Quick note: I like this Castlevania epic that takes place in the future of 2035 A.D. I hope more discover this hidden gem. Thanks.
-Dilemma-
"Okay, let's see here, I can get through this," Soma gasped between breaths. The wounds inflicted on his body were close to being dire, and he could feel is strength beginning to wane. The battles with the numerous monsters had left him to bleed into oblivion.
Somewhere inside him, he wanted to quit.
But that simply could not be. To many people were relying on him to succeed. Arikardo, Yoko, Julius, …and Mina. He cared for her so much and she was the reason that he had made it this far. All the demons, spirits, and undead could never stand up to the strength that she gave him.
He peered around the corner to the corridor beyond. The flames of hell burned on both sides of him, mammoth statues adorning the path before him. The fires' light flickered off the stone monuments making them appear to be alive. Soma squinted. Then he noticed it. One the statues slowly turned its head, red eyes glowing beyond a golden visor. It's incredible sword began to rise upward.
"Shit!" Soma swore as he flipped back to the other side of the corner. "Please tell me that's not a Final Guard! I've already destroyed so many of those!" He prayed to the God that had kept him alive so far. "I'm so weak, I don't think I can…" He looked down, wiping away some blood that had crept to his chin. He chuckled in spite of it all. "Time to take inventory."
He began to dig into the pockets of his pearl white trench coat, now freckled crimson from the blood of his enemies and himself. No potions of any kind, not even the most basic concoctions. "Food," he murmured. He frisked himself, searching for anything, a steak, pudding, even a melon of the finest quality. "Damn it!" he cursed, slapping the sides of his coat in frustration. He was out of any type of object that would aid him in the melee ahead. "I need something, anything!" he yelled to the flames, which responded by only drowning his words with their roar. He tilted his head against the stone wall behind, and then coughed, putting his hand to his chest.
Then he felt it: a bottle in the front chest pocket in his jacket. How could he have missed it? He laughed slightly at the idea that he would have run into a reckless battle with a goliath near-invincible soldier without noticing the healing potion in his coat. Without looking he quickly gulped down the fluid.
He gagged and died.
When he hit the floor the container rolled out of his hands. It was a milk bottle, the expiration date marked "August 7, 2032".
The Final Guard sniffed. "Whew, what reeks?"
"You, Bill. Close your legs," a nearby succubus responded.
"Oh, okay." The Final Guard did so.