Jack lunged in. His form was amateurish: wide, clumsy. He was the very picture of a man who had never fought in his life, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t the one in control.

  His arm, the vile growth of cartige and gristle, twitched as if it had a mind of its own. It jerked here and there, wriggling, lurching, and swiped at Marco from angles that should not have been humanly possible. A stream of filth ran down its limb. The arm was thin and worn one moment yet tripled in size the next—growing and changing form without rhyme or reason.

  Yet through it all, Marco never took a hit. He brought his arms up into a boxing stance and deftly weaved through Jack’s assault. The old mobster moved with a speed surprising for his rge frame. It was all in the footwork; he stepped and shuffled, kept a steady bance, and slipped through any openings in a calcutive dance.

  His movements were rough compared to that of a professional fighter. It wasn’t fshy, or sleek, or had any sign of showmanship. But unlike those who fought in rings and exhibitions, Marco’s style was one of survival—of a rugged grit honed through experience in real, authentic cshes between life or death. Simplistic, yet deadly. Coarse, yet deceptively complex. Lucius found it very beautiful in its own way.

  His most impressive aspect, however, was his composure: calm and unyielding. His eyes centered on Jack, and he never let his gaze stray away no matter how chaotic the brawl became. Marco’s concentration was unbreakable.

  Compared to him, Jack was the complete opposite. He became more frustrated and panicked the longer the two fought. Even worse, the man’s aggression was one-sided. Marco hadn’t thrown a fist yet, but it wasn’t because he was holding back. No, he was waiting—setting up an opportunity to strike.

  Jack’s attacks slowed down. His breath ran ragged, body trembling from fatigue.

  He made one, sloppy movement, and finally exposed himself. Marco didn’t waste time. He dashed in, and then pulverized Jack straight in the liver with an explosive left hook.

  Jack doubled over in an instant. The air rushed out of him; he sputtered, and heaved, and wriggled on the ground as drool dribbled onto his chin. A big, bloody mark was imprinted where Marco’s brass knuckles had struck.

  The old mobster could have finished him then, but he stayed his fists and backed away.

  “Sometimes, a man needs a good shock before he can start thinkin’ straight. I get it, people are stubborn, but you’re obsessin’ over the wrong guy,” he said. “We’ll figure out a way to get that gross crap off of ya. Make it outta here in one piece. But this’ll never end unless you get it together. Please, Jack. I don’t like doin’ this any more than you do.”

  Jack didn’t reply at first, or rather he couldn’t. The man struggled to even breathe much less respond.

  But Marco’s beating did seem to make him think. He was less frenzied now, more hesitant. For a moment he appeared to be reflecting on himself. Was it really not too te? Could they truly go back to that happy party of the past? He winced and shut his eyes; such a possibility was too sweet to ignore.

  But then, he looked at his arm, and despaired.

  “Do you even see me right now?” he croaked. “I’ve gone this far, allowed this thing to become a part of me, so if I give up… then what was it all for? Why did I go through all this pain and torture?”

  Jack slowly staggered himself back up. The malformed arm pulsed with a new, erratic, energy.

  “If stopping here would mean all my suffering turned out to be for nothing, then I would rather become a monster.”

  Before Marco could react, the seams of Jack’s arm ripped open, and countless slimy tendrils sprouted out with a gush. The hideous growths cut through the air and dived toward Marco, slithering around like a tangle of ravenous snakes.

  “Sweet Mary and Joseph, I can’t stomach this crap any more.”

  Marco quickly retreated, punching the tendrils away, but they were too fast. Too vicious. One misstep, and he’d have a fist-sized hole gaping in his body. His leather armor had already been torn to shreds.

  There was nowhere to escape; no chance to close in on Jack. Eventually, Mili stepped up from her cover and prepared to strum her guitar. She’d only get in the way of a physical fight, but now that there was some distance between the two, there was no need to worry about accidentally hitting Marco in the crossfire.

  “Don’t do it!” Marco said, weaving through the barrage. “Your lightning’s too damn loud. Ya really want to bring that thing here?”

  “What else am I supposed to do?” she grunted. “You’re gonna turn into a big ol’ pincushion pretty soon at this rate.”

  “It’s fine. I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.”

  Marco sucked in his breath and hunkered down. He shielded his face with his forearms, but his abdomen was completely exposed. He didn’t move nor try to defend himself. The tendrils took advantage of his sudden submission and rushed forth, combining their spiky stalks into a big appendage and preparing to skewer the man in one decisive blow.

  But then, Lucius heard a sound. Cng! The tendrils struck Marco’s chest, and they bounced off as if colliding with metal.

  Marco’s appearance had changed. The skin on his stomach turned into a shiny polished silver, like steel, and his muscles tightly condensed into a solid chunk that not even a drill would be able to pierce.

  The power didn’t st long, but it was all he needed. Marco swiftly grabbed at the still-staggered tendrils and clenched hard, crushing them within his grip. The things shook, the countless little feelers tried to break free, but the old mobster held firm. He yanked them back, pulling Jack along for the ride. The man flew through the air in a confused daze and nded right in front of Marco.

  “Clench your teeth, kid.”

  Marco pnted his feet, leaned back, and then pummeled Jack straight in the chin. He crumbled without a word; he didn’t have a chance to even realize what happened to him.

  Now, everything was over. All that was left to do was decide Jack’s fate.

  Marco stood over him, his face cast in a grim shadow. He didn’t want to kill the kid - of course he didn’t. But after all his attempts to try and reason with him, he knew there was no hope. A broken man was not so easily fixed, and this one in particur didn’t want to be. Jack would only pose a danger to everyone if he were to live.

  Marco knew what had to be done.

  “… I’m sorry, Jack. You’re free to hate me all you want. I won’t run from grudges, no matter how many I have to carry.”

  Marco stepped forward and prepared himself to commit the inevitable, but then—Jack twitched, and snapped awake.

  Something was off about him. His crazed, manic eyes were now clouded. He rose up, gracefully, as if he was levitating, and then he smiled. There was no hint of his previous hostility or aggression. Jack didn’t even seem to recognize that Marco was there. He merely stood still, stuck in a dream-like trance.

  “I am… in control…” he muttered. “I will… survive…”

  His arm bubbled, hundreds of little bloody pockets exploding all at once, and its shape deteriorated into a new, more liquid-like, substance… before crawling up Jack’s skin.

  It made its way up to his shoulder, his neck, his face, and began to envelop his everything in a collective mass of sloshing meat. The glossy-eyed Jack did not react whatsoever, and soon, half of his body had already succumbed.

  Marco grimaced and shifted back into a fighting stance. His breathing was uneven; his hands lightly trembled from strain. The old mobster did his best to remain composed, but even he had his limits. Whatever came next would have to be dealt with quickly.

  “I… I…”

  Jack lurched forward, his body dripping in rank, filthy juices, and then—

  Thunk!

  He fell ft onto his face.

  “… What?” Marco said.

  Standing right behind the now-motionless Jack was a triumphant, and rather smug, Mili—who somehow managed to sneak up on the poor soul during his lengthy transformation. One solid bash to the head with her guitar, and the rest was history.

  Marco stammered at the sight. He appeared to have never considered doing such a thing - being sneaky. Lucius wasn’t surprised given the man’s bold personality, but who knew Miss Mili had such a mischievous side to her?

  “Marco, I’m tired,” she said, lugging her instrument over her shoulder.

  He ughed and walked up to give her a hearty fist-bump. “Ain’t we all.”

  Jack had to have been knocked out cold this time. He wasn’t getting up, not with the rge bump on his head, so there was nothing left to stop Marco. Surely, right?

  That was what Lucius thought, but then he began to wonder, “Is the shambling flesh part of Jack’s body, or is it a separate entity merely being controlled?” Luckily for the gentleman, the answer to that conundrum was quickly answered.

  Jack’s arm began to warp again, this time without the need for its unconscious host.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Mili groaned. “How many phases does this guy have? Seriously. This is like the fourth one.”

  Unlike before, however, the arm didn’t seem all too threatening. Instead, it molded itself into a very familiar figure—a swine-like one.

  The pig they had to avoid at all cost.

  The thing leaned back, expanded in size, and then unleashed an ear-splitting scream.

  As if by instinct, the duo immediately sprinted away.

  “What about Jack? If he stays there—” Mili said.

  “Then his pain will finally end,” Marco replied with a sad shake of his head. “I don’t like knowin’ that monster’s gonna do it. We should’ve sent him off painlessly, not trampled to death, but we don’t got a choice. If there’s one thing I can still do right to this world, it’s makin’ sure you get outta here safe and sound.”

  Mili lowered her head. “… Yeah, okay.”

  The two disappeared, leaving only Jack, and Lucius, left within the area. The monster’s roars were getting closer. Soon, it would arrive, destroying all that id in its wake as it always did.

  Lucius considered running away as well, but he had a responsibility to witness Jack’s final moments. The man had struggled wonderfully; he resisted with all his might. Now, the finale approached, and so would the story of the lonely Mister Thames come to a most riveting conclusion.

  Lucius watched on, his eyes glued to the harrowing scene, as the Horned Exile revealed itself… and charged straight past Jack.

  It did not look at him, nor even acknowledged his existence. To that thing, Mister Thames was no different than the other creatures of the maze.

  Oh-hoh, so this tale has an epilogue, I see, Lucius thought. Very well. Show it to me, my friend. Let me witness the beauty of your true ending.

  Lucius rounded the corner and waited for the Exile to pass by, before returning and whisking Jack away within his arms.

  The gentleman had such a wondrous time with the fellow, but all good things came to an end eventually.