Dante and Damien writhed upon the shattered ground, their bodies barely holding together.
Torn flesh split further with every movement, exposing muscle and ruptured organs that spilt from wounds too vast to contain them. Blood pooled beneath them, dark and unrelenting, as their forms struggled to remain intact.
Their regenerative abilities fought desperately to restore what had been lost.
But they were losing.
Each attempt to heal was met with something far more insidious. The flames clinging to their wounds were not ordinary—they lived, pulsing with a will of their own.
Instead of fading, they spread.
They burrowed deeper into flesh, devouring tissue faster than it could regenerate, turning recovery into a futile cycle of destruction. Every second, the damage compounded, overwhelming even the monstrous resilience of the Apostles.
