Shrikecoil continued devouring the corpses of the fallen soldiers, brought to him by his loyal followers, growing larger and stronger with every bite. His form had long ceased to resemble a human's—his hands dragged along the ground, massive and clawed, his wings thickened and expanded. As he turned toward Seraphine and Mordane's team, his face came into view. Horror struck them all. He had no nose, five uneven, predatory eyes, and a gaping maw filled with jagged teeth. He ground the bodies with that monstrous mouth and swallowed them without pause. Even Seraphine's usually composed gaze faltered.
"That son of a bitch is eating my soldiers," Mordane growled, anger and disbelief mingling in his voice. He forced himself to focus, raising his gun while lying prone, and fired relentlessly at Shrikecoil's giant form. Each bullet clanged harmlessly off his crimson flesh.
Shrikecoil ignored Mordane entirely, consumed by his grotesque feast.
"Why are you just standing there?" Stroud shouted at Seraphine. "He's getting bigger by the second! This is your chance to strike!"
Seraphine snapped out of her trance and charged her massive orb. But Shrikecoil had already finished feeding. He launched into motion, running in a jagged zigzag across the ground, each step sending violent tremors ripping through the earth. Despite his enormous size, his speed had not diminished—if anything, he seemed faster.
Seraphine fired her beam like a concentrated laser, slicing through the ground behind him. In retaliation, spikes, spears, drill heads, and chains erupted from his body, raining destruction toward Seraphine and Mordane's team. She split her orbs—two to continue attacking Shrikecoil directly, three to intercept and annihilate the incoming projectiles.
As Shrikecoil advanced, the tremors reached deep into the base. Inside the Engineering Control room, the engineers struggled to maintain focus on the spare communications device. Calder, losing all patience, slammed his fists on the console.
"Fuck all of this!" he roared. He flung open the locked-down door and stormed outside with his gun in hand. Attempts to stop him failed.
Veera glanced at one of the engineers. "What's happening? I thought he was the calm-headed guy here."
"He is… usually," the engineer replied, "but disturb him while he's working, and there's no stopping his rage."
Veera added, concern in her voice, "Shouldn't we go after him? There might be enemies outside."
The engineer shook his head. "No use. When he's like this, there's no stopping him. If enemies are outside, they better start praying that they don't encounter the Lieutenant in his rage mode."
They fixed the cameras and lights outside the control room and re-entered it and locked it back down. Calder, seeing the smoke and shadows, muttered under his breath, "I can't wait around. Someone's got to clear the path."
Calder moved silently through the pitch-black hallway, reaching the weapons storage. Night-vision headset in place, he gathered guns, grenades, flashlights, and an RPG. Slowly, methodically, he advanced toward the base's exit. Shrikecoil's followers guarded the way. They saw movement in the dark and opened fire—but bullets missed as if fate itself guided Calder's steps.
From cover, Calder returned fire. Each shot found its mark. One by one, the followers fell, blood painting the dark corridor. When the last one was down, he lobbed a grenade to ensure no surprises remained. The explosion shredded the bodies, smoke curling into the hallway like a sinister fog. Calder muttered to himself, "Can't take chances."
Through the haze, Calder moved forward, following the shafts of light streaming through the broken entrance. The sounds of Shrikecoil and Seraphine's battle reached him, mingled with the acrid smell of blood, smoke, and gunpowder.
As he approached, he took off the night vision headset, the scene that awaited him was worse than any nightmare. The pool before him was a maelstrom of death—severed fingers, chunks of flesh, locks of hair, teeth, eyes, toes, bones, intestines, all floating in a crimson river that reflected the chaos above. Calder's breath hitched.
Calder crouched behind cover, his night-vision headset glowing faintly as he tracked the battle unfolding before him. Shrikecoil tore across the battlefield in a frenzy, dodging Seraphine's golden beams with monstrous speed while unleashing storms of weapons—spikes, drills, chains—that rained down like an iron tempest. Seraphine fought to contain him, her orbs flashing through the air, intercepting attacks and striking back in bursts of searing light.
But Shrikecoil was relentless. His movements grew faster, sharper, like a storm tightening around its eye. For the first time, Seraphine's calm expression cracked.
"Take your people and get inside your base," she called to Mordane, voice sharp with strain. "I can't keep protecting you three."
"We can't even move," Morren groaned. "That thing nearly tore us apart inside the base."
Seraphine hesitated for only a second before shifting her strategy. She summoned one orb to attack, three to shield them. The fifth floated toward her, and with a soft touch, its golden glow shimmered into a soothing light-blue.
"This one will heal you," she said firmly. "Once you can move, I'll cover your retreat. Head straight for the entrance when I give the signal."
Mordane, Morren, and Stroud nodded, trusting her word. The blue orb hovered over them, bathing their battered bodies in radiance. Wounds knit shut, fractured bones steadied, pain dulled to a distant ache. While it worked, Seraphine pressed forward, fighting with surgical precision—attacking Shrikecoil when he faltered, shielding the soldiers when his projectiles rained down.
For ten grueling minutes the battle raged. Each missed beam left the air sizzling with heat, warping the space where it passed. Slowly, the healing light restored Mordane's team.
Morren flexed his arm, astonished. "It's like magic," he whispered.
"Not the time to marvel," Stroud barked. "Move—we've got to let her fight properly."
Together, they stood.
"We're ready," Mordane called.
Seraphine touched the blue orb, and it flared back to gold, joining the others in orbit. Without turning her gaze from Shrikecoil, she ordered, "Stay close behind me. When I give the word—run."
Step by step, she guided them toward the shattered entrance, obliterating every projectile that threatened their path. Above them, Shrikecoil spread his grotesque wings and launched into the air, his enormous body a dark blot against the battlefield. His attacks came faster, sharper, raining down from above.
Halfway across, Morren's eyes fell on Voss's broken body lying in the dirt. His heart clenched. He couldn't let him be devoured.
"Voss…"
Before anyone could stop him, Morren broke formation, sprinting toward the corpse.
"Corporal Morren! What are you doing?!" Mordane roared.
The moment's distraction was enough. Seraphine's focus shattered, and a barrage of Shrikecoil's projectiles pierced through her defenses, slamming into her.
Shrikecoil spotted his chance. With a guttural roar, he dove, massive wings cutting the air as he hurtled toward Morren like a predator closing on prey. Mordane and Stroud raised their weapons in desperation, but their guns clicked empty. Seraphine, still pinned, couldn't react in time.
Calder saw everything. His jaw tightened, muscles coiled. He hoisted the RPG onto his shoulder, sighted Shrikecoil's descending form, and pulled the trigger.
The rocket screamed through the air.
A split second later—impact.
The explosion tore into Shrikecoil's head, blasting him from the sky. He hit the ground with a thunderous crash, shockwaves rippling outward. The earth groaned. Dust and debris swirled.
Mordane and Stroud rushed to drag Morren back, Voss's body in tow. Together, they stumbled toward the base as Calder emerged from the haze, moving with careful, deliberate steps.
Shrikecoil stirred. Slowly, impossibly, he rose. The blast had torn half his face away, leaving it a grotesque ruin of bone and sinew. Yet before their horrified eyes, it began to knit back together, reshaping, reforming.
Pinned beneath weapons that writhed like living chains, Seraphine clenched her teeth. Her orbs shimmered, then converged, melting through every projectile binding her. With a fierce motion, she shattered free, her breath ragged but her eyes burning with holy fire.
"Humans," she muttered, voice dripping with exasperation. "Always causing so much trouble."
Her gaze snapped to Shrikecoil. Cold, resolute.
"I've toyed with you long enough."
The five orbs soared skyward, glowing like miniature suns. They spun outward in perfect formation, carving a vast circle of light above Shrikecoil. Seraphine rose with them, wings flaring wide, her golden hair whipping in the divine wind.
Shrikecoil bellowed, searching for her—only to realize too late. The orbs locked into place, each firing a beam of radiant energy, connecting into a flawless circle of light. Seraphine hovered in its center, radiant and terrible.
"It is time to face the judgment."
The sky itself ignited.
A colossal beam descended, wide as the circle itself, engulfing Shrikecoil. His roar turned into a scream as his flesh melted, weapons dissolving into nothing. His monstrous form thrashed, then collapsed, consumed entirely in divine light.
For three eternal seconds, the battlefield burned with heaven's wrath.
And then—silence.
The light vanished, leaving no trace. Not even ash. The earth beneath remained untouched, as though the judgment beam chose only its target. Shrikecoil was gone.
High above, Seraphine floated in serene stillness, her five orbs returning to orbit her once more. Wings spread wide, golden hair streaming in the wind, her golden eyes gazed down at the place where Shrikecoil had stood.