Chapter 8 – What Lies Beneath

The hallway was too quiet.

Max’s skin prickled as the figure shuffled closer. A man in scrubs. Or something wearing the shape of one. Barefoot. Twitches in the limbs. Blood-dark stains under the mask. Eyes like bottomless pits.

Dan took a step forward, voice low, concerned. “Sir, are you alright? Do you need help?”

The figure stopped.

Max’s gut screamed.

“Dan—”

Too late.

The thing moved.

One moment it was twenty feet away.

The next – impact.

Max’s ribs crunched against the wall as an invisible force slammed him backwards. The concrete cracked behind his shoulders. His unlit cigarette flew from his mouth, forgotten before it hit the floor.

Victor didn’t blink. Instincts from a dozen deployments kicked in. He lunged forward, drawing nothing – no weapon on him but ready to brawl.

A red shockwave burst from the creature’s chest.

Victor and Dan were thrown like dolls. Dan hit a gurney with a sickening thud. Victor crashed into the elevator doors, denting the steel. Alarms began wailing. Lights flickered.

Max coughed, slumped to one knee. Blood trickled from his nose. He stared at the figure.

It wasn’t a man.

He’d seen demons once before – Aamon, in that motel room, smiling with a stranger’s teeth. But this? This thing wasn’t smiling.

It was hungry.

The aura around it pulsed – a violent red corona that flickered black at the edges. Its body jerked in unnatural spasms, like it wasn’t built to hold what was inside. Bones shifted under skin. Veins bulged, glowing faintly.

Victor groaned, forcing himself up. “That’s not human.”

Dan crawled to his knees. “Max – what the hell is happening?”

Max didn’t answer. He was staring at the creature like it was the devil come to collect.

The figure tilted its head. Its voice was low, raspy. Wet.

“Found you.”

Then it charged.

…………………

The demon moved like a twitching shadow, head tilted, grin pulsing beneath the bloody mask.

Max didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward, fire already blooming in his hands — a golden corona that hissed as it formed, bathing the hallway in sickly light. The demon hissed back, flinching like it had been slapped.

It recognized the energy. Not Max. But something inside him.

“You reek of Aamon,” it spat, voice warping – deeper now, with layers, like a chorus speaking through shredded lungs.

“That filthy flame-eater… His scent still clings to your soul.”

Max’s jaw tightened. “Good. Then this should hurt.”

He hurled the soul-fire like a spear.

The hallway exploded with light — the bolt slammed into the demon’s chest and sent it flying. It hit the far wall hard enough to dent the plaster, sizzling as golden light scorched through its body. The smell of burning flesh and something worse – burning soul – filled the air.

The demon screamed.

Not in pain.

In rage.

It peeled itself off the wall, steaming, chest blackened and cracked where the fire had struck.

“You dare brand me?” it howled, voice trembling with hatred. “You dare carry his flame?!”

It lunged – and Max met it head-on.

They collided like brawlers in a back-alley deathmatch. Max ducked the first swipe, drove his fist into the demon’s ribs – fire blooming along his knuckles. The demon screamed again, twisted, and slammed a knee into Max’s gut. He grunted, stumbled, caught a clawed hand mid-swing and twisted – shoulder to elbow – until bones cracked.

But it didn’t slow.

The demon headbutted him. Max reeled, blood in his mouth.

His vision blurred. The fire was still there – burning behind his ribs like a furnace too hot to contain. The fire pulsed inside him – not a weapon, but a parasite. With every burst, it took more than it gave.

Every time he used it, something inside cracked. A rib. A nerve. A memory.

He could feel it coiling in his veins, gold and angry, trying to escape.

This wasn’t power. It was pressure. And it was building.

Victor was already moving.

He charged down the hallway with a growl, scooping up a metal IV pole from the wall as he ran. No powers. No magic. Just violence. The pole cracked across the demon’s spine with a clang – hard enough to stagger it.

But it turned and backhanded him like swatting a fly.

Victor slammed into the wall and dropped to the floor, gasping.

Dan shouted, “Stop! This isn’t you! You’re still in there!”

The demon froze. Just for a second.

Dan stepped forward, hands open. No powers. No defences. Just heart.

“I don’t know what’s inside you,” he said, “but you don’t have to let it win. If there’s any part of the man left—”

The demon twisted its head. The twitching stopped.

It looked at Dan.

And smiled.

“There isn’t.”

It moved in a blur – one hand flashing forward, talons extended.

Max shouted, “Dan—!”

Too late.

The demon’s claws raked across Dan’s chest, slashing through his jacket, skin, and muscle like paper. Blood sprayed across the hallway as Dan collapsed with a cry, clutching his side.

Max roared and slammed into the demon, fists blazing – golden light cracking across its chest. Each strike sizzled flesh and soul alike, but the creature clawed back with equal savagery.

They tore across the hallway in a blur of bone and fire, rolling, slamming into walls, spraying blood like paint across the tiles.

Then Max drove a burning punch into its ribs, sending the creature skidding backwards – smoke curling from its wounds.

It grinned through the pain.

“You burn like him,” it whispered. “But your soul… your soul is new. Young. Untamed. It would make a fine meal.”

…………………

Max slammed into the demon again, this time aiming low – shoulder to gut – driving it through the hallway like a wrecking ball. Drywall crumpled, medical signage snapped, and a crash cart went flying as the two figures tore through the corridor.

Patients screamed from behind doors. A nurse peeked out, took one look at the scene and ran.

The demon punched downward, aiming for Max’s spine. Max twisted mid-grapple, the blow grazing his ribs instead. He rolled, kicked off the wall, and blasted golden fire into the demon’s face at point-blank range.

The hallway lit up like a furnace.

The demon shrieked, clutching its face. Smoke hissed from between its fingers.

Max dropped to one knee beside Dan. Blood still oozed from the long gash across his chest. He was pale, breathing shallow.

“Stay with me, Dan,” Max growled.

Dan coughed, tried to smile. “That guy... not big on hugs.”

Max pressed a hand to the wound, soul-fire hissing against the blood. “Hold on. You’re not dying today.”

Dan winced, eyes fluttering. “You say that like it’s optional.”

He tried to laugh, but it turned into a choke.

“Max…”

“Yeah?”

“If I die – promise me you won’t become like it. Like them.”

Max’s throat tightened. “You’re not dying.”

Dan’s hand gripped his sleeve. Weak, but still there.

“Promise me.”

Max stared into his friend’s eyes – then nodded once. “I promise.”

Dan exhaled and passed out.

Victor stumbled back into view, clutching his ribs. “The hell is this thing?”

Max didn’t answer.

The demon was already recovering.

It slammed a hand into the floor, sending a shockwave through the tiles. The building groaned – lights flickering, ceiling tiles falling.

Max pulled Dan into the shelter of a recessed doorway as plaster rained from above.

Victor dragged a fire extinguisher off the wall and hurled it. The demon batted it away without looking but it bought enough time for Max to regroup.

“It's getting stronger,” Victor muttered.

“Or angrier,” Max said.

Either way, the building wasn’t going to survive another round.

…………………

The demon’s face was peeling now — burned, cracked, twitching like melting wax. But its eyes were bright. Too bright. Not human. Not anything.

It watched Max move — not with hate, but with something worse.

Appetite.

“You’re a Contractor,” it said, voice thick and greedy.

“Your soul’s been awakened. Ripe. Ready. You don’t even know how loud you’re screaming in our realm.”

“Your kind don’t last long. We smell you like blood in the water.”

Max didn’t flinch. “Then come and choke on it.”

The demon stepped closer. Its skin began to split at the shoulders. Black liquid oozed like oil down its arms. The mask fused into its face.

Its fingers were lengthening now. Bones stretching, skin tearing. A gurgling sound echoed deep in its chest.

Victor took a step back. “Uh... Max?”

Max’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. I see it.”

The demon’s voice dropped another octave.

“You think you’ve imprisoned a Lord. But you’ve just rung the dinner bell, little firefly.”

It licked blood off its wrist.

“I’ll eat your soul. I’ll wear your fire. And then I’ll burn the gates of Hell until the Demon Lords hear me coming.”

Its spine cracked — popping outward in jagged knots.

Victor whispered, “That’s not a man anymore.”

Max nodded grimly. “No. It’s about to show us what it really is.”

The transformation was beginning.

…………………

The thing that had once worn the shape of a man began to convulse.

Hard.

Its spine bent backward at an impossible angle – vertebrae cracking like dry twigs. A gurgling howl escaped its throat, followed by a burst of steam and black fluid that hissed against the cold linoleum.

Then it split.

Its skin peeled back like paper soaked in gasoline – shoulders ripping open, revealing a second set of arms unfolding from beneath. The flesh bubbled and warped as the new limbs extended – too long, jointed wrong, ending in clawed hands with fingers like bone knives.

Max took a step back. Even after Aamon, even after fire and blood and death – this felt worse. This was worse. The thing in front of him was no longer a demon hiding in human skin.

It was shedding the disguise.

Its legs bent backward now – snapping at the knees, heels elongating into hooves. The torso stretched upward, ribs pressing against the flesh from within, then bursting out, protruding like a crown of jagged spears. Its surgical mask had fused to the face — now split down the middle, revealing a vertical mouth lined with spiralling teeth.

Dan, barely conscious, whispered hoarsely from the floor, “Max... that’s not from here...”

Victor raised a metal pole like a sword, but his knuckles were white.

The creature’s eyes opened again — not two, but eight.

Each one different. Each one wrong.

“This vessel is broken,” it rasped, voice now a warbling shriek layered with static and whispering voices.

“I’ll wear your skin instead.”

Then it lunged.

Claws flashed. Max moved.

Soul-fire ignited as he caught the strike on his forearm — flames hissing against demonic flesh. The demon screamed as it burned, but didn’t slow.

It didn’t feel pain.

It fed on it.

Max gritted his teeth and drove his fist into the creature’s gut. Fire exploded on impact, tearing another scream from its throat. But the thing only grinned wider — jaw unhinging, twitching, that spiralled mouth leaking smoke and saliva.

It was enjoying this.

Behind them, the hallway flickered – lights popping, alarms shrieking. The floor cracked under their feet. Air vents spat dust.

The hospital was coming apart.

Victor pulled Dan farther back, dragging him behind a supply cart. “Max!” he shouted. “We need to fall back!”

But Max was already in motion — locked in a brutal dance of flame and claws, blood and bone, light against rot.

The demon howled.

Then it began to rise.

Its final form wasn’t just monstrous.

It was regal.

Terrible.

Towering.

With a crown of twisted horns and a torso stitched with screaming mouths, it stood twelve feet tall, limbs twitching, flame-blackened, soaked in its own metamorphosis.

“I am hunger,” it growled.

“And you… are mine.”

It lunged one last time – mouth wide enough to swallow Max whole.