After hunting for a month and tasting the wonderful meat of all the creatures, the end of the month had fallen upon them.
At midnight, screams of the dead echoed through the air, their bodies decomposed and recreated, another cycle to the endless pain, fueled by insanity.
Michael screamed, his face healed, his once gnarly half-dead self was recreated in a blink of an eye, his flesh stretched, his skin tore, he bled crimson before healing in a flash.
Anne's bones broke in unison, a harmony in pain, she screeched, her muscles taunt, her body split in half, and sown back together with invisible lines, her body molten hot, welding itself back together.
She screamed in pain, Michael's laughter vibrated the air, cracking it, screaming in pain, he strung together some words, "NOW YOU UNDERSTAND WHY IT ISN'T THAT SIMPLE, NO?"
Hells' Dancer appeared in her broken hands, "ONE MORE WORD AND I'LL KILL YOU...", Michael's response? He materialized Diminished Moon with a grin on his face, "TRY ME, I'VE DIED PLENTY OF TIMES."
They clashed, in spite or in anger, trying to kill or to not be consumed in the hellish pain, every slice was healed instantly, every scream was muffled, then silence filled the room.
The new month had started, a roar of fury, from deep within the forest had stopped them. "What did you kill in the forest..." Michael panicked, his tone serious, his voice cracked, in fear, "That roar... It could only be Fenrir..."
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?" Michael shouted in fear, he ran out of the cave, knowing what would happen if he was to be caught by that monstrosity.
His blade morphed into boots, it glided across the night sky, so majestic—so terrified, "Come on, use your mobility mode, with a blade as large and powerful as that it should be able to morph!"
"Morph?"
"AHAHA, I forgot to tell you, well, there's a reason they call me "Hells' Dancer". I'm the fastest weapon, the lightest one too."
"Well, then morph," Anne thought, Hells' Dancer responded, "You aren't worthy."
"THIS BULLSHIT AGAIN? ARE YOU SURE?" Anne pressured the blade, to the point of cracking its edge. "Oh it seems this one isn't just worthy, its BETTER"
With the blink of an eye, the blade deformed, crude yet fast, wrapping around Anne, it turned into a dance suit, "Ah, that's why you're called a 'Dancer'?" Anne thought.
She flew, over the mountain top, every movement so magnificent—unlike Michael, fleeing for his life, Anne's every move slaughtered, moving through the forest, dense with monsters.
Every move of her was like a dance presented to royalty, so glorious an dignified. She swayed her arms, animals gazed in awe, the dance was like hypnosis, beautifully horrendous.
The sounds of Fenrir running towards them scared her, a sudden silhouette overshadowed her, she was ready to fight—yet instead of fighting, Fenrir ran, as fast as he could.
Behind him was a swarm, of pitiful creatures, of the ancient beings left in an eternal pit by nonother than him, those weak looking beings were tortured every day, to the brink of death.
There was a curse set on them by him, a curse of revival, they were killed and revived every day, every hour, every minute.
They came for revenge, living in this hell for as long as time itself, they weren't just powerful. If Fenrir was a Demi-God, their entire force would be beyond the gods...