For all of the twitching, its head is staying mostly in the same place. Its primary defensive hands are ruined and the ones that aren't are struggling to keep it attached to the chapel. You're never going to get a better shot than this.
You don't have the strength left for a powerful throw. At this point, you're essentially swinging your limp arms forward like flails. The eyes bulge grotesquely and you can feel heat beginning to pour from them.
"
Credo in Deum Patremomnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae..."
Two handfuls. Some explosive, some not. Doesn't matter. Throw.
"
...et in Iesum Christum, Filium Eius unicum, Dominum nostrum, qui conceptus est de Spiritu Sancto, natus ex Maria Virgine..."
No more time. Turn your hips. Throw from your core.
BURN.
You swing so hard your right shoulder pops from its socket. The blades rocket upwards and light, blinding and punishing, erupts from the grotesquery of eyes before you can throw the rest.
Windows burst and the chapel's brickwork, pristine and beautiful, shatters under the explosion. You're forced to a knee, coughing from the billowing smoke. You force your eyes open amidst the rain of soot and search desperately for your opponent within.
The great head is still there.
You fish desperately in your sleeves, searching for more weapons, when bone and blood join the cascading debris. The lattice is shattered, the soft skin beneath pulverized and leaking. With a groan, either from it or from the chapel, the massive form falls.
It's surreal, watching the ravaged menagerie of limbs twist limply in the air. You scramble out of the way, not even bothering to look back in favor of just getting far away as it grows larger and larger.
You make it to the stairway before it reaches ground and rattles the world.
When the dust finally settles, you see the body esconced in a crater as irregular and formless as itself. What arms aren't ruined scramble forward weakly in a desperate search for purchase.
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.
You can hear it now, truly hear it, despite your eardrums stubbornly refusing to mend themselves. It's not even rage at this point. It's pouting. Its claws dig shallow furrows in the earth, lacking the strength to move its great bulk.
GODS DON'T DIE. GODS DON'T
The arms fall limp. Blood drips softly from the pulped mass of its head.
Silence.
PREY SLAUGHTERED
You hear a muted shout that could be your name. Or maybe someone freaking out about that thing whose non-Euclidean ass you just kicked. Either way, you attempt to raise your fist in victory. When that predictably fails, you settle for making the sign of the cross, hoping that it's watching from whatever fucked-up Hell it wound up in.
Then you tip forward. You can live with a broken nose, but you really hope you don't break your glasses.
You barely feel it when your body is caught and propped up by a figure you can't make out. Your struggle to maintain consciousness as you're lugged towards the chapel is scored by worried shouts just louder than your current bout of tinnitus. There's more than one person carrying you now, but you can't quite figure out why two of them seem so much smaller than the others.
The last thing you see is the mellow light of the lantern before you're carried away by the Dream.
White hair, a white face, and the white teeth of a smile greet you when your eyes stagger open.
"Hello again, good Hunter. How goes your journey in the waking world?"
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