Outrunning the Horned Exile was no hard task for Lucius. Its sight was blinded; it could not hear the gentleman’s quiet stride. In the end, the thing simply disappeared into one of the many twisting junctions, chasing after a phantom that had already escaped its grasp.

  The experience wasn’t all trifle, however. The shambling flesh always gathered in mass whenever its malformed master made an appearance. Lucius hadn’t leveled up at all ever since the party was separated - he gave what sparse prey could be found to Jack - so this was a lovely opportunity to get some of that fabled ‘EXP’ the young man rambled about.

  *Congratutions! Lucius Rose is now Level 5.

  + 1 unattributed status point

  Skill ‘Teatime’ has ranked up to (F+).

  *[Rank F+] Teatime (Growth Type): Once per day, conjure up to two cups of tea of your choosing.

  Lucius was very pleased with the result. As a reward for all his hard work, he summoned a piping hot cup of Earl Grey to rex his nerves. Oh, it was just darling: smooth, banced, with a little bit of citrus that gave a firm wallop to one’s buttocks!

  As for where to put the status point, he did it by random. “Eeny, meeny, miny… moe. Strength it is!”

  Now his strength was at seventeen, or twenty-seven if you factored in the blessing given by his cane. By this point, Lucius was a very well-rounded individual. He didn’t need to get any stronger right now; rather, he was much more interested in Mister Thame’s progress.

  This was the fun part.

  Lucius swiveled around and snuck back to do a little spying. The hall was practically torn apart by the Exile’s rampage, but the entrance to Jack’s room was pristine as ever. It appeared that the man hadn’t left yet, probably due to Lucius’s ‘st words’, however there was only so long one could hole themselves in before desperation took hold.

  Jack had no food, no weapon (Lucius still had the spear), and little time before his anticlimactic end. He needed to do something, eventually.

  Lucius would be right there, watching, when that moment came.

  He was a people watcher. It was what he did - what he enjoyed. Some uncultured folk regarded it as uncouth, but it was a pastime enjoyed by many a great people. There was much you could learn from observing others, as well as no shortage of venues to do so: Cafes were Lucius’s favorite spots to spend a calm afternoon whenever he had time. A nice cup of tea, a petite sandwich or snack here and there, and one had all they needed for entertainment.

  There were many other locations, of course, if you so wished: libraries, parks, beaches and fairs. Why, Lucius even spent a lovely evening atop the Moscow Kremlin in his youth. Sure, entry was forbidden and swarms of guards blocked every point of entry, but Lucius just had to see the city sights from up there. Beauty waited for no man, regardless of inconsequential things such as morals.

  Ah, but although watching a crowd had its charms, Lucius preferred to skulk around those with… potential.

  Speaking of which, the man of the hour had finally arrived. Jack stumbled out of the room, his face pale and sunken of color, and he looked out to the carnage around him. He stared at the inhuman footsteps etched into the brick, at the dust and debris all scattered about, and he lingered near the blood Lucius intentionally let drop in front of the entrance.

  Jack crouched down, and he cried. It was an awkward, stifled cry. Even now he couldn’t afford to make any noise, and so he covered his mouth and mourned, suppressing the chokes that arose from his throat.

  “You told me not to hate them, Lucius…” the man muttered to himself. “But it’s way too te for that. We can’t go back, not without you. Not after they dumped you here to die.”

  Jack stood up, and began to wander off into the distance. Wherever his destination was, Lucius did not know, but he followed him nonetheless whilst masking his presence.

  “Crazy or not, I can never forgive them. Even though I know, deep down inside, it’s probably not their fault. It’s this maze—this cruel, disgusting maze, always burrowing into your head. Tempting you. Luring you with voices that can never be hushed. It’s not their fault they went mad, but so what?”

  After a while, Jack stopped. His head was facing down, attention fixated on a certain something.

  It was one of the shambling flesh. Lucius assumed Jack was going to sy it, perhaps out of need to level up or simply to release some stress, but… how odd. The mood in the air was heavy, oppressive, and the young Jack acted rather strangely for what should have been an effortless dispatch. Why was he trembling? Why did he seem more afraid of himself than the thing before him?

  “Lucius, you never deserved any of this. All I did was get in your way, dump all my problems on you, yet never once did you look at me as anything else except your friend. You trusted me, and then—you died. You died because of me, because of them, because of this stupid game that gets off to watching us all suffer. I guess some small part of me still thought we could somehow get our own happy endings, but now I’m alone. I can never look at Marco and Mili the same again. I don’t even want to be near them; just thinking about it repulses me.”

  Jack moved closer to the shambling flesh. His body shivered in anticipation, in pure, unconstrained madness.

  “So, I’m going to make things right. If I have to give up being a hero to get out of this hell, then fine. I’ll survive no matter what. That’s the only way I can thank you.”

  He leaned back, clenched his teeth—

  “... Guess Marco was right all along. There are some things a man can never come back from.”

  —and then plunged his rotting arm right into the abomination’s fleshy orifice.

  Lucius thought the man had legitimately gone insane. He groaned and shuddered as the wet, bulbous meat squelched upon contact: wriggling, squirming, causing noises that would make even the gutsiest of men hurl in disgust.

  But soon, the thing began to change. It swelled in size and crawled up his upper limb, merging with the pus, the fyed tissue, bone and tendon and blood, all, until Lucius couldn’t tell the difference between monster and man. It was hideous. It was horrifying. The putrid mass of flesh had become Jack's new arm.

  Oh, goodness gracious!

  Lucius recoiled back and stared at the harrowing scene with awe. Even he had not expected something like this. That whole infected arm bit he made up was merely conjecture, but at this point perhaps he wasn’t all too far off. In the eyes of Marco and Mili, at least, it would seem that the young Jack had truly become assimited with the denizens of the maze.

  “Ugh… hah…”

  Jack slowly breathed in and out. He closed his eyes, and let his body rex. Despite his new appearance, the man was calm - eerily still. The sheen in his eyes was no doubt still of humanity, yet hidden within was a constant struggle for control: He needed to stay composed.

  “Gotta… end this quick,” he muttered. “Can’t hold on for long. I need to find Marco and Mili. I need to put them out of their misery.”

  With his new grotesque arm in tow, Jack shambled away. He was no longer the timid outcast always seeking for approval. Instead, the man oozed danger from every pore.

  Such a beautiful sight it was. After all the years of denying himself, of refusing to acknowledge his weakness, his inferiority, his self-disdain masked as a bitter contempt for others more happy than he, Jack faced the ugliness in his soul—and in turn had obtained his wish. Now, he was someone truly special.