Hopelessness hit Watters hard, a crushi. Grimm was losing his fight against Gorr-ath, and Mikkelson watched with twisted glee. He was moments from being grand vizier to that monstrous god, and the only two standing in his way—Watters and Grimm—were powerless to stop him.

  The doctor’s dream surged back—the cursed child spyed irench, his pleas eg relentlessly in Watters’ mind. Are we doomed to the same end? he wondered, gaze fixed on the mounds of corpses strewn across the arena.

  He gritted his teeth, eyes squeezing shut. “Damn it all,” he shouted, tears streaking his cheeks. Watters’ breath quied, lips tingling as numbness crept over his face, each gasp a struggle. Barrowham—those lost souls... Gordon, Grimm... How? His eyes flickered open, sing the age strewn across the floor.

  "No!" Watters roared; the sound raw with fury. His frail hands ched, knuckles whitening, but his eyes were already sing the arena. Grimm was losing, and the green vial offered a slim hope. Not like this, he thought, his mind rag, searg the age for a way to seize it, or anything else that could shift the banbsp;

  "There!" Watters shouted; his voice swallowed by the battlefield's roar. His tired eyes so the scorpion-like mutant's corpse, he luoward it, his thin legs a blur as he weaved through the grotesque ndscape of flesh and fur.

  Grimm teetered on the edge of Gorr-ath's gaping maw. His strength was failing, every muscle screaming in protest, his senses screaming for survival. The tentacles' slimy grip tighteheir relentless squirming a ing terpoint to the thunder of his heart. Gorr-ath's jaws widened, a bck abyss poised to swallow him whole.

  The mutant scorpion's corpse was a brutal ruin, its body still twitg. Watters's gaze snagged on the sharp tail. A long shot, he thought, but if I don't, more will die. He rolled up his bloodied sleeves and seized the tail, brag his leg against what looked like a rib cage. The flesh was slid foul, pink skin glistening with a clear ooze, bck veins still throbbing. Watters gritted his teeth, muscles straining, and yanked. CRRK! Bones snapped, but not enough. CRRRK! Almost there. He tightened his grip, hung his back, twisting. CRR-SNAP! The massive spiked tail tore free. "Gah!" Watters stumbled back, the severed tail nding heavily in his p.

  The doctor adjusted his gsses, the spiked tail clutched tight in his hands. "One more thing..." His eyes fixed on the glowing green vial. Grimm was inches from Gorr-ath's maw, the stench of decay radiating from its breath. Inside, rows of needle-sharp teeth pulsed, anticipating their feast. A shriek, pierg and brutal, tore through the air, igniting a desperate fury in Grimm. He pnted his paws against the monster's jaws, pulling with the force of a ered beast. The tih, like slivers of gss, tore into his flesh, staining the ground crimson. "RRRAAAARRRRR!" he bellowed, the raw sound eg across the battlefield as he fought against the iable.

  "Aaaaahhhhh!!" Watters's battle cry echoed across the battlefield as he sprioward the titans, the scorpion tail held high. His breath came in ragged gasps, sstered his brow, and fury fueled his legs. "What?!" Mikkelson shouted, watg the chaos unfold below. Before he could react, urk! His body went rigid. Gordon had awakened, a chokehold crushing Mikkelson's throat. "Go!" Gordon roared, wrestling the warloto submission.

  "Yaaahhhh!" Watters screamed, the cry raw as the scorpion tail SNIKT! sliced through the tendrils, severing Grimm from Gorr-ath's grasp. Foul bck blood sprayed across the battlefield, coating Watters in a viscous, inky darkness as he tinued his furious assault. The a deity shrieked in pain as the poiail tore free its hold. SNIKT! SNIKT! SNIKT! A flurry of strikes carved away at Gorr-ath, freeing Grimm pletely. The massive, hairy body crashed to the ground. Watters, ign the writhing god, turo Grimm. This is it, he thought, reag into his pocket.

  Before he could rise, a sharp point plunged into Grimm's chest. Watters had jammed the needle home, desperately squeezing the plunger. A torrent of tormented souls cried out from the wound, steam clouding Watters's gsses. "RRRROOOAAARR!" Grimm's eyes widened, his body vulsing violently, throwing Watters aside.

  "NO!" Mikkelson screamed, his voice choked by Gordon's grip as he watched his carefully id pn crumble.

  Grimm's body thrashed violently, bck fluid gushing from his snout like a grotesque fountain. Watters, dazed and disoriented, pushed himself up from the ground. "Ugh," he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut against the throbbing pain. "Did it...did it work?" he whispered, his gaze flickering trimm's vulsing form.

  It worked! The massive ly form was reg, Grimm's body rejeg the potion's influence. Crick! Crack! Pop! His bones reset themselves as fur fell away, revealing his human form. Watters scrambled to his feet and rushed toward him across the blood-soaked stones.

  Grimm was naked, his clothes ripped to shreds by the transformation. The daze swept over his body, taking iails he'd never noticed before. His sturdy frame estry of scars—bullet holes, puncture wounds, sshes—a testament to years of brutal warfare. His hands were rough and calloused, his face a roadmap of old wounds, framed by a shock of dark, greying hair.

  "Grimm," Watters murmured, gently shaking his shoulder. "Grimm! It's me, Doctor Watters." A ragged breath escaped Grimm's lips, followed by a violent cough. Thick bck fluid, ced with blood and mucus, erupted from his lungs. "Ack!" he choked, pushing himself up. Overwhelmed with relief, Watters embraced the naked man. "Grimm, you beautiful bastard! You're alive!"

  "Eerg...What? Why are you..." Grimm trailed off, gng down at Watters ging to his waist. "Get off me," he anded, his familiar cold tone a wele ge from his earlier snarls. The doctor released him, sinking bato his knees. "You...you saved me," he said, his voice softening. Watters nodded, wiping blood from his face. Grimm grunted and pointed a sharp fioward the makeshift altar. "There. My belt." The doctor stood and looked. Grimm's clothes were in tatters. On the floor, he saw the belt, the bat kill sheathed.

  Gorr-ath's portal still bzed, dripping bck blood. The severed tendrils were already growing back, a horrifying sight that widened Watters's eyes and quied his pace. He jogged to the altar, grabbed Grimm's belt and tattered jacket, and ran back. "Here!" he shouted, tossing the belt. Grimm caught it, his gaze assessing the tents. The buckle lit, but the knife remained. His pistol and rifle were gone. Grimm's eyes narrowed in frustration. "Hey," Watters said, throwing him the armless jacket. "You'll his too."

  Grimm stood in his stark nudity, whisking the armless jacket around his torso, a ical flourish that did little to ceal his bareness. He wrestled the few buttons closed, then, as if fully dressed, bellowed, "Watters! Hat!" His arm, a pale, unyielding pilr, directed the doctor back to the altar. Watters rose, a slow smirk spreading across his face. Of all things, he thought, shaking his head in silent amusement. The man is naked as a babe, fag down ic horrors, and he's worried about his hat. He walked to the altar, the absurdity of it all a brief, wele distra.

  The doctor returned, hat in hand, and offered it to Grimm. Blood staihe brim, but Grimm showed no sign of distaste. He took the hat, settling it deliberately onto his skull, fingers pressing it firmly into pce. The familiar shadow returo his face, deeper now without the bandana's casual disguise. He lifted his gaze to the ptform, his eyes narrowing as he registered Gordon's strairuggle against the warlobsp;

  Grimm's gaze so Watters. "Go to your friend," he anded, his voice low but edged with urgency. "I o get something." Watters gnced back at the ptform, a flicker of doubt in his eyes, before nodding slowly. Wheurned back, Grimm had already vanished into the areranbsp;

  The doctor turowards the stairwell, the path to the ptform looming before him. Gordon… please be alright, he thought, a cold dread settling in his stomach, heavier than any physical ache. And Grimm… where in God's name is he going now? Each step up the stairwell was a fresh torment; his thighs screamed, his lungs burned, a brutal reminder of years etched into his body. Dust, thid cloying, filled his nostrils, coating his throat with a gritty film like unwanted pollen, a minor disfort pared to the ay driving him upwards.

  Reag the ptform, Watters saw Gordon kneeling, locked in a rear chokehold on Mikkelson. The warlock thrashed, legs kig and body t against Gordon’s grip. “Gordon!” Watters called, his voice carrying across the ptform. “What took you so long?” Gordon grunted, his words strained by Mikkelson’s struggles, “Squirmy little bastard!”

  Abruptly, Mikkelson’s eyes bzed emerald green. Gordon froze, his bid. “I-I ’t move!” His grip loosened, and Mikkelson floated free, rising into the air with an eerie green glow. “No!” Watters yelled as the warlock asded, radiating emerald light.

  “Squirmy?” Mikkelson scoffed, a cruel grin spreading across his face. He raised his hand, pointing it at the paralyzed Gordon. A powerful green light burst from his hand, washing ordon. The issioner screamed, a sound of pure agony lost within the brilliant light. “Mikkelson, stop!” Watters yelled, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the painful brightness. The floating warlock lowered his hand, a soft chuckle esg him.

  When the light subsided, Gordon was no lohere. Instead, a small, fleshy slug pulsed and writhed oform. The tiny, rva-like form struggled weakly, making faint, desperate sounds, as if fighting for its very existence. Watters’ eyes widened in horror at the sight, his body locked in pce, his jaw sck with shobsp;

  “What… have you… doo him?” Watters stammered, the words barely audible as he looked back up at the sneering warlobsp;

  “AhhahahahahAHHHHAHAHA!” Mikkelson roared with manic delight, flig his wrist upwards. His body fred with emerald light, and a rge ro the cavern ceiling pulsed with the same eerie glow. The rock detached, drifting downwards towards the doctor.

  “No!” Watters screamed as the stone hurtled down, smming into the helpless slug. The small creature was instantly crushed beh the immense weight. “Gordon, NO!” Tears streamed down Watters’ face, his arm outstretched in futile protest, uo save his fallen rade.

  Tears threateo spill, a painful lump strig Watters’ throat. He sank to his khe weight of defeat crushing him, and buried his fa his hands. The warlock’s manic ughter echoed above as he drifted towards the portal. Grimm… where are you? The desperate thought pulsed in his fractured mind. Mikkelson raised a hand towards the swirling abyss, and the severed tendrils began to rise, repairing themselves.

  Despair ed Watters. All he held dear was gone – his town, his friends, even the hope of salvation abandoned him. His breath hitched, his heart hammered against his ribs, and a tremor ran through his arms, ending in numb, shaking hands. “No,” he choked out, smming his fist against the stone, “No more… I don’t care anymore!” The horrors of war, interwoven with the night’s fresh grief, coalesced into a suffog tapestry of loss. His jaw ched, blood welling from his bruised fist. He surged to his feet, sprinting to the ptform’s edge. “You BASTARD!” he roared, his voice raw with anguish, but the warlock remained deaf to his pain.

  Grimm surged through the cave corridors, moving at breakneck speed, navigating the vein-like passages. His body still throbbed from the violent transformation, every muscle screaming in protest, his memory fragmented. Did I defeat the creatures? he thought, his mind struggling to piece together the ret events. And Watters… he survived? A flicker of respect sparked in his thoughts. Strohan he appears. Ahead, a sturdy wooden door loomed into view. “There,” he excimed, halting abruptly before it.

  He inhaled deeply, squaring his shoulders. Pnting his feet, he shifted his weight, raising his right leg high. His muscles coiled, then unleashed. WAM! His massive foot smmed into the door, the wood splintering and hiearing free as the doors burst inwards, crashing against the far wall. Dust billowed, revealing a small storeroom. Two narrow aisles raween multi-tiered shelves lining the walls, packed with supplies and artifacts. His gaze swept across the room. “At st,” he murmured, spotting his ons.

  Grimm snatched up his rifle, quickly cheg for damage. “Excellent,” he muttered. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he turned his attention to his other armaments. Redeemer, Bde, Bze-Caps, vials. “All here.” His eyes sed the shelves. “Now, where are the…” his gaze locked onto a shelf at the back of the room, “…clothes.”

  Watters stood frozen, staring at Mikkelson. I’m going to kill him, the thought pulsed, a desperate resolve hardening his gaze as he swayed towards the ptform’s edge, poised to attack. Then, a voice, a thunder the cavernous space, erupted from the arerance. “Warlock!” Watters’ head sowards the sound, a surge of desperate hope flooding through him. Grimm emerged from the shadows, fully clothed, his rifle raised and ready. Click-cck! The on’s charging meism echoed, a stark promise iense air. Mikkelson’s eyes flickered, a barest hint of surprise crossing his face as he registered Grimm’s arrival. Grimm’s gaze locked onto the warlock, his eyes burning with a cold, unwavering iy. “This ends now,” Grimm decred, his voice resonating with lethal certainty through the cavern. “Tonight, your soul is mio reap!” Behind Mikkelson, the portal throbbed, its tendrils repaired and writhing, unleashing a deafening screech that tore through the arena, revealing rows of monstrous teeth in its abyssal maw. Grimm’s fiightened origger, and the rifle roared, spitting fire and lead into the eg darkness.