Toria didn't run.
Even as the monster advanced, with heavy, measured steps, setting down its twisted, macabre legs—reptilian in shape—dragging its sharp claws across the floor with a grating, horrific sound at every step, almost laughing, snickering with a constant deep and shadowy "he… he… he" that echoed inside the girl's ribcage, baring all its jagged teeth, dripping with mucus and blood.
Toria remained still. The fear hadn't vanished. She would have rather died in that instant than endure that grotesque vision drawing closer and closer.
And yet, with a serious, almost ruthless gaze, she held her ground, even as her body felt strained—not only from the stress building inside her, but also from that strange sensation of being possessively and obsessively controlled, manipulated by something, as if the monster were trying to latch onto her in some way.
"I'm not moving from here…" the girl stammered. She stammered violently, rapidly. She had to repeat the same words several times just to complete the sentence. She felt herself freezing, her blood slowly and painfully turning to ice inside her veins, starting from her heart, whose beat—though still there—had become almost imperceptible to her senses.
"…Not a chance." Tears streamed down her face. She didn't want them to. Her face grew wetter than it ever had. Her eyes felt drained of fluid, burning against her retinas, sending sharp impulses that felt like someone prying open her eye sockets with blades to rip her eyes out and crush them. She struggled even to speak, as if something were forcing her to stay silent, trembling more than she ever had, on the verge of hurting herself if she made even the slightest extra movement or sound. Barely, she managed to emit broken, strained noises like "chtz… cht," her jaw feeling too stiff to open.
The Ijo was now right in front of her. Only a few meters separated their faces. Opposites, in one sense—and reflections, in another.
I don't understand something… Actually, I do—but what I don't understand is why… That monster is me. That monster… is me. How can it be me? I'm not a demon! I'm not ruthless… am I? I'm not evil… or am I? I would never hurt anyone… but would I really have let Victor die? No—what am I saying?! I never could have! Or… could I…? Why would I? Would I have been at peace with myself? That's impossible! Or is it? Why am I even thinking this?! He is… no… who is he? What does he mean to me? I don't know him—he's just a soldier. So why… do I want to see him alive and smiling…? Why do I care what he thinks? Abner is right—I should be selfish about my life! Or shouldn't I? Do I even deserve to live, after what I've done? Of course I do! I've saved lives! Or… have I condemned them…? But through all of this, I still can't understand… why that monster looks like me. I'm not like that… I'm not a demon… I'm human… I'm suffering… I'm suffering so much… I want to go home… I want my mom… I'm scared… I'm cold… Mom, help me… Mom… please…
…IT HURTS, MOM!
The beast roared into the girl's face. The sound, powerful as an explosion, thundered everywhere, rippling through the walls as if they might collapse and be torn apart, despite not being alive. The scream was horrifying—a mixture of hatred-filled shrieks, tormented wails, vicious insults, hysterical crying born from brutal torture: skin being flayed alive, fingers severed, nails ripped out. And yet, at the same time, it sounded almost epic—like the roar of a colossal dragon, a creature as ancient as the universe itself, a sound from a forgotten age, something that didn't belong to this world. It was the supremacy of those monsters. Their revenge on humanity that had deluded itself into thinking it could fight them. It sounded like a war chant, an anthem of joy and victory, a call to riot.
That was what that demon was.
A demon of riot.
And in that moment, Toria found herself face to face with those enormous inner jaws, spinning inside its throat like deranged chainsaws, while from deep within an orange light—a nearly blinding glow steeped in madness and darkness—radiated infernal heat. Bathed in it, the girl felt her face burning, almost melting.
She didn't even breathe. Not a flicker of fear. Not disgust. Not movement.
She stood there, watching her life reach an end suspended between deserved and undeserved.
"God has judged me… Now I'll burn in Tartarus with him."
"Doctor, move!"
Suddenly, Abner—an enormous KBW rifle slung across his back—shoved the girl aside with his left arm, sending her crashing to the ground, her head and shoulder slamming against the wall. At first, she didn't even seem to feel the pain.
Abner attacked the demon. A right hook to the jaw, followed by a left—again to the jaw. Then a kick, straight to the lower abdomen, with enough force to send the beast flying several meters back. Immediately after, he turned to the girl, helping her to her feet. But she was completely weak, unable to respond.
"Why are you here?! The wounded have already been evacuated! Let's go!"
Abner lifted her into his arms, getting no motor or cognitive response from her.
He was about to flee when the creature rose again and charged at full speed, full aggression, catching him off guard.
The creature struck with its right hand—twisted and razor-sharp—smashing into the man's face. He fell violently backward, along with the girl, who was thrown a short distance away, rolling like a limp sack. The rifle remained trapped beneath his back, crushed under the heavy, metallic weight of the lieutenant. It was impossible to grab it: the beast lunged on top of him, pinning his arms with its hands and his legs with its hind limbs, then began tearing him apart piece by piece—ripping metal and cables with savage strength, spraying blood and oil everywhere—while delivering brutal headbutts to his chest, protected by the bony protrusion on its skull.
Three violent blows, each just seconds apart.
The metal bent further and further, its internal fluids splattering across the Ijo's face, smearing it with blood and oil, as it roared down at the terrified lieutenant.