The ash-streaked sky above the plateau shimmered like a bruise under an unyielding sun. Rivers of molten fire ran like veins through black stone, glowing orange and red, and the jagged spires cast shadows that flickered with each pulse of the Circle far to the north. Thomas moved cautiously across the obsidian terrain, claws scraping against blackened rock, molten veins pulsing with restrained energy.
"Keep your senses sharp," Liora hissed beside him, serpentine body coiling with effortless grace. "The Circle's reach is long. The terrain itself will betray the careless, but worse are the demons who embrace the sins that made them. Pride and wrath—watch for them. They kill with instinct sharpened to perfection."
Thomas nodded, flexing his claws. The first hunt had taught him to strike, survive, and control hunger, but this… this would test more than physical ability. It would test thought, observation, and instinct.
From the distance, movement caught his eye. Shadows coalesced along the jagged ridge ahead, forming shapes both familiar and horrifying. A pair of demons emerged from the haze, bodies armored in blackened plates, veins of molten red threading across skin like rivers of blood. Their forms radiated raw power, and the air shimmered with their presence.
Pride first. The taller of the two strode forward with unnatural confidence, head held high, horns curving upward like crowns. Each step was measured, deliberate, as though the ground existed solely to support him. His eyes, molten and unyielding, scanned the plateau as if assessing dominion over all who dwelled there. Behind him followed wrath—a twisted mass of muscle and jagged obsidian, molten energy erupting with every breath, fists clenching and unclenching in constant anticipation of violence.
Thomas's pulse quickened. "We face them?" he asked, voice rough and alien, molten veins flaring faintly.
"Yes," Liora hissed. "Observe first. Fight only if necessary. Pride kills with precision; wrath kills with rage. Together, they are lethal. Survival demands strategy, not brute strength alone."
Eddric's long arms flexed as he crouched low. "Watch their patterns. Pride moves predictably; wrath reacts. Use their instincts against them. Strike when hesitation flickers in their minds."
The pair approached, eyes locking onto Thomas, Liora, and Eddric. Pride's gaze lingered, assessing, measuring, almost smug in its superiority. Wrath's glare was pure hunger, coiling around instinct and violence.
Thomas swallowed, molten veins brightening. He had to act carefully. Hesitation meant death. But reckless strikes might be worse. He watched as Pride's chest expanded in slow, rhythmic motion, every movement deliberate. Wrath's limbs flexed, ready to explode.
A crack of obsidian underfoot betrayed Thomas's position. Wrath reacted instantly, lunging forward with a roar that shook the plateau. Thomas dove sideways, claws sinking into jagged rock, molten veins flaring with instinctive energy. The air hissed as Wrath's fist smashed into the obsidian spire, sending shards flying.
"Focus!" Liora hissed. Her coils struck Wrath's side, constricting, restraining just enough to slow the beast without drawing full attention. Thomas slashed, claws sinking into molten flesh, veins flaring bright. Pride stepped forward, slow and deliberate, molten horns scraping the air as he advanced with judgmental precision.
Thomas hesitated. Pride's confidence was disorienting, commanding, almost mocking. He realized with a jolt: Pride was testing him, assessing his instinct as much as his strength. Any mistake, any hesitation, would be exploited.
"Move unpredictably," Eddric hissed. "Force them to react. Pride hates uncertainty. Wrath loves it… but can be baited."
Thomas took a deep breath, forcing the instincts to guide him, letting fragments of humanity shape strategy. He feigned hesitation, then struck at Wrath with a calculated motion, drawing the beast forward. Liora adjusted instantly, constricting and redirecting the force. Wrath's momentum carried him past Thomas, creating an opening.
Thomas turned, claws slicing through Pride's side, molten veins burning bright. Pride hissed, recoiling slightly, surprised by the unexpected strike. The balance of power shifted, just for an instant.
"Good," Liora hissed. "Now maintain it. Never let them dictate the battle. Force them to react to you, not the other way around."
The fight became a dance of instinct, strategy, and power. Wrath lunged again, horns flaring, claws striking, and Thomas dodged, leapt, and countered, each movement precise and measured. Pride attempted to dominate with presence and psychological pressure, testing Thomas's reaction. Every strike, every step, every motion required instinct tempered by observation.
Molten veins pulsed brighter with each heartbeat. Thomas could feel the Circle's energy responding, almost acknowledging his ability to survive, to adapt, to manipulate instinct and observation into control. For the first time since the fall, he felt a measure of confidence. Not victory, not safety—but control.
Finally, Pride recoiled, caught off guard by a coordinated strike from Thomas and Liora. Wrath hesitated, momentum disrupted, allowing Thomas to deliver a calculated blow, claws sinking deep into molten flesh. Both demons stumbled, glancing at each other in confusion and frustration.
Thomas exhaled, molten energy dimming slightly. "We survive… and we learn," he muttered, voice rough but steady.
Liora coiled beside him, eyes glinting. "Good. Pride teaches patience, observation, and control. Wrath teaches timing and anticipation. Together, they teach survival. Remember this lesson. The Circle will continue testing you—always."
Eddric flexed long arms, examining the fallen pair. "Do not assume defeat is permanent. Pride and wrath adapt. They learn. And so must we. Strength alone is meaningless without instinct and strategy."
Thomas looked out across the hellscape, molten rivers reflecting the distant glow of the Circle of Runes. Each encounter, each lesson, brought new understanding, new danger, and new opportunity. He was no longer merely a survivor. He was learning to navigate this world, to anticipate, to strike, to endure.
The empty sky above remained indifferent, vast and bruised, a constant reminder that no aid would come. Only the plateau, the Circle, and the demons within it demanded attention—and survival.
Thomas flexed his claws again, molten veins pulsing brightly. The hunger, the instinct, the fragments of humanity—all danced in a careful balance. He understood the lesson now: instincts were weapons, but so was awareness. Brute strength alone could not save him. And in hell, where every step was a test, only mastery of both mind and body could allow him to endure.
"Tomorrow," Thomas said finally, voice rough and alien, "we learn more. The Circle does not forgive, the hellscape does not relent, and Malrik… waits. But I will survive. I will endure. I will learn."
Liora hissed softly, almost approvingly. "Good. That is the first true step toward survival, Thomas. The next lesson will demand more than strength or instinct. It will demand strategy, cunning, and sacrifice. Prepare yourself."
Thomas gazed toward the distant Circle, glowing faintly green in the molten haze. The lesson of instinct had been learned—but this was only the beginning. Hell demanded everything, and the Circle never forgave.