Chapter 9 – Fight And Flight

The demon lunged.

Its vertical maw split wide like a blooming parasite, rows of spiralling black teeth twisting open in a grotesque mockery of hunger. Tendons snapped. Bones cracked as the creature stretched beyond human proportions. Its shadow swallowed the corridor.

Max didn’t run. He didn’t scream.

He stepped forward – and caught the bite with both hands.

The jaws clamped down, forcing his arms wide. Muscles screamed. Fire surged through his veins as the demon’s teeth scraped the golden light bleeding from his palms. Sparks flew. The heat seared his forearms, but Max held.

Held.

And Held.

“Not today,” he hissed, teeth clenched.

Then, with a roar from the pit of his gut, Max forced the jaws open.

A sharp, sickening crack! echoed through the hall as the creature’s mandibles splintered. Max braced his legs, kicked off the tile – and drove his boot into the back of the demon’s throat.

The monster reeled backward, shrieking. Its scream rattled light fixtures and sent a spiderweb of fractures up the nearest wall.

Max didn’t stop. He ripped the bent bed railing from a nearby stretcher and hurled it like a spear.

It sang through the air and slammed into the demon’s chest with a metallic thunk, impaling it to the far wall. The impact left a crater of ruptured plaster and gushing black ichor.

Max exhaled, ready to collapse.

But the demon didn’t die.

It looked down at the pole sticking out of its ribs. Then, with a slow and deliberate movement, it grasped the metal – and pulled it free. The bar slid out with a wet, sucking noise, leaving behind a wound that pulsed once, then sealed itself like water smoothing over a stone. Like it was never there.

No blood. No pain. No weakness.

Just that smile.

Max took a step back.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The demon chuckled low and wet, like bones rattling in a bucket.

Max shook the numbness from his fists. Felt the fire rise behind his ribs. No more clever tricks. No more improvised weapons. Just his fists – and the embers of cursed soulfire that constantly burned away at him.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Old-fashioned way.”

He moved.

Fast.

Too fast for the eye to follow.

He closed the distance in a blink and drove a blazing uppercut into the demon’s jaw. The impact lit up the hallway like a flashbang. One of the demon’s eyes burst, leaking black ichor down its cheek. Max twisted, followed up with a backhanded elbow, then a hammerfist to the sternum.

Ribs cracked. Bones snapped. The monster flailed wildly, claws lashing. Max ducked, weaved, countered – his fists dancing with golden fire, each strike carving burning holes into demonic flesh.

The thing screamed but not from pain.

From rage.

It lunged, catching Max’s shoulder with a swipe that carved through his jacket and into his skin. Blood sprayed. Max staggered but kept swinging. One punch, two, three, each hitting harder, fuelled by pain, fuelled by fury, fuelled by something deeper.

He struck again – an explosive blow to the torso that caved in part of the ribcage.

The demon sagged, wheezing.

Then Max drove his fist forward with every ounce of power left in him.

Straight through the monster’s chest.

Right where its heart should have been.

A golden flash lit the corridor. Fire poured from his hand like molten sunlight, searing through bone, flesh, and soul.

The demon shrieked – a single, awful scream that shook the floor and made the walls weep black. Its limbs spasmed. Its spine arched. Then, with a hiss like a dying star, the body began to crumble.

Black ichor gushed from the wound as the demon fell to its knees. Max yanked his hand free. The golden aura around his fist blazed – then flared outward in a pulse that shook the air like a pressure wave.

The demon let out a final gasp.

And collapsed.

Its body convulsed once, limbs jerking in death throes. Then it went still.

And slowly, it began to wither.

Its skin dried and cracked. The colour drained from its eyes. Bones shrank inward. The once-monstrous form began to collapse on itself, like burning paper folding into ash. The warped jaw slackened. The spiral teeth loosened.

In seconds, the terror that had nearly torn the hospital apart was nothing more than a blackened husk leaking smoke onto the shattered tile.

Max stood above it, chest heaving.

And then – he felt it.

The surge.

A shockwave of power slammed through his chest. His breath caught. His spine arched.

For an instant, he wasn’t just alive – he was invincible.

Golden fire erupted from his skin, haloing his frame. His heartbeat synced with something otherworldly. He felt stronger, faster, sharper. Every nerve burned with electric clarity.

Then—

It faded.

Just like with Aamon.

The fire didn’t vanish, but it curled inward. Into his bones. His soul. It left behind a bitter taste. A memory. A warning.

Max exhaled shakily.

His hand was shaking.

Two demons. Two deaths. Two souls burned into him.

What was he becoming?

…………………

The hallway was silent.

Silent in a way only violence could make it – shattered tiles, flickering lights, the air still quivering from the soul-fire that had scorched reality itself.

Max stood in the ruin, chest heaving. Sweat dripped from his temple. Blood leaked from the gash on his shoulder, soaking the torn remains of his shirt. But he didn’t move.

His eyes were locked on the corpse.

If it could even be called that.

The demon’s husk was curled against the far wall, slumped like a puppet whose strings had been yanked too hard. Its flesh had shrivelled into black parchment, cracked and scorched. The skin – once stretched too tight over unnatural muscle – had split open like overcooked meat, revealing a tangle of melted sinew and twitching, wormlike filaments. Its bones, where visible, were wrong – jagged, porous, as if grown in the dark.

The spiral mouth had collapsed inward. Its teeth, once obsidian razors, now hung loose in slackened gums, some fallen to the tile like broken glass.

Smoke still curled from the crater in its chest.

Max exhaled. The stench hit him again – burned flesh, black ichor, and something deeper. Soul decay. The stink of something that had never been meant to walk among the living.

His stomach twisted.

Two.

That made two.

Two monsters. Two kills. Two murders?

And both – once – had been human.

He didn’t know who the first man was. The young assassin Aamon had possessed. Just some poor bastard caught in the wrong place, bait on a demonic hook. Max had watched him die in the motel, eyes wide, body smoking.

Now this one. Another hollow vessel. Another life erased by the Contract. No name. No family. Just teeth and violence and a soul too far gone to save.

He didn’t feel triumph. Not even relief. Just a hollow ache. Like he’d pulled the trigger and was still waiting for the echo.

His fingers trembled slightly, the last glow of soul-fire dimming as it receded back into his veins. The short-lived euphoria of victory – of divine fire crackling through his body – had vanished, leaving behind a hollow space where adrenaline used to live.

Max dropped to a crouch beside the husk.

Studied it.

Looked past the monster, and into what was left of the man.

He’d burned him alive. From the inside. Punched through his chest, shattered bone and heart and soul in a single burst of impossible power. And yet…

He didn’t regret it. Not yet. That part would come later.

It was kill or be killed.

There was no saving that thing. It hadn’t wanted help. It had wanted to consume him. To tear his soul out and wear it like a coat. Whatever human had once lived behind those eyes had been gone long before they met in this hallway.

Still… it was a body now. A body Max had made.

A faint gust from the broken ventilation system stirred the blackened remains. One eye socket, burned and half-collapsed, seemed to follow him.

Max stood quickly and turned away.

His mind snapped back to the fight. To the moment the metal pole – a full spear to the chest – had barely slowed the creature down. It had pulled the weapon free like an inconvenience. But when Max had struck… really struck…

That changed everything.

The soul-fire.

It wasn’t just fire.

It was something more.

It hurt the demon – not physically, but fundamentally. It tore through not just bone and sinew, but whatever twisted knot passed for a soul inside them.

That meant something.

That meant these things could be killed.

Not just resisted. Not sealed.

Killed.

His knuckles tightened. And yet, that brought him no comfort. Because it also meant he could kill like this again.

How many more would it take?

How many more husks would he leave behind?

Max turned toward the elevator – but stopped cold.

Victor was limping into view, coughing, a hand pressed to his ribs.

And further down the corridor…

Dan.

Lying motionless in a spreading pool of blood.

Max’s breath caught.

Everything else—the demon, the death, the fire—was gone from his thoughts in an instant.

He ran.

…………………

Max slid to his knees beside Dan, barely registering the pain screaming in his own body.

Dan lay sprawled across the shattered floor, half-soaked in his own blood. His shirt was torn open from clavicle to hip, the long gash oozing a dark, steady stream. His skin was pale. His breathing – shallow. Laboured. Wet.

Too wet.

Max pressed two fingers to Dan’s throat.

Pulse. Weak.

He moved fast – ripping away the remaining fabric, trying to expose the wound. Blood soaked his hands instantly. He pressed down hard, ignoring Dan’s flinch and groan. The gash ran deep, nearly down to the bone. The demon’s claws had missed the heart, but only just. And the blood wasn’t slowing.

Victor stumbled into view, dragging one leg and looking like he’d gone three rounds with a wrecking ball. His face was swollen, one eye nearly shut, ribs held in a bruised grip.

He took one look at Dan.

“Jesus.”

Max didn’t respond.

“I need pressure here!” Max barked, his voice raw. “Find something! Shirt, towel, anything!”

Victor didn’t hesitate. He tore off his own jacket, pressing it down over Dan’s chest with both hands. Blood soaked through almost instantly.

“Is he—” Victor started.

“He’s alive,” Max snapped. “But not for long.”

The lights flickered again, dimming as another groan rolled through the building.

Somewhere down the hall, the fire suppression system hissed to life. Sprinklers sputtered. Sirens howled in the distance – distant now but getting closer.

No time.

Max’s brain kicked into gear. No way they could explain this. Not the bodies. Not the blood. Not the monster-shaped smear on the far wall. If the police arrived – if anyone arrived – they were done.

And Dan wouldn’t make it through triage.

Not without help.

Not without… something else.

Max leaned in close. “We have to go. Now.”

Victor looked down at Dan. “He can’t walk.”

“I’ll carry him.”

Victor didn’t argue. Just nodded and turned, moving toward the stairwell at the far end of the corridor. The elevator was out – jammed or offline, its doors twisted from earlier impacts. The fire escape was their only option.

Max slid his arms under Dan’s shoulders, cradling him like a child. Dan groaned faintly—eyes flickering open for half a heartbeat, then shutting again.

“Hang on,” Max whispered. “We’re not done yet.”

With effort, he lifted Dan’s limp body. The golden flickers under Max’s skin surged, lending him strength. The soul-fire inside him responded not with rage but purpose.

Protect.

Carry.

They moved fast, staggering down the narrow stairwell. Every step felt like war. The building shuddered once more. Smoke curled from the vents. Max’s legs burned, but he didn’t stop.

One floor. Two. Down to the ground.

They burst out the fire escape exit and into an alley soaked in rain. The air was thick, humid, electric.

Max collapsed against the wall, still cradling Dan, his lungs seizing.

Victor slammed the door shut behind them and braced it with a trash bin.

Far off, sirens screamed toward the hospital.

Max looked down.

Dan’s breathing was ragged. His skin now looked grey.

Victor saw it too.

“He’s not gonna make it,” he said quietly.

Max looked up. His jaw clenched.

“He might.”

…………………

The alley was still.

For the first time since the chaos began, the world held its breath. No alarms. No screaming metal. No inhuman howls. Just the slow drip of rain off pipes and the faint sound of sirens fading in the distance.

Max knelt beside Dan’s limp form, heart pounding, blood cooling on his hands. The glow beneath his skin flared softly, the fire within him stirring but not wildly this time. It pulsed with intention.

Victor watched from a few steps away, arms crossed, jaw tight. Silent.

Max laid a hand on Dan’s chest, just above the torn fabric and crusted blood. He could feel the faint flicker of life. Barely a spark.

“You saved me,” he whispered. “You didn’t hesitate. You stepped forward when anyone else would’ve run.”

He swallowed hard. “Now it’s my turn.”

The fire responded.

Golden light welled up from Max’s palms, threads of energy flowing into Dan like a river of dawn. It wasn’t violent like before. It wasn’t the furnace that had destroyed Aamon. It was gentle. Warm. Like the kind of fire you could sit beside on a cold night.

Dan’s back arched with a sudden breath – sharp, shuddering – and then his body settled.

Max sat back slightly, blinking against the light.

It was like watching gold poured into the shape of a man. Gentle. Steady. Sacred.

Dan’s light didn’t burn like Max’s – it glowed. It didn’t consume; it comforted. And Max, for a heartbeat, envied that.

Max burned like a forge – he could feel the surging pain of it even now. Dan’s light was steadier. Softer. A golden aura bloomed around him, surrounding his body like a protective shroud. It shimmered, light as mist, yet tangible – like the world had stopped to watch a new kind of light being born.

Victor murmured, “Holy shit…”

Dan stirred.

His fingers twitched. Then his hand. Then both arms.

He opened his eyes.

They were clear. Focused. Awake.

And brimming with golden light.

“...Ow,” he croaked, blinking. “What hit me? Was it a truck? It felt like a truck.”

Max laughed – raw and shaky. “It was a demon.”

Dan blinked again. “Right. That. Did we win?”

“You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

Dan looked down at his chest. No wound. Not even a scar. He flexed his fingers slowly, then sat up – not with effort, but with strength. A quiet strength, like he was newly recharged from something deeper than sleep.

He raised his hands, studying the faint golden glow dancing across his skin.

“I feel… incredible,” he said softly. “I feel whole. Not just healed. More than I was.”

He looked at Max. “Is this what it feels like?”

Max nodded. “No. Yours is... different. Calmer. Purer.”

Dan stood – slowly, reverently – and the golden aura moved with him, like a cloak trailing behind his shoulders.

Victor took a cautious step forward. “You’re glowing.”

Even Victor could see it.

Dan smiled. “I know. Isn’t that insane?”

Max stepped closer. “Do you feel anything else? Pain? Pressure?”

Dan paused, closed his eyes for a beat.

He turned toward Victor, frowning slightly. “Your ribs – one’s cracked. Maybe two. I can feel it. Like a tug under my skin.”

Victor flinched. “Yeah. Feels like I got body-slammed by God.”

Dan reached out, almost without thinking. His fingers hovered just over Victor’s side—no contact, just presence. A shimmer of light coalesced around his palm. The air hummed.

Victor tensed. “What are you—”

A warmth spread through his ribs. Not heat. Not pressure. Just… ease.

The tension in his body melted. His breathing steadied. He blinked, confused.

“What the hell was that?”

Dan pulled his hand back, blinking at it like it didn’t belong to him. “I think... I think I just healed you.”

Victor patted his side. The pain was still there but he could barely feel anything. Manageable. “I don’t know what’s weirder. That it worked, or that it didn’t freak me out.”

Dan exhaled. “It kind of freaks me out.”

Max’s brows furrowed. “Healing?”

Dan nodded. “I think so. Not just physical. Emotional, maybe. Soul-deep stuff.”

Max was silent a moment, then let out a breath. “That’s huge. That could save lives.”

Dan smirked. “Including mine, apparently.”

They stood in the alley for a long moment – three men bound now not just by friendship, but by fire.

Max looked at Dan, then at Victor.

“We’re not the same people who walked into that hospital.”

Dan rolled his shoulders, light still trailing off him in golden ribbons. “No. We’re not.”

And somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled across the sky.

The next storm was already on its way.