It was not a cell.
Cells had walls. Doors. Air. Time.
This place was something else.
Kelsey drifted in what felt like space but it wasn't. She could sense boundaries, somehow. Soft and shimmering, like the walls of a womb or a mausoleum made from starlight. She couldn't see her own body. Only glowing strands of violet mist, like veins, floating all around her. They pulsed then tightened and tightened.
Chains, she realized. I'm bound.
She tried to scream.
Nothing came out. Not even silence. Just the terrible absence of voice.
Then: a flicker.
A hooded figure, shrouded in grey stepped into view, as if emerging from the mist itself. She couldn't see a face. Only the glint of bone where skin might have been, and eyes like dying suns.
"You are not supposed to be awake," the voice said. It wasn't a whisper. It was a recollection, the echo of words spoken long ago.
Kelsey tried again to speak. Still nothing. But the figure turned toward her as if he heard her thoughts.
"She bound your voice to the outer shell. Clever. But not perfect."
The chains around her pulsed. Tightening and burning.
"She believes you are fully silenced. But you resist. That… makes you interesting."
Kelsey strained to form even a single coherent thought. But her mind was breaking, memory fragmenting like a cracked mirror.
"Who… are you?" she forced out, not in words, but a voice from will. Something ancient passed through her and carried her question forward.
The figure tilted its head.
"A stranger. A debt collector. A patient fisherman, if you prefer."
The mists darkened slightly. Cold crept into her soul. The chains shuddered from the mist.
"She does not know I am here," he said. "Even the Witch of Crossroads does not see everything."
Kelsey struggled again. Memories began to bleed back—Michael. Her name. Her voice. Her pain.
"Help… me." She forced out again.
"I could."
A long pause.
"But I won't."
The words landed like stone.
The hooded figure knelt beside her not physically, but in her perception and placed something cold and sharp into her hand. A key. It shimmered in blue fire, and as soon as it touched her, the mist around her hissed.
"She cannot be killed while she wears you. But if you make her hesitate… if you pull at the right moment…"
The key vanished into her.
"You will know when."
Kelsey wanted to scream again. But this time, it was not fear.
It was rage.
"You may yet reach the door," the figure said, beginning to fade. "If you do, knock three times. I will answer. But only once."
"Who are you really?" her soul asked again, louder this time. The chains tried to constrict but the figure was already gone.
Only a whisper remained.
"I am Thanatos. And I do not like debt."
Then: silence again.
But now something new.
Kelsey could remember her own name again. Could feel the chain flex rather than crush. Her soul, though battered, was no longer fully asleep.
She opened her eyes within the prison of her mind.
Somewhere far above, in a temple of black iron and bone, Hecate suddenly paused.
The Crown of Thorns tilted slightly.
And for the first time since her return she frowned.
"Wake up! They're almost here! Get up!"
Bahamut roared.
Mike's eyes snapped open. Hunter still lay unconscious, surrounded by bloody rags and gauze. Mike looked down at himself back in human form. Every muscle ached. Sharp pulses of pain echoed in his mind like hammer strikes.
He rushed to the window.
An army of demons in plated armor marched through the streets. At the rear, seated atop his smoldering horse, rode Bune. His three heads grinned in unison.
"Fucking hell," Mike muttered. "How are there more of them?"
He clenched his fists and focused, summoning his dragon form.
Only his hands and feet transformed claws and scaled flesh, but the rest of his body resisted. A searing pain stabbed through his skull, like his own mind was rejecting the change.
He turned back, dragging Hunter and the couch into the corner of the office. He barricaded him in with every piece of furniture he could grab. From outside, he saw demons sweeping through buildings. He sprinted into the main cubicle area and assessed his options: one stairwell, one elevator shaft.
He smashed the elevator doors inward with a single kick, jamming the lift out of reach, then sprinted to the stairwell.
Below, he heard the clank of metal boots on concrete.
A heavy door creaked closed above them the demons paused. One pointed upward. Swords raised, spears drawn.
When they reached the final landing, a half-transformed man stood bare-chested at the top of the stairs. Clawed feet dug into concrete. His voice thundered down:
"Come at me and I'll kill every fucking one of you!"
Mike lunged.
The first demon raised his spear, but in the tight quarters he couldn't maneuver it. The claws were a feint, Mike's foot ripped upward, disemboweling him in a shower of gore. The body crumpled backward down the stairs.
More followed. One by one.
The corridor became a meat grinder.
Demons came in lines, spears and blades flashing. Blood splattered across the stairwell. Joints snapped. Helmets crumpled. Mike tore through them with claw, tooth, and fury.
An hour passed.
Black blood dripped from every stair. Dismembered limbs and crushed torsos littered the walls. At the top of the stairwell, Mike stood naked, blood-soaked, trembling. Still guarding the door.
He turned to the window.
Demons filled the street below. Archers formed a long line. Bune remained seated atop his steed, unbothered. All three of his heads smiled at once.
Then came the order:
"Burn it down."
Flaming arrows struck the windows. Fires caught on cubicles and walls. Smoke churned upward. Alarms screamed. The sprinklers sputtered to life, but couldn't contain the blaze.
Mike ducked back into cover, eyes scanning the inferno. The building wouldn't hold long. He needed his power.
"How do I use fire breath?! How do I transform to my form in the trial?! Give me a fucking answer!"
He screamed the words in his mind.
Bahamut's voice thundered back.
"Insolence! I gave you my blood. I gave you the path. If you lack the wit to follow it, you deserve to die!"
Mike snarled.
"Fuck you! I passed your goddamn trial you giant lizard! I conquered that world alone! Now help me or I swear I'll burn your precious statue down myself!"
"LIZARD?!" Bahamut's rage trembled the very bones of Mike's skull.
"You dare insult the First Dragon? I gave you the answer already. Think, or die in disgrace."
"That's not an answer!" Mike screamed into the fire.
A pause. Then clarity.
"I can't eat demons," he whispered.
A beat.
"Then die a pathetic, useless fool who lost his wife to a witch."
The words struck like a warhammer. Mike's eyes flared not bright red this time, but deep crimson, nearly black. The heat in his blood exploded.
He sprinted into the stairwell, grabbing the nearest corpse.
And he bit.
Rancid flesh tore in his teeth. Diseased, decaying, foul but he swallowed.
One bite. Then another.
Then the pain stopped.
Scales began to spread up his arms.
The taste faded to numbness. The revulsion dulled.
Only the hunger remained.
And the power.
Mike saw flashes of memories from the trial. Endless battles. Countless kills. The way he rose in strength.
Kill. Consume. Dominate.
He devoured more clawing into demon corpses, rending and swallowing. Flames roared behind him. Growing closer to Hunters location.
His body began to change again as his mind filled with the intoxicating power from each kill he consumed.