The wind howled a dirge through the petrified ribs of the Sky-Serpent Makari, a sound Kavi Ranat knew intimately. It was the sound of a world dying, and the perfect accompaniment to his own rather messy demise. A shard of obsidian-black demon horn was buried deep in his left thigh, painting the ancient bone-wall of the holdout a fresh crimson. Above him, the Null-Rift pulsed like a cancerous heart, casting the shattered realm of Jatar in sickly violet. Below, a demon-maw, all chitin and gnashing teeth, roared its triumph, its clawed hand already reaching for his throat. “Really, Kavi? Again with the suicidal footwork?” A voice, dry as grit, drifted through the monstrous brute. Vith, his spectral assassin, phased out of the demon’s chest, a translucent shimmer in the oppressive gloom. He wore his usual expression of ethereal disdain, though Kavi suspected it was just indigestion from too much soul-snacking. “It’s called ‘creative evasive maneuvering’ when you’re bleeding out,” Kavi gasped, pressing a palm against the wound. His smile was a grimace, forced and sharp. “You’d know all about it if you weren’t busy ghosting through walls like a particularly smug draft.” “It’s called ‘optimal tactical positioning’ and it saves your life, unlike your ‘creative maneuvering’ which usually ends with you as a demon’s chew toy.” Vith flickered, coalescing beside Kavi, his spectral hand passing through Kavi’s shoulder. “Now, the lunging strike, not the clumsy stumble. Your weight distribution is atrocious.” “My weight distribution is currently 80% panic, 15% pain, and 5% existential dread,” Kavi retorted, but his eyes darted to the horned beast. It lunged, surprisingly agile for its bulk. Kavi rolled, the horn in his thigh screaming in protest, landing awkwardly near a jagged rib-strut. He clutched the hilt of his short-sword, ‘Grin-Splitter,’ its edge humming faintly with borrowed Void-power. “See? Atrocious,” Vith commented, watching the beast pivot. The demon was fast, its mandibles dripping corrosive ichor. Kavi knew he couldn’t dodge another charge. Makari's outer defenses were stretched thin, and he was alone on this exposed, precarious ledge. “Alright, fine. Critical feedback accepted. Now, how about a critical assist?” Kavi yelled, his voice cracking with strain. The beast roared, saliva flecking its split chin. Kavi saw his chance – a slight imbalance in its charge, a momentary shift in its center of gravity. Instead of dodging, Kavi *leaned into* the charge, driving Grin-Splitter not into its hide, but into the shard of horn still embedded in his thigh. He twisted, using the demon’s own momentum and the leverage of the impaled horn as a fulcrum, and slammed the sword’s pommel against the exposed nerve cluster behind the demon’s knee. The brute shrieked, a harsh tear of sound. Its leg buckled, sending it sprawling. Kavi, now free of the horn, though the wound gushed afresh, didn’t hesitate. He scrambled atop the fallen demon, ignoring the throbbing ache, and plunged Grin-Splitter repeatedly into the vulnerable seams of its chitinous armor, aiming for the luminous Null-cores embedded deep within. Each strike was a desperate prayer, each parry of its flailing claws a near-miss. Blood, both his and the demon’s, splattered across his face. Finally, with a wet crack and a guttural gurgle, the carcass shuddered and went still, its bright cores dimming to soot. Kavi collapsed beside it, panting against the stone. He felt the familiar surge of cold resonance stir from within his marrow. [ *A whisper from the shattered self, From timelines lost and hope bereft. Your laughter rings, a hollow bell, Against the doom you know so well.* ] The Echo Mandate’s words were always a punch to the gut, a cold reminder of a past he couldn’t remember but felt the lingering sorrow of. He pushed it down, as he always did, with a wry, blood-flecked smile. “Well, that was a lovely little poem, Echo. You really captured the ‘dying alone in the dark’ vibe. Top marks.” Kavi pushed himself up, wincing, and looked at the fallen Drakul-Maw. The demon’s body began to twitch. Its dull Null-cores flared, not with malevolence, but with a crackling, vibrant green. Bones scraped, sinews snapped, and then, with a wet tearing sound, the flesh sloughed off, revealing a clean, articulated frame of calcified remains. It stood, taller than Kavi, its empty eye sockets shining with the same verdant flame. “Ugh, finally. Took you long enough, Master. My leg was starting to cramp, you know.” The newly formed skeletal warrior spoke, its voice a gravelly rasp, its jawbone clicking with emphasis. “And really, the knee? A bit… pedestrian, isn’t it? I saw at least three other vital points you could have gone for.” Kavi threw his hands up. “Oh, for the love of the Void! You were a snarling engine of destruction five seconds ago! Now you’re a bickering bone-bag with an opinion on my combat strategy?” “Well, now I’m *your* snarling engine of destruction, Master. And I have very high standards. Let’s not get into your footwork again, shall we? Truly dreadful.” The bony recruit, his newest loyal (and irritating) minion, clicked its phalanges dismissively. Kavi was about to retort when a flash of silver and a spray of arcane fire erupted from the deeper shadows of the serpent’s ribcage. Nirupa, her braided hair bound tight, landed with a soft thud beside him, her twin obsidian daggers still hissing with residual heat from whatever she’d just eviscerated. Her emerald eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now held a weariness that matched his own. She took in Kavi, bleeding into the dust, then the newly raised thrall, who was currently trying to adjust its own ribcage with a clack-clack sound. “So,” Nirupa said, her voice dry. “You’ve been busy. Another walking heap of existential dread for your collection, Kavi?” She gestured to the ossified sentry, then to the lingering demon gore around them. “Didn’t think you’d stoop to necromancy this early in the cycle.” “Nirupa, darling! You’re just in time to critique my latest artistic endeavor!” Kavi grinned, despite the pain. “And it’s not necromancy, it’s… ethical demon recycling. Besides, this one’s quite the conversationalist. Says my footwork is atrocious.” “It’s not wrong.” Nirupa’s lips twitched. Her gaze lingered on the fresh blood soaking Kavi’s thigh. “And you’re bleeding like a ruptured artery. Again. You know, for a man who claims to be immortal, you certainly spend a lot of time flirting with the afterlife.” “It’s my charm, my dear. Death finds me irresistible. Also, it’s called ‘method acting.’ Gotta look the part of the suffering hero.” Kavi swayed slightly, the world tilting. “Just another Tuesday, right? Another demon, another delightful chat with the undead, another lecture from Vith, another scathing review from my favorite rival-slash-ally.” “Don’t push it, Ranat,” Nirupa warned, but there was a hint of a smile in her eyes. She started to move towards him, concern warring with her usual pride. “Let’s get that leg patched before you bleed out and become a proper skeleton yourself. You’d probably complain about the lack of muscle definition.” “Oh, I absolutely would. I have standards, you know. Unlike some people who show up late to the party and miss all the good dismemberment.” Kavi’s banter was a brittle shield against the exhaustion, the constant grind of survival. “The ‘party’ is endless, Kavi. Just like your snark.” Her hand reached for his shoulder, a silent offer of support. The skeleton cleared its throat, a dry rasp. “Excuse me, Master, but I detect an anomaly.” Its green-lit sockets fixed on something above them. “A rather… large anomaly.” Nirupa’s head snapped up, her hand dropping. Kavi followed her gaze, his breath catching cold in his throat. The air vibrated with a low hum, growing in intensity. The ancient, petrified jawbone of the Sky-Serpent Makari, which formed the very ceiling of their makeshift bastion, began to groan. Tiny cracks spiderwebbed across the fossilized bone, then widened with sickening speed. With a grind of ancient marrow, the colossal jawbone split, slowly, inexorably, revealing the raw, pulsating expanse of the Null-Rift. It was not a distant wound in the sky anymore, but a gaping, abyssal maw, its violet and black currents swirling, consuming everything, radiating an ancient, hungry cold. It had opened directly above them, threatening to swallow the last redoubt of humanity whole.

A Ribcage Full of Regret