Orin didn't make it in time.

The entity that emerged from Hell's gate moved different.

A manifestation.

Reality bent around it like cloth pulled taut, distorting, warping, struggling to contain something that existed outside the normal rules of space and time.

The creature was massive - fifteen feet of writhing shadow and impossible geometry, limbs that branched into smaller limbs that branched again, each one ending in claws that looked like they could carve through the concept of matter itself.

Its eyes, dozens of them, scattered across its form without pattern or reason, fixed on Orin with the cold assessment of a predator recognizing prey.

The Grand Commander stared at it. At the wrongness made flesh.

Then he did what he'd been trained to do.

He attacked.

Golden light erupted from Orin's body, divine radiance so bright it hurt to look at.

His greatsword blazed like a star, blessed energy coursing through the blade until it hummed with power that could cut through demon flesh like tissue paper.

He charged.

The entity moved to intercept, limbs lashing out faster than thought.

Orin's blade met the first limb and severed it.

Divine steel cutting through shadow-flesh, cauterizing the wound with holy fire. The limb dissolved into ash before hitting the ground.

The entity didn't slow.

Six more limbs struck from different angles simultaneously.

Orin blocked two, dodged three, and took the last one across his shoulder.

His armor cracked. Blood sprayed. But he kept moving, kept fighting, his greatsword carving through the creature's mass with methodical precision.

"BY THE LIGHT!" His voice carried across the courtyard. Wasnt prayer. A declaration. "I CAST YOU BACK!"

Divine energy exploded from his body in a sphere of purifying radiance. The kind of spell that could banish lesser demons just from proximity.

The entity screamed.

The sound was more than vocal. It was metaphysical—reality itself objecting to what it was being forced to contain.

The divine light burned into the creature's form, eating away at shadow-flesh, destroying the wrongness that shouldn't exist.

But it wasn't enough.

By the god's, it wasn't.

The entity adapted.

Its form rippled, shifted, parts of itself dissolving and reforming beyond the reach of Orin's purifying aura.

Limbs lashed out from new angles, forcing the Grand Commander to divide his attention between offense and defense.

They collided again.

Orin's blade singing through the air in patterns perfected over thirty years. Each strike precise. Each movement economical. Divine training manifestating.

He was magnificent.

And yet...he was doomed.

The entity fought without technique. Without training. Just overwhelming power and alien intelligence that recognized every pattern, adapted to every strike, learned from every exchange.

Orin severed a limb. Three more grew to replace it.

He burned away a section of the creature's mass. The shadow-flesh reformed, denser, harder to damage.

He channeled divine energy directly into his blade and drove it through what might have been the creature's chest.

The entity caught the blade with a dozen smaller appendages and pulled, dragging the Grand Commander closer even as holy fire burned its form.

Too close.

The entity's maw opened—a vertical split in its mass that revealed nothing except darkness—and bit.

Orin screamed.

His armor shattered. Divine protection unraveling under teeth that weren't teeth, under a hunger that existed before he learned to pray.

The Grand Commander tore himself free, leaving chunks of his armor and flesh behind.

Blood poured from wounds that should have been fatal. Would have been fatal for anyone without divine vitality keeping them functioning.

He stumbled back. Raised his hand. And spoke words in a language that predated the Radiant Empire, that carried the weight of his god's true name.

The courtyard exploded with light.

Pure, absolute. The kind of radiance that didn't just illuminate darkness but erased it. Banishment magic on a scale that would have destroyed a lesser demon instantly.

The entity burned.

Its form came apart under the assault, shadow-flesh evaporating, the wrongness being forced back toward the gate it had emerged from.

For a moment, Liam thought Orin might actually win.

Then the entity spoke.

Not words, only sound. A vibration that bypassed ears and went straight to the soul.

The banishment magic stopped.

Just ceased. Divine energy still pouring from Orin's broken body but not reaching its target, like the entity had simply decided the rules didn't apply to it anymore.

"Impossible," Orin whispered.

The entity reformed. Faster than before. Angrier than before.

And learned.

Its next attack came wreathed in anti-light.

Darkness that didn't just absorb illumination but consumed it, fed on it, grew stronger from the divine energy Orin kept channeling.

The Grand Commander tried to dodge. Too slow. Too wounded. Too exhausted from channeling power that would have killed a normal human.

The entity's claws raked across his chest.

Through his chest. Ribs cracked. Organs ruptured. Divine vitality the only thing keeping Orin's heart beating as it was partially exposed to the night air.

He fell.

Hit the ground hard enough to crater stone.

And the entity loomed over him, dozens of eyes studying the broken commander with something that might have been curiosity.

Orin looked up at it. Blood bubbling from his lips. His greatsword lay ten feet away, still glowing with fading divine light.

"Not... today..." he gasped.

He raised one shaking hand. Spoke a final word. A suicide spell. The kind of magic that traded the caster's life for one last surge of destroying power.

Golden light blazed from his body. Building. Intensifying. Enough energy to level the fortress.

To take the entity with him.

The creature's form rippled.

And faster than thought, it drove a limb through Orin's chest and ripped out whatever was building there.

The divine energy dissipated.

Harmless. Wasted.

Orin stared at the entity. At the death he couldn't achieve. At thirty years of service ending not in glorious sacrifice but in meaningless failure.

"Please..." he whispered.

The entity bent closer. And in a voice like grinding continents, like stars dying, like the sound the universe made when it ended, it spoke:

"DENIED."

Then it stepped away.

Didn't kill him, didn't finish it.

Just left him there. Broken. Dying slowly. Unable to even die quickly.

The entity turned.

Looked at Liam.

And walked toward him.

Zara was shouting something from the rampart. Koth trying to push himself up, trying to position himself between Liam and the creature he'd summoned.

But Liam just stood there. Grey eyes meeting dozens of inhuman ones.

The entity stopped five feet away.

And spoke again. Words that bypassed language, that only Liam could understand:

"I SHOULDN'T HAVE COME."

Liam's breath caught.

"YOUR PROFICIENCY WAS INEFFICIENT. YOUR CONTROL INADEQUATE. YOU CALLED WITHOUT PROPER PREPARATION."

The entity leaned closer. Its form casting shadows that didn't match its shape.

"NEXT TIME THE PRICE WOULD BE MORE PROFOUND."

Then something in Liam's chest broke.

Not physically. Deeper than that. Fundamental.

[WARNING: CRITICAL HUMANITY DEGRADATION]

[Humanity Index: 15% → 2%]

[System Alert: Host psychological baseline compromised]

[WARNING: Permanent cognitive restructuring in progress]

It wasn't the essence cost. That he'd expected. That he'd calculated.

This was different.

The summoning had taken something else. Something vital. The last pieces of Liam Cross that had been holding on, that had been fighting the transformation, that had kept him human.

Gone.

It wasn't destroyed. Just... worn away. Used as payment for calling something that shouldn't answer.

Hell's price wasn't just essence.

It was identity.

And Liam had paid it without even knowing.

The entity bowed. A gesture of respect or mockery or something too alien to categorize.

Then it turned and walked back through the gate.

Reality screamed relief as the wrongness departed.

The gate collapsed in on itself, edges burning away until nothing remained except scorched stone and the memory of what had emerged.

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