The Last Circle-Chapter 23: O God, Grant Me Strength

Time was of the utmost importance. Each fleeting second, every drawn breath, every howl of death, every echoing footstep bouncing through the behemoth-swarmed passages... it all coalesced into one powerful reminder for Nameless to keep going, in the form of standing hairs and goosebumps.

The swarm—which was evolving into an army—made haste, singing in their deathly screeches to form a serenade of lamenting echoes. The behemoths were not afraid to let it be known that they were the harbingers of death, and none would escape.

Nameless looked ahead, his heartbeat was rapid, like a drumroll to the screeches, drowning the sounds of his ruinous flames. He looked left, right, behind, and above. No matter where he looked, no path provided an optimal escape—going wasn't an option anymore, and that disturbed him. The behemoths had him at the end of the rope, and he needed to sever it.

'But how?' he asked himself, breaking into a sprint as his eyes darted in every corner of his vision. 'How do I win? It's difficult to kill even one!'

Each step of his carried with it a fiery huff. The flames that wrapped him in their warm embrace quivered, as did his black-outlined body when he found his path cutoff by the emergence of a behemoth.

Nameless—as though he were skating on ice—slid along the ground, feeling the skin on his soles being sanded by rock. His chest surged with an icy sensation as he watched claws darting right for his face, like weathered, ivory spears that had seen a bloodbath. Instinctively, he dashed to the right, and the claws whizzed just under his earlobe, but his shoulder wasn't so lucky.

A chunk of flesh was ripped off, sent flying back as the claw dug straight through, as though his skin were like butter in the face of sword. A pang surged through from the mutilation, and his echoing wail—more bestial than human—sliced through the chaotic dissonance, adding more to the harmony that deafened him.

His clavicle, like a crystal jewel gleaming through a fissure of flames, shining in the blazing incandescence wrapped within. From it, a fiery liquid traced his path, spilling on the ground as it bubbled and popped, sending splashes everywhere, like embers dancing in the wind.

But he pushed past the pain, dragging his heavy legs forth with larger strides, entering a narrow passage, much like the beginning of his journey through this accursed land. His muscles, feeling as though they were on the verge of melting, begged for rest, but he refused to be shackled down by the pain surging across his body.

'I can't stop now!' he told himself, wincing at the feeling of wind rushing against his exposed bone, ignoring the jagged protrusions that sliced away at his legs.

Truly, his torture in Hell had never stopped. It was merely reintroduced; reincarnated into this amalgamation of palpable dread; a call to death, laughing in his face at the idea of escaping. Running through a narrow passage didn't help expel that thought, however, for it was a reminder:

'Don't die, or you'll be returning to the beginning!'

On one hand, the narrow passages helped him out, but on the other, he thought it a sign of his inevitable failure; a wall closing in and ready to squash him—along with his efforts—into dust.

A wail: the anthem of death, resounded behind him, tainting the air in the madness of the bloodthirsty behemoths. But even beyond that, there was something... arcane, about their presence. It was in the air, withering his nose, reeking of something... sinister.

He froze in his tracks and darted his gaze back, hearing his joints crack as he stretched his neck, watching as a behemoth struggled to move through the narrow passage.

That was to be expected, hence why he ran here, since the behemoths' height were comparable to that of giraffes, and they were quite wide as well. They still paled in comparison to the Sinner Hellbound Beasts, however, but Nameless knew that size wasn't everything.

And indeed, the behemoth's large, skeletal, ghastly frame of torn flesh and bone being restricted by the walls, didn't keep it at bay for long. Slowly, with large swipes that grated its claws against the black stone, the behemoth tore through the pillars, renovating them. Each rip of the rock, each piece shattering on the ground, entwined with the sounds of scraping.

Like a call and answer melody, the scrapes and shattering made him queasy, and it didn't help that more behemoths were swarming around the excavation. But the sight of them understanding that they were too large to pass through and, instead, choosing to climb atop was what evolved Nameless's dread into an inexplicable fear, festering at his heart and mind.

He could certainly keep firing flame arcs here—well, that's all he could do to harm the behemoths as of now—but his left arm, the dominant one, was in no condition to do any swinging. He had that behemoth, furiously digging through the passage, to thank for such a catastrophe.

Nameless grit his teeth, turning his gaze to the pillar's tops, watching as the behemoths climbed like an awakened and, very angry, hive. Their numbers painted the black stone in the white embrace of their angular and thick bones, revealing that his suspicion of many more hiding around was true.

And now, they were out to play, and Nameless just happened to be a nice plaything. All it took was for them to finish scaling the pillars, before dropping down like

Seeing that he lacked the means to fight, he continued running off, but he didn't like the look up ahead. In fact, he was so distracted that he failed to realize he'd nearly rolled his ankle and accrued some more cuts along his legs.

As for what concerned him, it wasn't the lack of behemoths... at least, for now. The big issue was that the path forked, and in a situation where the enemy was attempting to surround you, that wasn't something he was fond of. He shook his head as he thought:

'Either left or right!?'

To him, that spelt that his escape would eventually be cutoff entirely, leaving him with the choice to either die fighting... or to die doing nothing.

'And to think,' he sneered as some jagged rocks sliced his ankles, 'it would only take two behemoths to end me, but I just had to get a whole brood on my tail and above.'

The countless sinister sounds that the behemoths brought was enough to fuel his ability to run faster. Nameless was certain that at the end of this, assuming he made it out alive, he was going to be needing several days worth of rest.

Of course, that also ignored the fact that he had some serious injuries that one wouldn't just run around with. It hadn't crossed his mind that he was seriously injured until he looked left as he entered to fork in the road, noticing mangled flesh that revealed his clavicle out of the corner of his eye.

He kind of wanted to touch it...

"What are you thinking about right now!?" he yelled at his... voices, snapping back to reality as he vehemently shook his head.

He took a few moments to study the path to his left, before he had to, regrettably, take to the right.

The left path would've allowed him to progress through the Vagrant's Pass, bringing him one step closer to the towering black structure, but he would have been greeted by a behemoth welcoming party that was already running straight for him with open arms and extended claws.

The right path, of course, led backward, which gnawed at his stomach and heart. On one side, death and progression; the other, death and regression.

He even considering going up once more, but with the thought of having to deal with behemoths that were already up there...

'Yeah, no. Seems this is the way,' so he thought, starting to feel the weight of his legs that he struggled to pull forth, as though he were trying to run underwater, against a relentless current.

But if he felt tired then, even with the thought of more behemoths on his six, the ivory claws that reached out from behind a corner was enough to wake him up.

Had Nameless not slid on the ground, as though he were performing a slide tackle, his eyes and those claws would've been on a first-name basis. He quickly got back up, but another behemoth, who wasn't interested in traps, hopped out of hiding. With a swift slash that whistled in the air, it landed a weak hit, thanks to Nameless angling his body to minimize the amount of damage done.

Still, the flesh wound adding onto the already pulsing pangs of pain did make anything much more difficult. Even breathing felt like a tedious task.

If things were looking grim earlier just a couple of seconds ago, death was looking inevitable now, but kept going, for it was not in his nature to give up.

And unfortunately, as he'd keep going, he'd find that the rock wall to his left bore no passages. Straight ahead and to his right were the only places to run... and even that seemed no longer an option. Up ahead, a lone behemoth ran straight for him. To the rows on his right were many more, ready to ambush him.

He was ready to stop running altogether; to accept his fate, if such a thing existed anymore.

'They're right behind me now,' he spared a quick glance over his shoulder, catching glimpse of the behemoths no more than ten metres away from him.

Perhaps accepting death was a tactical maneuver? After all, he'd merely return to the beginning of the Ninth Circle, and with the knowledge he gained and the Weaver of the Sky dead, he could start anew. He could safely come back and, this time, keep to the surface.

But the memories of his previous torment flooded in like a tsunami, fueling his desire to come out victorious, even if it'd cost an arm and a leg. His heart skipped a beat, eyes widened, and the pain stopped altogether.

"No!"

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His guttural and otherworldly voice banished his despair. He raised his fiery blade above his head, feeling the rush of wind that followed it. Casting a sharp, icy gaze into its eyes, he slashed with all his might against the behemoth that blocked the path ahead, cleaving it into two as a larger flame arc traced its trajectory.

His felt his tensing muscles, reverse gripping the blade and pointing it straight at his stomach while his eyes flared. His once heavy and ragged breaths turned cool and soft.

Without hesitation, he stabbed himself, letting the blade travel deep and rip out of his back that sent sparks and embers flying off like a firework.

His raging flames intensified, forcing the darkness that encompassed the subterranean ground to retreat. A bright light erupted at the stab, as though a star had just been born, and in his brilliant luminescence, the darkness was expelled, and shadows around the corner were accentuated.

The behemoths, who were once poised at the ready, hesitated to slash at Nameless as their eyeless sockets were met with a disorienting, blinding incandescence.

A hellish flame flowed from Nameless, engulfing the land in its searing glory, roaring and crackling as it surged everywhere, like an offspring of Hell, wanting to imitate its parent. The once terrifying and resilient behemoths faded into ash, further reduced until even that memory of them was erased from existence.

Embraced in his ruinous flames, Nameless sank to his knees, letting the blinding light swallow him whole and the tolling of hundreds of bells deafen him. Light expelled dark and lay claim to the Vagrant's Pass.