward Shane like a living thing, twisting and roaring as they climbed. Heat washed over him in waves.
He didn't dodge or block. He simply slashes.
One elongated metallic claw tore through the inferno by accident rather than intent, splitting the fire as sheer force scattered the flames to either side. The remaining heat washed over his body, charring stitched flesh—but he did not react.
Pain meant nothing.
The wyrm struck back immediately. Its massive tail whipped out, thick as a siege tower, slamming into the creature midair.
The impact cracked like thunder.
Shane was hurled sideways and smashed into a cluster of jagged rocks. Stone shattered violently. Dust erupted. The body tore through rock and sand alike, carving a shallow crater before finally stopping.
For a heartbeat, everything went still.
Then Shane twitched.
Bones cracked back into place with sickening sounds. Black threads tightened, pulling torn flesh together where it should not have held. He pushed himself upright, movements jerky and wrong, like something learning how to use its body again.
His head snapped toward the wyrm.
No eyes moved beneath the stitches.
Yet he stared.
Another roar burst from its throat—louder, more broken, vibrating with nothing but rage and hunger. He lunged forward immediately, claws digging into stone as it charged, abandoning any sense of defense or awareness.
***
On the other side of the battlefield, at the center of the glassy crater, the sand bulged violently.
The party erupted from below in near-perfect sync.
Ulon burst out first, sand cascading off his shoulders as he landed with knees bent. His forearms were already turning metallic silver, veins glowing faintly as he tightened his grip on his mace. His fingers trembled slightly, numbed from holding the barrier too long.
"Ah—finally!" he barked. "I thought my hands were going to fossilize."
Maddy followed, rolling to one side and coming up with her dagger drawn. Her eyes were sharp despite the chaos, already scanning for threats.
"Less complaining," she snapped. "More surviving."
Shalotte stumbled slightly on landing, his staff striking the ground to steady himself. He nearly fell forward but caught himself at the last second.
"I'm fine!" he said quickly, even though no one had asked.
Kiel skidded to a stop beside him, bow already in hand, arrow nocked with nervous speed. "You don't look fine."
"I said I'm fine," Shalotte repeated, adjusting his robe.
Petra emerged last—and highest—launching herself upward with brutal force. She twisted midair and landed hard, scythe gleaming as its blade cut a shallow groove into the glassy sand.
They landed together, the timing so clean it almost looked practiced.
Almost.
The echo of the earlier explosion still lingered in the crater. As the dust settled, the remaining sand wyrm outside the nest turned its massive head toward them. Its throat began to glow orange.
Kiel looked up, eyes widening.
"Oh no."
Ulon followed his gaze. "Yep. That's very bad."
Maddy spun in place, searching the dunes. "Where is Klaus?!"
As if answering her, a sharp crack split the air.
A bullet slammed into the wyrm's head.
The beast barely reacted, its thick scales absorbing the impact.
Another shot rang out, striking closer to the eye ridge. The wyrm finally turned its head, gaze shifting toward a distant rise.
Then a third bullet punched into its skull.
It did nothing. At most, it only annoyed the sand wyrm.
The wyrm snapped.
With a furious roar, it abandoned the party and charged toward Klaus's position. Its massive limbs clawed into the sand so hard that the ground exploded beneath each step instead of flowing.
The party exhaled almost as one.
"There he goes," Ulon muttered. "At least he did something useful for once. Other than slouching."
Petra didn't spare the retreating wyrm a glance.
She was already staring at the moving sand mounds circling the crater—four of them, shifting with predatory intent.
"Don't get in my way," she said flatly.
Then she charged.
Her scythe dragged along the sand for half a second before she lifted it, sparks flying as the blade struck buried stone. She slammed forward, raw aggression in every step.
Ulon shook his head. "I hate overly confident women."
He pointed to the leftmost sand mound. "Kiel. Left one. Follow my lead, and try not to die."
"Hey!" Kiel protested, already moving. "I only almost die!"
Maddy grabbed Shalotte's sleeve. "You're with me. And don't trip."
"I don't trip," Shalotte said.
He immediately stumbled over uneven sand.
Maddy sighed. "You trip responsibly."
The battlefield fractured into motion.
***
Klaus lay prone on a distant ridge, the desert wind whipping past him. He calmly dismissed his rifle, letting it dissolve into light, then pushed himself to his feet.
"Come on," he murmured. "Come and play with me, serpent."
He reached into his storage ring.
The Devil's Arm emerged.
Two revolvers hovered in the air before snapping into his hands. They were wrong in every way—formed from elongated fingers instead of steel. The index finger stretched longer than the middle, forming the barrel. The thumb, shortened and thickened, resembled an oversized hammer. The ring and pinky curled together, shaping a grotesque grip.
Mana pulsed faintly along the seams, humming with restrained power.
Klaus raised the weapon, eyes locked on the charging wyrm.
"Mana ammunition," he muttered. "Two hundred per round."
He smiled thinly.
"Let's see if you're worth the cost."
"Time to test this bad boy."