Chapter 13: The Helm

Val stood tall over the shredded remains of the daemon-like creature at her feet. Smoke curled from its sundered corpse, the scent of rotted flesh thick in the air.

Fire coursed through her veins.

Not just pain—power. A blistering, blinding force that crackled beneath her skin like lightning waiting to strike.

Her muscles trembled. Her chest heaved. Her head throbbed beneath the weight of the ancient helm.

And then she realized—she was still screaming.

The sound tore from her throat, raw and endless, as if her body were purging the last traces of whatever unholy poison had been forced into her.

She turned her gaze to the old man.

Gone was the cold detachment. Gone was the calm superiority.

Now there was only fear.

It etched across his face like cracks in porcelain. For a moment, he stood frozen—eyes wide behind his silver spectacles—then he turned and ran for the door.

And as if triggered by his panic, the remaining two daemons roared and charged.

Val, running on pure instinct, forgot the pain—just for an instant.

She threw a single punch.

Her fist slammed into the daemon’s chest, punching straight through flesh and bone. Her arm tore through its spine and burst out the creature’s back in a spray of black ichor.

With a sharp flick of her arm, she hurled the limp body aside. It crashed against the stone wall with a sickening crunch and collapsed in a heap.

But there was no time to breathe.

The second daemon was already upon her.

Its claws sank into her ribcage, one on each side, lifting her off the ground as it let out a thunderous roar centimetres from her face.

Battle Damage

Name Val Health 100% → 40% Source Daemon Claws

As if speaking the same language as the beast, Val screamed back, her roar matching its own—raw, defiant, inhuman.

Then, in a blur of motion, she clamped her hands around its bony skull.

And she squeezed.

The creature's roar choked off into a gurgle as cracks split across its cranium. With a sickening crunch, its head burst in her grip—an eruption of brain matter and black gore showering the air as its body went limp.

Val dropped to the ground with it, gasping, slick with sweat and blood.

Rising to her knees, Val clutched her sides where the daemon’s claws had torn into her abdomen. Blood poured from the wounds—hot, dark, and fast—but so did the light. It pulsed between her fingers, white and searing… and then came more of the pain. She screamed from what surged inside her, also taking notice of the increasing weight upon her head.

Battle Heal

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Name Val Health 40% → 100% Source Helm of the Valkyrie

The ancient metal of the helm pressed down on her skull like a vice—unbearable, suffocating. It burned against her scalp, as if searing itself into her thoughts, her identity… her very soul.

Her body trembled. Her mind threatened to crack.

Val could take no more. Gritting her teeth, she gripped the helm with both hands and summoned what felt like the last of her strength. With a strained cry, she tore it from her head.

The helm fell from her fingers and hit the stone floor with a heavy, echoing thud.

She collapsed to her hands and knees, chest heaving, each breath ragged. The burning within her slowly began to fade—still there, but no longer consuming.

Val looked toward the door—but the old man was gone.

She was alone.

Just her… and six corpses.

The silence pressed in. Only the faint hiss of cooling blood and the low, fading thrum of energy pulsing through her veins remained.

Her thoughts snapped back to the pain. She remembered the daemon’s claws—remembered being lifted into the air, impaled like meat on a hook.

She raised the front of her shirt with trembling hands, bracing for the worst.

Dried blood streaked her skin. She wiped it away slowly, breath catching in her throat.

Where eight jagged wounds had torn through her abdomen, there were only scars. Pink. Fresh. Closed.

No torn muscle. No open gashes. No pain.

She checked the rest of her body.

The blackness that had once webbed through her veins like poison was gone.

She stared, breathless. She was healed. But how?

Her eyes drifted to the helm, resting silently on the stone floor beside her. Cold. Waiting.

She rose, giving the helm a wide berth as she stumbled toward the door.

Locked.

Val grunted in frustration and gave it a hard yank—only for the entire door to rip free from its hinges with a screech of metal.

She stood frozen, staring at the heavy door now clutched in her hands.

How? She thought again. Nothing was making sense to her anymore.

The strength—that unnatural strength. Was it the helm? A remnant of the plague the old man had injected into her? She couldn’t be sure.

But she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Beyond the doorway stretched a darkened corridor, lit only by the flickering glow of scattered candles. Stone walls. Iron bars. A long, narrow hallway lined with shadowed alcoves.

A dungeon. Or maybe an ancient cell block.

Val glanced back once more.

The helm still sat where she had dropped it—silent, waiting, as if watching her with unseen eyes.

She hesitated, looked once more down the hallway—then stepped back toward the helm.

With an outstretched hand, she picked it up cautiously.

No pain.

No searing heat.

No surge of power.

It was just metal now, cold and silent.

Val turned away without another thought and sprinted into the passageway beyond, the helm tucked tightly under her arm as the candlelight flickered across the stone.

End of Chapter Stats

Name Val Occupation Combat Medical Technician (CMT) Health 100% Hunger 40% Thirst 70% Gear Helm of the Valkyrie Skills Battlefield Medicine, Standard Weapons Trained, Enhanced Strength Kills 14

Name Lesser Daemon (Terminated ×2) Occupation Unknown Health 0% Weapons Claws