Angar's leap carried him off the cliff and through the air, his maul alit with a brightness it had never before achieved, aimed directly at the grotesque mass of the Harmongulan.

  The leap was more than an attack. It was a declaration of war against the very essence of despair and corruption that tried to take hold in Angar's mind and heart.

  As he soared forward, nearing the creature, he could feel it, its power almost overwhelming, the air and ground around the Gatekeeper trembling with it, the dark energy pulsing from the beast.

  Fear of death spread through Angar’s chest, but his desire to tithe his God with battle and blood drowned it out, his resolve as solid as the hammer in his monstrous hands.

  As he descended, the Harmongulan's tendrils reared back and shot up like snakes, each aimed unerringly at him. He twisted mid-air, his maul connecting with one of the cords.

  The impact sent a shockwave through the air, the cord snapping back with a reverberating twang, but there were six more that hungered for his blood, and he wouldn’t be able to avoid those.

  His mind was still cloudy. So cloudy he had almost forgotten he now had magic. Ground Current, despite its name, took him through the air. He tried appearing near the mass of flesh serving as the Harmongulan’s head, but that seemed beyond the Ability.

  Instead, he appeared near the monster’s feet, the lightning bolts seeming to do as little damage to this beast as they had to the brutes. And that was not much at all, if any, just as Spirit had told him.

  He had hoped she was wrong. And the stun didn’t cause it to even pause for a moment, shrugged off like nothing.

  The realization that this truly would be his end gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside, focusing on his next move.

  He swung his hammer at a kneecap, praying for the crack of broken bone, but the blow sank into the writhing mass of flesh like it would into mud.

  The beast tried kicking its leg up to stomp him, but Angar rolled away. The tendrils, like living chains, sought him out, but Angar was a blur of motion, dodging with a new ease and grace, each dodge followed by a counterattack.

  His maul struck at the cords, aiming to cause them pain or at least keep them at bay, knowing his weapon wouldn’t damage them. He knew better how the tendrils attacked now. He knew one misstep could mean his end.

  As he avoided the tentacles, the monster began swinging its massive fists at its disobedient prey, each blow creating little whirlwinds of dust and debris. The ground itself seemed to recoil from the impact of the Harmongulan's fists, cracks spreading like spiderwebs underfoot.

  He ducked under one, the wind from the punch ruffling his hair, and tried parrying another with his maul, the collision sending sparks into the air and Angar flying back, landing with a force that shook the ground.

  He rolled to his feet, his momentum carrying him into a sprint back at his enemy. He dodged and dove around cords until he was back by its legs.

  Now that he had somewhat measured his opponent, he spun into Tempest, his maul held in both hands, thudding against the creature’s legs as lightning began to stretch out from it.

  The Harmongulan, in response, let out a cacophony of screams from the countless faces embedded in its form, a terrible sound that ached through Angar’s head.

  Cords, fists, and feet attempted to batter the spinning Crusader, but his enemy was slowed while his own speed was increased. Nothing touched him.

  Nothing touched him until, suddenly, something did.

  Angar didn’t see what hit him, but for the first time, something ended Tempest before its six seconds were up. Even with the damage mitigation he had while the Ability was active, the impact hurt, and hurt badly.

  Once again, he barreled through the air, trying to activate Ground Current, but it had two seconds of cooldown remaining. This time, instead of landing and rolling over the ground, he smashed right into the cliff he had jumped from, battering his body further, stealing the breath from his lungs.

  After hitting the cliff, he landed on the ground, gasping for air that refused to come. Seven dark cords snaked towards his prone form.

  As the tendrils thudded into the ground where he had just lain, Ground Current deposited him back on his feet near the Harmongulan, his maul arcing at his opponent.

  Tempest had made this thing scream, and as his hammer pounded against his foe, he saw that some of the writhing, tortured bodies making up its form were bleeding, heartening him, letting him know this monster could be injured.

  It was bleeding, but the Harmongulan was far from defeated. The dark energy around it seemed to grow and pulse with hate and malice. He knew this might be his end, but he’d meet it on his feet, hammer in hand.

  He swung at the Harmongulan's legs once more, aiming to disrupt its balance, but the creature's flesh absorbed the blow with a sickening squelch, barely shifting.

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  The monster retaliated with its cords, its feet, and its massive fists, each punch creating gusts of wind whipping around, or cratering the ground. Angar ducked and weaved, avoiding most of these attacks, though he took a few slices from the cords.

  And those tendrils never stopped, always continuing their relentless pursuit, lashing out like snakes, their tips narrowly missing Angar as he darted around the beast. He countered with his maul when necessary, trying to save its glowing head for the Harmongulan itself.

  As Angar waited for Tempest to come off cooldown, the fight devolved into a brutal stalemate, with him and this creature of the infernal abyss doing their best to damage one another – Angar avoiding the damage, the Harmongulan just taking it all.

  As he dodged and struck, the Harmongulan's screams sometimes filled the air, a horrible symphony of pain, rage, or, perhaps, just frustration.

  Angar's swings were powerful, each one backed by his righteous wrath, but they only managed to cause superficial damage to the monster's grotesque form.

  In return, the Harmongulan's fists and legs moved with deceptive speed for its size, each near-miss sending Angar dodging with all he had within him.

  The ground beneath them became a churned mess of mud and debris, their struggle a testament to their endurance, neither giving ground nor taking significant damage, locked in a battle where one wrong move could end the man, but not the monster.

  He dodged a tendril and went to strike again, but a cord found his forearm and stuck in deeply. He sidestepped another cord as he dropped his maul, ripped the cord out, dodged another, and yanked with all his strength.

  The monster let out another scream as the cord reared up, dragging Angar along with it high into the air. He let go, but a new tendril thunked into his calf, another wrapped around his body.

  As he struggled to rip the cord around his body away, another wrapped around his arm and something pierced his back. One cord began to constrict around his neck as something dug into his chest.

  Angar’s breath rasped, trapped by the cord coiling tighter around his neck. He didn’t know how many tendrils had him. He hoped all of them.

  Blood seeped from his wounds, hot and sticky, his pierced forearm trembling as he clawed at the cord around his body.

  The Harmongulan loomed below him, its grotesque mass shuddering with a chorus of silent screams, daring him to break.

  He couldn’t wait longer. Every second was a gamble with death.

  With a guttural roar, he summoned Tempest. Lightning erupted from his core, crackling through his body as he gripped his empty hands together, his maul lost in the chaos.

  He spun, a vortex of righteous fury, the world blurring into streaks of light and shadow. The cords lashed with him, stretched taut, their tips embedding too deep, pulling tight as his spin was halted, but the magic empowering it tried forcing it onward.

  His vision dimmed. He saw stars bursting behind his eyes. He roared, his defiance drowning fear, but the cord choking the silent scream.

  Tempest continued to try forcing him to spin as the tendrils pulled tighter and tighter. The one at his neck squeezed, a vice of agony dulled only by Tempest’s damage mitigation, but it still burned horrifically as it dug in deeper and deeper, threatening to sever his head from his spine.

  Though he wasn’t spinning, thunder boomed, lightning forking outward, searing the tendrils, their flesh sizzling under his wrath.

  The cords tangled around him burrowed deeper every moment, forcing out another scream that couldn’t pass his choked neck.

  Then the cord on his chest slackened with a wet rip, and chunks of writhing bodies splattering the ground.

  A moment later, his calf freed. The Harmongulan shrieked a cacophony of a thousand tortured voices. As the tendrils on his arms and back gave way, dark ichor gushing from their roots.

  The cord around his neck held, strangling his cry, his pulse hammering against it. He could feel his monstrous hands blistering, his resolve fraying, but his spirit burned unyielding.

  With a final, desperate surge, he poured his faith into the spin. The cord around his neck shuddered, stretched beyond its limit, and tore away with a sickening crack, flinging gore across the battlefield.

  Released, Angar’s spin became a whirlwind unbound, lightning lashing outward at nothing.

  Then gravity claimed him. He plummeted, a meteor cloaked in a sacred storm, trailing sparks and blood.

  Just before crashing into the earth, he ended Tempest and activated Ground Current, reappearing at his enemy’s legs again with a thunderous boom that shook the valley.

  Dust billowed around him as his knees buckled, and his wounded body screamed in agony. But he lived. He breathed.

  And he fought on.

  He went to swing his maul before remembering he had dropped it, so his monstrous hands clawed into the leg instead, drawing blood. His pierced forearm trembled as he clawed, sending pain lancing through him with each swipe.

  Then he had to avoid a tendril again, realizing he hadn’t got them all. One remained.

  The beast kicked forward powerfully, and as he dodged aside, he couldn’t fully avoid a massive fist that nicked him, sent him reeling back, tumbling over and over the ground.

  As he got to his feet, the tendril lashed in. This far back from the Harmongulan, he could see its whole body, and he noticed the cords alone hadn’t been ripped out. They had taken big chunks of the writhing bodies they were attached to along with them.

  One shoulder was no longer covered with armor, and the hole left by the cord bled freely. The other shoulder had its armor intact, but that tendril was gone too. There were massive bleeding holes on one side of its neck, chest, and both biceps too.

  The ground was marred by the dark, oozing blood of the Harmongulan, along with chunks of once-writhing bodies and tentacles.

  He had caused this monster real damage.

  He smiled as he sidestepped the cord. It thunked into the ground near him, and his good arm snaked out to grab it, then his bad arm followed and grabbed it too, and he yanked with all his might.

  The Harmongulan screamed horrifically. With one hand, it grabbed the tendril attached to its neck and yanked hard on it. And as it yanked, Angar released his own grip, and the cord lashed the monster’s own body.

  Angar’s chest filled with pride. He was standing toe-to-toe with this massive monster and giving as good as he got. He had caused it real damage.

  And he wasn’t done yet.

  His every muscle ached, his chest heaved, his wounds bled, but his eyes burned with the fire of righteous wrath. The battle was far from over, but in this moment, under the stormy sky, he had proven his worth.

  The cord lashed out again. Angar batted it aside with his clawed hand. He rushed forward to give battle once more, crashing into the beast’s leg, trying to knock it over.

  The Harmongulan steadied itself, preparing for another onslaught. Its movements slowed slightly as dark blood pooled beneath it, though its malice burned brighter.

  Angar dodged away from the tendril, dove away from a fist, rolled over the ground, snatched up his weapon, and stood.

  He gripped the maul with his good hand, the wounded arm screaming in protest. His spirit was unbroken, and he was ready to fight until his last breath.

  Or until this spawn of Hell lay vanquished.