There was no more rock to claw at, there was no more coal to dig, no more iron to mine, no more flint to set his body alight. There was nothing... He extended his hand and tried to grab anything, but his claws dug into his palm. The Demon had done it; he had reached the surface, no longer confined to the mine he was born in.
His body was still burning, and the pain of starvation was still there, but he was no longer in the mine, no longer in the tunnel he carved.
He climbed up, into the darkness above. His body was like a star, like a sun illuminating the area around him. Indeed, he had brought light into the dark surface. A thick fog surrounded the area, but strayed away from him. Away from his light, from the fire that singed his body.
From the Fire that had become a part of him! Of his coal-like skin! Of his flint-like visage, embellished with iron and steel! He had transformed, but hunger remained. Hunger remained.
