Chapter 21: All over again

Rhys gasped as the Necrolythian's kick slammed into his chest, shattering his ribs. His vision blurred, and a torrent of blood surged up his throat. He collapsed to the ground, coughing violently, spitting out crimson blood that splattered across the cold floor. His breath came in shallow, painful gasps, every movement sending shockwaves of agony through his body. But there was no time to think about the pain—he could hear the Necrolythian closing in, its skeletal form towering above him.

Instinct kicked in.

Rhys's body dropped low just as the fist sailed through the air. With a swift, powerful sweep of his leg, he knocked the Necrolythian off balance, sending it sprawling onto the ground. But before Rhys could take advantage of the moment, the creature's arm, now fully regrown after the last interaction struck him in the side of the face.

WHAM.

He flew across the room, crashing into the wall. His body slumped down, pain exploding in every nerve. Blinking through the daze, he saw the Necrolythian rise to its feet, its newly regenerated arm flexing as if it had never been damaged. Its skeletal eyes locked on Rhys, a malicious gleam in their depths as it reached down and retrieved the syringe it had dropped before.

It lunged toward him, its speed a blur to anyone else—but not to Rhys. His reflexes were sharp, his body remade for combat. He dodged the strike at the last possible second, rolling out of the way and darting toward the nearest wall. With his strength, he tore through the metal paneling and threw himself into the next room.

He could hear the Necrolythian behind him, relentless in its pursuit, but Rhys wasn't about to slow down. He kept moving, crashing through walls with brute force, his enhanced muscles protesting only slightly. Each room seemed the same—gray, metallic, and void of anything useful. His mind raced, searching for a solution, knowing the Necrolythian would keep regenerating until he found a way to stop it for good.

Then he burst into a room that was different, a weapon storage.

His heart leaped. He had a plan.

Wasting no time, Rhys grabbed a handful of small, metallic spheres—explosives—and hurled them toward the door just as the Necrolythian entered the room. He dove for a laser pistol, aimed quickly, and fired at the cluster of explosives.

KABOOM.

The explosion rocked the room, the sheer force of it knocking Rhys backward. He braced himself against the wall, his superhuman reflexes keeping him on his feet. As smoke and debris filled the air, his enhanced vision cut through the haze, searching for any sign of movement. He knew the Necrolythian wouldn't go down that easily.

Then, a flicker of motion.

Rhys shot forward, his body moving faster than a normal human could manage, and delivered a crushing kick to the moving figure. His enhanced strength sent the creature flying across the room, crashing into the weapons racks with a thunderous crash. Its body crumpled under the force, scattering across the floor.

Rhys moved in, ready to finish the fight, but something felt wrong. The Necrolythian's body lay in pieces, yet… the syringe wasn't in its hand.

His heart skipped a beat as he spun around—and there it was.

The Necrolythian, with a fully regenerated body, was already behind him, lunging forward with the syringe. Its speed was incredible, but Rhys's reflexes kicked in, allowing him to catch the Necrolythian's arm just as the needle was about to stab him. They struggled for a brief, intense moment, but Rhys was stronger. With a snarl, he kicked the Necrolythian's body away from him, ripping its arm off in the process.

The creature flew off as Rhys quickly snatched the syringe from its severed arm. Without hesitation, he crushed it between his hands, the glass shattering harmlessly and falling to the ground.

"Now I have more options," Rhys thought, his mind racing. With the syringe destroyed, he had one less thing to worry about and could focus fully on the fight ahead. His breath was ragged, but a sense of control returned as he surveyed the room.

But then, across the room where he had kicked the Necrolythian into the weapons rack, there was movement.

Rhys tensed, his enhanced senses picking up on the shift in the air. It was moving toward him fast. He prepared himself, ready for whatever came next, every muscle coiled, his gaze locked on the shadowy figure.

Suddenly, cold, metallic hands gripped his chin and forehead from behind.

Rhys's heart froze.

He had no time to react. The grip was impossibly strong, far stronger than the Necrolythian. Before he could even begin to struggle, the hands twisted violently.

CRACK.

Rhys felt his neck snap.

The world went black, and his lifeless body slumped to the floor.