The silence was deceptive.
Asari's steps echoed faintly as he led Aicha deeper into the foul-smelling passage, walls pulsing faintly like veins under translucent flesh. Every breath they took seemed filtered through decay. Shadows clung to the corners, watching, breathing. Aicha's fingers tightened around the armrest of her enhanced wheelchair, the glow of her core crystal dimming.
"We're being watched," she whispered.
"I know," Asari replied. His voice was sharp, like steel drawn from a scabbard. His eyes flicked to the walls. Something moved there—no, something blinked.
Dozens of tiny, glinting red dots opened across the walls. Eyes. Watching. Judging.
The Stone of Gluttony pulsed faintly beneath Asari's chest like a second heartbeat. The hunger stirred again, but it wasn't wild—it was alert, sensing something far more ancient. Asari's hand dropped to the hilt of his blade. Not the glaive this time—his master's sword, still nameless, but bathed in memory and regret.
Without warning, the ground beneath them cracked.
A hand burst out—a grotesque limb covered in soil and blood, fingers like crooked knives. Asari reacted instantly.
"Ghost Walking."
The world blurred. He reappeared ten steps away, sword drawn, eyes narrowed. The creature crawled out—a human-shaped thing stitched together from corpses, its ribcage exposed and filled with writhing worms.
More erupted from the earth. Dozens.
Aicha activated her defensive seal, spinning backward as energy shields flickered around her. "They were buried alive," she muttered. "And now they serve something... older."
Asari stepped forward. The creatures lunged.
"Devil Cry: Step 1 – Sever."
His blade moved once. The air screamed. Four of the undead collapsed instantly, torsos cleaved in half, heads spinning into the shadows. Asari's foot slid forward again.
"Devil Cry: Step 2 – Rend."
He twisted mid-air, the sword dragging through five more enemies like paper. Each body fell into dust. The Stone roared inside him, craving their essence.
But he didn't stop.
A new enemy rose—massive, horned, and stitched from multiple corpses. Its tongue lashed out like a whip. Asari blocked it with his arm. Blood sprayed, but he didn't flinch. The hunger smiled inside him.
"Silent Dagger – Dismember."
With a whisper, a second blade formed behind him—a shadowy double. It shot forward and sliced the creature's legs clean off.
Asari leapt.
"Devil Cry: Domain Open – Starving Hell."
For a second, everything turned crimson. A barren wasteland formed beneath his feet, filled with skeletons and chains. The horned creature screamed as its body combusted under pressure from the illusion.
The domain vanished. Silence returned.
But the ground pulsed again.
Beneath the soil, thousands more bodies slept. Eyes blinked in the dark. Aicha gritted her teeth. "It's endless. This place—it's a graveyard."
"No," Asari said, voice low. "It's a womb."
The walls began to throb. A sickening, deep voice echoed from below.
"You carry the hunger... but will you feed the child that sleeps beneath us?"
Asari's eyes narrowed. Whatever was down there wasn't just another monster. It was something older than sin. Something that fed on gluttons.
He turned to Aicha. "We're not ready for this fight. Not yet."
She nodded. "Then let's run. Together."
The two of them turned and fled as the world behind them cracked open—giant hands reaching, screams echoing from the abyss.
They didn't look back.
And as the darkness chased them, one phrase echoed in their hearts:
> "Even the cursed can choose what they become."