The tunnel stretches before them like the throat of something ancient—wet, narrow, suffocating. Dave is the first to emerge, jaw tight, fists clenched, ready to break whatever dares to meet him on the other side.
Heinz follows close behind. Silent. Steady. A shadow in motion, moving like he's always belonged to this kind of night.
The air outside presses against their skin, thick with something wrong, something unseen but heavy, like a breath held too long. Dave feels it before he understands it. That quiet tension in the bones, the kind that always comes before a storm.
And then—he hears it.
A roar tearing through the dark, low and violent. Followed by the crack of something massive breaking apart in the distance. Something's coming.
Something huge.
Something that smells like death.
Without thinking, Dave draws his sword, the blade whispering free with that familiar metallic hiss. The steel catches what little light there is, glinting sharp and unforgiving.
Heinz steps up beside him, calm, unreadable, his dark eyes reflecting nothing but the abyss ahead.
"They were waiting for us," Heinz murmurs.
Dave smirks, but there's no real humor in it.
"Guess I'm popular."
But the joke turns to ash on his tongue the second they see them.
Crawling from the rubble—between fractured buildings and deep wounds in the earth—the demons rise. Creatures stitched from rot and shadow, their burning eyes like coals sinking deep into the black.
Long limbs. Twisted spines. Claws dragging through the dirt with that teeth-grinding scrape.
And they're not alone.
More follow. Dozens. Maybe more, filling the broken streets like a slow, deliberate tide. Encircling them. Caging them.
Dave rolls his shoulders, spins the sword once in his palm like he's bored. But his heart's hammering now—not from fear, but something else.
Something sharp.
Something alive.
"Hope these bastards are better company than the last ones," he mutters.
But Heinz doesn't answer. Not yet. His gaze is fixed on the creatures, distant, like he's watching something only he can see.
Then one of the demons speaks—a guttural snarl that sounds like bones breaking underwater:
"Come with us, Dave. The Master is waiting."
Dave's breath stutters for a second.
Axel.
Of course it's Axel. Who else would send nightmares dressed in flame and rot?
Something cold opens in his chest. That familiar ache. That familiar fury swallowing everything else. Another world, another version of his brother trying to tear him apart.
Let him try.
"You see it now?" Heinz's voice is low, almost gentle. "They're not here to kill you. They're here to take you."
Dave spits on the ground, fists tightening around the leather-wrapped hilt.
"Let's see how that works out for them."
And then they move.
The demons come all at once, a blur of claws and screaming, teeth flashing in the dark.
But Dave is faster.
Steel sings through shadow. Flesh gives way. Bones shatter. The world narrows to nothing but movement and violence, sparks flying off every strike, every breath burning like fire in his lungs. But no matter how many he cuts down—they keep coming.
And then—something changes.
Heinz steps forward. Calm. Measured. Dangerous.
With a sharp snap of his fingers, the world stops.
The air turns heavy, vibrating like the strings of some invisible instrument stretched too far. Dave can feel it on his skin—a pressure, a hum, like standing too close to a storm that hasn't broken yet.
Something detonates from Heinz—not light, not noise, just power. A dark pulse, a ripple of something ancient, spilling into the broken streets.
The demons falter. Waver.
And then—they kneel. One by one. Their glowing eyes flicker, sputter, and die. Bodies trembling. Limbs collapsing under a weight they can't fight.
Dave stares, breathing hard, frozen mid-strike. Watching as the impossible happens.
Heinz walks forward through the circle of kneeling monsters, like royalty moving through a ruined court. His voice is soft now. Intimate. Deadly.
"Tell your Master… he can't have him."
The darkness rises like smoke, curling around the demons, swallowing them whole. Gone. No screams. No fight. Just… nothing.
And then it's just them.
Dave, sword still raised. Heinz, standing in the center of the empty street, that strange energy still humming faintly around him.
The wind catches his dark hair, lifting it gently like fingers running through it. He looks… untouchable. Beautiful. Dangerous.
Dave exhales slowly. His voice rough, stripped bare:
"How long… have you been able to do that?"
Heinz doesn't look at him at first. He stares into the dark, like maybe he's afraid of his own answer.
"Apparently… just now."
Dave watches him, eyes tracing the sharp angles of his face, the tension in his shoulders, the fragile edge beneath all that power. And for a second, he doesn't know whether to step closer or turn around and run.
He lets out a laugh instead. Quiet. Bitter.
"I'm gonna need a drink after this."
But beneath the humor, something burns low in his chest.
Something about Heinz is different now.
Stronger. Wilder. Dangerous in a way that feels like it's pulling him closer by the bones.
And the worst part?
He doesn't want to look away.