Aldric's blade met the tentacle with a sound like reality screaming.
Holy light exploded from the point of contact—searing white-gold that pushed back the darkness, that burned the impossible flesh. The Horror recoiled, tentacle writhing, and for the first time since emerging, it showed something resembling pain.
"Coordinated strike!" Aldric commanded. "Pattern delta-seven!"
Fifteen senior Tamers moved as one. Each summoned their strongest spirits—guardians, elementals, beasts of pure contracted power. They struck in sequence, layered attacks designed to overwhelm defenses.
Fire. Ice. Lightning. Force.
The tentacles buckled under the assault. One severed completely, falling to the ground where it thrashed and spawned a dozen more horrors before dissolving into non-existence.
But the main body kept coming.
More of the Horror pushed through the Gate—segments of flesh that violated geometry, appendages that existed in too many dimensions at once. The eye, that massive judging eye, pulsed with malevolent intelligence despite being purely instinctual.
It didn't think. Didn't plan.
It simply was. And existence itself was its weapon.
The psychic assault hit without warning.
One moment, Kirana was coordinating the evacuation. The next—her mind fractured under the weight of the Horror's presence. She saw herself from a thousand angles. Experienced her death in infinite variations. Felt the universe's indifference to her existence.
She collapsed, screaming.
Three other Tamers fell the same way. Clutching their heads, blood streaming from eyes and ears, minds breaking under incomprehensible visions.
"Mental barriers!" someone shouted. "It's broadcasting corruption!"
Those with strong enough wills raised defenses. Spirit contracts flared, creating shells of sanity against the madness. But not everyone was fast enough.
A junior Tamer—barely twenty, fresh from academy—stood frozen as the psychic wave washed over him. His eyes went distant. Empty.
Then he turned his summoned spirit against his squadmates.
"He's compromised! Put him down!"
The order came cold. Necessary. A senior Tamer's guardian spirit struck—quick, clean, merciful.
The junior Tamer fell. His spirit dissipated.
Casualty count: 15.
And rising.
Raven felt the transformation accelerate.
80%. 85%. 90%.
Each percentage point was agony distilled to its purest form. His bones restructured. His blood became something else—not liquid, not entirely physical. His nervous system rewrote itself with pathways that connected to dimensions beyond.
His mind—
His mind was shattering.
Thoughts split into parallel streams. He was experiencing the present, past, and infinite possible futures simultaneously. Was himself and not-himself. Human and demon and something between.
"Stay with me," Azaelith's voice, distant. "Just a little more—"
But staying was impossible. The person called Raven Altair was dissolving. Being replaced by something that had his memories but wasn't him. Wouldn't be him.
95%.
The contract marking exploded across his entire body. No longer confined to his back—now it covered arms, chest, neck, face. Black-red lines pulsing with stolen light. An aura formed around him, visible even to normal sight. Darkness that radiated power.
This is what I become, the fragment of Raven that still existed observed. This is the price.
98%.
His red eyes blazed. Not metaphorically—they emitted actual light, crimson beams that cut through the smoke and chaos. When he opened his mouth to scream, the sound came out layered. Multiple voices. Multiple versions of himself crying out in unison.
99%.
And then—
A senior Tamer broke through the melee. Older woman with gray hair and determined eyes. She saw Raven at the ritual's center, saw what he was becoming, and made a decision.
"The anchor!" she shouted. "Destroy the anchor, destabilize the ritual!"
Her spirit—a massive bear wreathed in golden flame—charged toward Raven.
Aldric turned. "No! Don't—the backlash will—"
Too late.
The bear spirit raised its claws. Brought them down toward Raven's suspended form.
And something in Raven—some new instinct, some fresh power—pushed.
Charm.
The word appeared in his fracturing mind like a brand. Like a gift. Like a curse.
He didn't understand it. Didn't know how it worked. But he wanted the bear to stop, and that want became reality.
The spirit froze mid-strike. Claws inches from Raven's face.
The senior Tamer's eyes widened. "What—I can't—my contract—"
"Stop," Raven's layered voices commanded.
And she did. Dropped to her knees. Her spirit dissolved back into contract seal. Both completely under his control.
But it was imperfect. Unstable. Raven could feel the connection straining—the Tamer's will fighting back, her spiritual strength resisting. She was too powerful. He was too inexperienced.
The control lasted five seconds.
Then snapped.
The senior Tamer gasped, stumbled backward. "He's—he can control contracts! Fall back! Don't let him—"
A tentacle swept through her position.
She didn't finish the warning.
Casualty count: 16.
Azaelith's manifestation blazed beside Raven. "You did it. The ability manifested. You're—"
100%.
The transformation completed.
Not with triumph. Not with relief.
With pain.
Every nerve ending firing at once. Every cell screaming its new configuration. Every fragment of his mind realigning into something that could barely be called human consciousness anymore.
Raven threw his head back and howled.
The sound wasn't human. Wasn't demon. Was something between—agony and power and loss combined into pure vocalization.
The ritual circle's bindings shattered. Energy that had held him suspended released all at once.
He fell.
Hit the ground on hands and knees, gasping, shaking, covered in that black-red aura that pulsed with every fractured heartbeat.
Free.
Finally free.
And completely, utterly broken.
"IT'S MANIFESTING FULLY!"
The Horror's main body forced through the Gate. The opening had expanded beyond building-sized—now it was a wound in the sky itself, darkness bleeding into reality.
What emerged was incomprehensible.
A mass of tentacles, yes. The eye, yes. But also—things without names. Appendages that existed in negative space. Organs that pulsed outside the body. Mouths that opened onto voids within voids.
And it was growing.
Feeding on reality itself. Each moment it existed in this dimension, it became more real. More present. More impossible to deny.
Aldric's spirit clashed with three tentacles simultaneously. Holy blade carved through eldritch flesh, but for every wound inflicted, two more appendages grew.
"We can't kill it!" one Tamer shouted. "It's regenerating too fast!"
"Then we banish it!" Aldric roared back. "Full exorcism protocol! All tier-3 and above, channel through me!"
Twenty Tamers formed a circle, linking their contract seals. Energy flowed between them—streams of holy power converging on Aldric's position.
His spirit grew. Doubled in size. Tripled. The blade became a pillar of light that reached the sky.
"BY THE COVENANT OF SPIRIT AND FLESH," Aldric began the chant, voice resonating with borrowed power. "BY THE LAWS THAT BIND DIMENSIONS—"
The Horror's eye focused on him.
Recognized threat.
Five tentacles converged. Not to kill—to interrupt.
But a wall of spirits interposed themselves. Guardians. Elementals. Beasts. All summoned by the Tamers who knew this was their only chance.
The tentacles tore through them. Destroyed spirits that had served their contractors for decades. Broke bonds that had taken years to forge.
But they bought seconds.
Aldric raised the blade.
"—I COMMAND YOU: BEGONE!"
He brought it down.
The blade struck the Horror's central mass. Where eye met flesh. Where the thing was most concentrated.
And cut.
Not through flesh. Through existence itself.
The Horror shrieked—a sound that shattered windows across the city, that made ears bleed, that would haunt dreams for years.
The wound was massive. Catastrophic. Reality itself poured from the cut like blood.
The Horror began to retreat. Pulling back through the Gate. Not dead—couldn't be killed—but wounded badly enough to flee.
The Tamers who'd channeled their power through Aldric collapsed. Thirty of them. Drained completely. Some would recover. Some wouldn't.
Casualty count: 50.
Aldric stood alone, blade dimming, breathing labored. His spirit barely maintained form—translucent, flickering.
"Did we—" someone asked.
"No," Aldric said quietly. "We hurt it. Drove it back. But the Gate's still open. It can return."
"Then we close—"
"Can't. Not while the ritual structure holds." He turned toward the circle. Toward where Raven knelt, aura blazing. "We need to destroy the anchor."
Their eyes met again.
Red versus gray.
Predator versus predator.
"Stand down, hybrid," Aldric commanded. "You're under arrest for illegal demon contract and crimes against—"
Raven laughed.
It wasn't sane. Wasn't entirely Raven. Was the sound of a mind that had broken and reassembled itself wrong.
"Arrest?" His layered voices echoed. "You think you can arrest this?"
He stood. Unsteady. But standing.
The aura around him intensified. Demon Flame ignited in both hands—not the controlled fire from before, but wild, chaotic, reflecting his fractured state.
"I'm what you made me," Raven said. "What the world made me. Empty. Broken. Perfect vessel for power I never asked for."
He took a step forward.
"And now you want to destroy me for being what you created?"
Azaelith manifested beside him—solid now, not transparent. The completed contract gave her more presence. More reality.
"Raven," she said carefully. "You're not thinking clearly. The transformation—it's affecting your judgment—"
"My judgment is perfect." He smiled. Wrong angles. Too many teeth. "For the first time, I see clearly. See what I am. What I was always going to become."
Another step.
Aldric raised his blade. The remaining Tamers formed defensive positions.
"Last warning," the Director said.
"Or what?" Raven's eyes blazed. "You'll kill me? Like you killed Iris Volkov's family? Like you've killed everyone who didn't fit your definition of acceptable?"
"We do what's necessary—"
"SO DO I."
Raven moved.
Not with Demon Step—something new. Something instinctual. The space between him and Aldric simply... compressed. One moment separated by twenty meters, the next standing face-to-face.
Enhanced speed beyond what he'd had before. Transformation bonus.
His flame-wreathed fist connected with Aldric's blade.
The impact created a shockwave that flattened everything within ten meters.
Raven was thrown back. Landed hard. His hand was burned—holy energy counteracting demon flame.
But Aldric had been pushed back too. Just a step. But still—moved.
The old director stared at his blade, then at Raven.
"You've gotten stronger," he observed. "The transformation completed successfully. You're tier-4 equivalent now."
"Is that respect I hear?"
"Recognition. You're dangerous." Aldric shifted his stance. "Which means I can't let you leave here alive."
Raven stood. Hand already healing. The aura around him pulsed brighter.
"Then come kill me, old man. Let's see if your conviction is stronger than my will to survive."
Behind Aldric, the remaining fifty Tamers prepared for battle.
Behind Raven, nothing. Just Azaelith's manifestation and the burning ruins of a ritual gone catastrophically wrong.
And above them both—the Gate. Still open. Still bleeding darkness into the world.
Still waiting for the Horror to return.