Hells Escape: A Journey of Redemption

"I can take them on myself! You all stay back!" Joseph's voice thundered from the front of their camp and across the scorching desert, his silver armor catching the sun's glare as he raised his sword toward the approaching horde of beasts.

Then, without warning, his body crumpled to the sand. Violent convulsions wracked him, and a raw, tortured scream tore from his throat, like the cry of a trapped spirit.

"Fuck, I take it back!" he gasped, agony etched deep into every word as the searing pain of his shackle finally eased.

To Damien's right, Blythe buried her face in her palm, muttering under her breath, "Every time…"

Well, it wasn't hard to guess this fool's sin, Damien thought, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

Joseph pushed himself up, brushing sand off the long, black sleeves beneath his armor; his tone regained its sharp edge.

"Everyone, get ready."

The Hellbounds sprang into action. Damien tightened his grip on his dagger. The Grey Monk steadied his long spear, eyes calm and focused. Blythe's hand wrapped firmly around a shortsword, her blue eyes gleaming, and Jenna stood confidently holding the mimic's glowing orange katana.

The other three bland, forgettable Hellbound girls Damien hadn't bothered to learn names for yet summoned small daggers—mirroring Damien's own weapon, swift and precise.

Then James stepped forward beside Joseph. His messy brown hair hung in greasy strands over ragged, dirt-streaked clothes. A scraggly beard framed his face, and his bloated belly strained against the worn fabric, an ugly contrast to his otherwise skinny frame that made Damien's blood boil. Not a weapon in sight.

"I order you to kill them, James," Joseph said, his voice calm but firm.

"Yes, sir."

Immediately, the wind circled James, making his ragged clothes flutter, and his hair thrash. His muscles also seemed to be slightly larger.

Taking orders grants him a physical buff? What kind of virtue allows for that?

Beneath their feet, the sand began to tremble as the horde drew nearer.

From the swirling dust and shifting sands, grotesque shapes emerged, towering insect-like beasts nearly three feet tall. Their segmented bodies were armored in cracked, sand-colored plates that blended seamlessly with the desert floor. Jagged legs scraped harshly against the ground, each ending in hooked claws that churned up clouds of grit. Sharp jaws clicked rhythmically as glowing red eyes glared from beneath ridged, angular heads.

A low hiss escaped from their throats, an eerie chorus growing louder as they advanced with relentless, coordinated speed, predators born of the desert's wrath.

...

This thing is strong…

Damien's breath hitched as he narrowly slipped sideways, the creature's hooked limbs carving deep gouges into the sand where he'd just stood.

There were nine of them, hulking insect horrors, each towering over a man, and nine hellbounds. Across the dunes, the air cracked with steel and shrieks, each hellbound locked in a desperate, personal duel.

Cling!

Clank!

Sparks burst like fleeting stars as Damien's dagger met one claw, then another. The monster hissed, its mandibles clicking and grinding in a rhythm that set his teeth on edge. Its eight jagged legs moved in a dizzying blur, claws scraping and slicing through the air so fast they whistled.

The heat of the sun poured down, baking the sand beneath their feet into a shimmering, scorching battlefield. Grit stung Damien's eyes as each step sent clouds of it swirling up around them, filling his nostrils with the dry, metallic tang of dust and blood.

Clash!

He blocked again, the dagger shuddering in his hand as two of the creature's limbs slammed down on it. Then, without warning, the blade refused to pull back.

"What—" he hissed.

The beast had him. Its serrated claws had locked around the dagger, holding it fast with terrifying strength. Damien strained, veins rising in his forearm, but the blade wouldn't budge.

Then he saw it, two more limbs curling above its head like scythes, descending toward his face in a deadly arc, mandibles flaring wide in triumph.

Thinking fast, Damien let his dagger dissolve into a flare of golden light, vanishing from his hand. He ducked low just as the two scythe-like claws sliced through the air where his face had been, the wind of their passing cold against his cheek.

In the same motion, he shot both hands upward and seized the limbs that had pinned his dagger moments before. Their chitin felt like rough stone beneath his fingers, hot and quivering with strength.

He wrenched one arm free and raised it high, golden light sparking to life in his palm. In a flash of brilliance, the silver dagger reformed, gleaming like a star.

With all the strength his body could muster, he brought it down.

SHHKRACK!

The blade bit deep into one of the insect's limbs. There was a wet pop of splitting shell, and blue ichor sprayed in a shining arc, spattering across his sleeve and stinging his skin. The severed limb sailed into the air, tumbling end over end, and the creature unleashed a piercing, metallic shriek so loud Damien's ears rang with it, sharp and disorienting.

But it didn't stop.

Even before its scream faded, two more limbs snapped forward, aiming to cleave him in half.

CLANG!

Damien's dagger met them mid-swing with a desperate cross-block, sparks exploding where steel met claw. The impact rattled his bones; the force slammed into him like a battering ram, sending him airborne.

He hit the sand hard; the breath knocked clean from his lungs as he tumbled down the slope of the dune. Grains of grit filled his mouth and scraped at his skin as he skidded to a stop at the base, his chest heaving. The sharp, salty tang of blood and earth clung to the air, mingling with the acrid stench of something burning.

Out of the corner of his eye, the battlefield unfolded like a nightmare painted in fire and shadow.

Bright orange flames roared through the air — streaks of Joseph's fury lighting up the horizon. Odd, shimmering bubbles floated lazily across the chaos, glinting with soft colors, one of the bland girls weaving them like fragile weapons.

Nearby, Jenna and the Monk fought desperately, backs nearly touching as they fended off slashing claws and snapping mandibles.

And farther off, James and Blythe sat hunched over two massive insect corpses, their shoulders rising and falling as they caught their breath. Dark blue ichor steamed in the sand around them, and Blythe's white sundress was smeared with streaks of azure blood.

But it was the silhouette above that commanded all his attention.

The monster he'd maimed still loomed atop the ridge, its remaining claws flexing with a slow, deliberate menace. Blue blood dripped thick and hot from the stump where he'd cut it, hissing as it struck the sand. Its mandibles clicked in fury, eyes glinting like polished onyx in the dying light, and then with a guttural screech, it began its descent toward him again.

Damiens' eyes gleamed with manic energy.

Let's do this.