“None can escape Galadrith’s Chains. For I am the Arbiter of Justice. Held by one Mitch. A form so perfect it must be held,” Galadrith’s voice oozed pride as his chain struck.

  Subtle, Gal, Mitch thought back at his sword.

  The Warden’s attempt to dissolve along the purple energy of the pods was violently interrupted as Galadrith’s shackle hit the Warden. The glowing crimson links moved like a serpent. They wrapped around the Warden’s ankle, wrapping tightly.

  The man’s mist form stuttered, flickering in a failed projection as the chain yanked him backward.

  He crashed to the ground, and his body reformed with a sickening snap.

  “No!” the Warden snarled, voice laced with panic. He clawed at the chains futilely, the links digging into his flesh. “This is my domain! You cannot–”

  “You keep saying that,” Mitch interrupted, advancing with deliberate menace. His shadow stretched long across the chamber, casting the Warden in darkness. “You’re really bad at proving it.”

  Before the Warden could summon another spell, Mitch pounced. He landed his full weight on the Warden, and drove his fist into the man’s face.

  The impact rocked the Warden’s face. Blood sprayed from the his nose. If Mitch wasn’t careful, he would end this too quickly.

  “No one hurts Rex and gets away with it,” Mitch growled, delivering another punch. His fist connected with a force that could shatter stone.

  The Warden’s head snapped to the side, blood spraying in a crimson arc. Mitch’s strength wasn’t just monstrous—it was unrelenting, honed through pain and fueled by fury. His power had grown massive from Agony’s Embrace.

  The Warden’s red-hand twitched, a faint low began to emanate from the gem.

  Mitch didn’t hesitate. He slammed his fist into the man’s face again, harder, cutting off the skill before it could take hold. The ground beneath them cracked from the force of the strike. The Warden’s body jolted violently under Mitch’s fist.

  A sharp snap cut through the air. Sable arrived silently, her wires shooting forward in a blinding fury. They coiled around the Warden’s arms, chest, and legs with precision. He was bound to the ground like a pinned insect.

  The wires dug deep into his flesh, forcing the Warden to snarl in pain. “Release me!” he spat, thrashing against the bonds.

  Sable’s voice was cold and without pity. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  The Warden writhed, his movements desperate, but the wires held firm. Shackled by Galadrith’s chains and Sable’s wires.

  Mitch’s eyes locked onto the red glinting ring. The gem seemed alive, feeding on something unseen.

  “That’s it,” Mitch said, voice laced with grimness. “That’s your power. It’s not even yours. It’s just been given to you…for this. How could you?”

  The Warden’s sputtering began, his arrogance shattered. “No! You don’t understand what you’re doing! That ring–it’s–”

  Mitch didn’t let him finish. With a deliberate swing, Mitch brought Galadrith down viciously. The blade cleaved through the Warden’s wrist, severing his hand in a single stroke.

  It fell to the floor with a wet thud, red ring still attached.

  The Warden screamed. Blood poured from the stump where his hand had been, pooling beneath him. His body convulsed as if the loss of the ring had ripped something vital from him.

  Immediately Mitch reached towards the ring with Abyssal Vault for the souls the Warden had taken from him. It was empty, save for the rancid feeling it filled Mitch with. The Souls were gone.

  “No, they’re gone,” He muttered softly.

  “Yes! Smart. Very…Smart! Smash face. Again!” Varak’s stilted speech echoed from behind Mitch and Sable.

  A skittering sound echoed through the chamber, bringing sharp clicks and the hum of movement. Mitch didn’t need to look to know who it was.

  Varak led the Abyssal minions into the Farm, her form draped in her clinging brood.

  Her children clung to her, their spindly legs gripping tightly to her monstrous form. Smaller monsters surrounded her, Mitch’s other minions and clearly prisoners that Varak had decided were loyal.

  The horde of bugs came too, crowding the ground and crawling over her brood. One particularly bold bug perched atop her head like a grotesque crown. Its mandibles clicked rhythmically.

  She raised a clawed hand, her voice cutting through the tense air. “Go, master! Break…face! Break face!”

  Varak scuttled forward, her clawed feet scraping loudly against the stone floor. She stopped beside the Warden’s crumpled form and tilted her head, studying him with exaggerated curiosity. Lifting a clawed hand, she poked the Warden on the forehead.

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  “Bad. Very bad. Now…you trouble!”

  “This one, Varak, is a welcome addition to our forces, Mitchell. A creature capable of nobility.” Galadrith spoke approvingly.

  The bold bug on her head let out a hiss.

  Varak’s eyes lit up, and she poked the man again, this time in his eye. “Even bug...agree. Good bug.”

  Her brood immediately joined in, their eerie chorus of clicks and hisses punctuating her words.

  Mich couldn’t suppress a dark grin. If this was a nightmare, he’d make sure the Warden bore the brunt of it. “You heard them,” Mitch said, raising his fist again before cracking the Warden.

  His fist connected again with a crunch. The Warden’s face swelled as blood splattered across Mitch’s knuckles and stone floor. He didn’t want to kill the man. Not yet. Mitch was going to get answers out of him.

  Varak tilted her head, watching with delight, her brood shifting on her. “Oh yes! We…make you…pickled egg!” She clicked her mouth. “Varak like egg pickle.”

  The bug on her head along with the minions let out a high-pitched hiss of agreement.

  Mitch turned his attention to the man’s severed hand in the pool of blood. He picked it up, his eyes fixed on the red ring that glinted in the dim light.

  He could feel it. A sinister pull, beckoning him deeper into the Farm, toward the shadowed recesses at the back of the chamber. Something was there, audibly dripping.

  Later.

  He pulled off the ring and let the severed hand dangle in his grip. “Rex,” he said softly. “Eat.”

  Rex trembled weakly around Mitch. His once-dominant presence had been reduced to weak tendrils clinging to him. Burnt and ragged, Rex felt like a ghost of what he had been.

  At his command, Rex stirred. His mouth extended outward from the armor only. Slowly, Rex reached his jagged maw filled with black teeth toward the severed hand.

  The Warden, still groaning on the ground, let out a weak protest. “No…you can’t.”

  “Watch me,” Mitch answered as Rex’s jaw clamped around it whole.

  The crunch of bone filled the air as Rex consumed the hand whole. The Shadowshroud shuddered, and Mitch could feel some of Rex’s strength returning.

  The burnt edges of the armor mended slightly, knitting back together over Mitch’s body Rex’s presence, though weakened, felt stronger.

  Mitch straightened. The pull of the ring still lingered in his pocket, urging him toward the back of the Farm, but there was something more pressing to attend to. The ragged whimpers of Hathgar.

  “Varak, keep him here. And keep him alive,” Mitch said before turning and storming off in the direction of his friend.

  Varak clicked her hands and mouth together. The minions surrounded the Warden alongside the bugs. “Oh yes! Guard. Like egg. Very…safe!” she declared, clacking her claws together.

  Sable fell into step beside him, “We’re leaving him alive? What?”

  “For now. He’s going to answer some questions for us. How these pods work, for one. Where your soul is, for two. Then, we kill him.” Mitch responded. Sable’s eyebrows raised high.

  He stormed through the chamber, his boots echoing against the wet stone. Pods filled the Farm, their occupants no longer writhing in agony but watching him with desperate, pleading eyes. Some pressed weak hands to the glass, others simply stared, their faces hollowed by exhaustion.

  Beside each pod, the glass jars hovered unnaturally. Inside the jars, each pod’s occupant soul flickered. Trapped behind glass. Their tendril that connected through the pod and into their bodies were often dim, but many were not extinguished. Some however, were.

  Grimlace no longer pooled constantly on the still alive soul tendrils. Their souls no longer wept the sludgy drug from their torment.

  Mitch glanced at the jars as he passed. Each one had been ripped from their bodies and trapped like a caged bird.

  Going to have to break all these open. I hope that works.

  Behind him, Varak’s voice rose over the Warden’s muffled groans. “Pickled! Egg!” Her brood hissed and clacked in unison, their eerie chorus almost drowning out the Warden’s weak cries.

  The air was heavy with a mix of dread and expectation, the prisoners silent pleas weighing on Mitch’s shoulders. The sound of his boots scuffing the floor seemed deafening in the oppressive silence.

  Mitch stopped in front of Hathgar’s pod. Beside it, the glass jar holding his soul pulsed faintly, its glow weaker than many of the others.

  Inside, the dwarf was barely recognizable. His squat frame, once sturdy, was reduced to a skeletal shadow of itself. His skin was pale, stretched over sharp bones, and riddled with angry, festering cuts. Blood and grime matted the tufts of hair on his arms and chest. His once-proud red beard, a symbol of dwarven resilience, hung limp and streaked with filth.

  The sight of his friend like this felt like a punch to the gut. Hathgar had always been the kind of person who’d stare down an avalanche with a laugh, but now, he looked like a man who’d been sliced and buried alive.

  As Mitch drew closer, a flicker of life stirred in the dwarf’s sunken eyes. Slowly, they opened, shining through the hollow of his face. His gaze locked onto Mitch’s and recognition flared like an ember.

  Hathgar’s cracked lips moved, his voice a horse whisper. “Yer…here. How? Mitch, I thought…”

  Mitch huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh—or a sob. “I’m here,” he muttered, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat.

  Mitch brought his fist down onto the pod with all his strength. The pod shattered with a thunderous crack. Shards flew outward in all directions and dissipated into mist. A rush of stale air escaped as the pod’s confines were destroyed.

  Hathgar slumped forward as the pod gave way, his frail body crumpling like paper. Mitch lunged to catch him before he hit the ground, snatching the falling jar as well. His arms wrapped around the skeletal figure of his friend.

  Cuts and bruises marred every inch of his skin. His beard hung limp and matted, and his breath came in weak, shallow gasps. His soul still remained in the jar.

  But Hathgar was breathing.

  The dwarf stirred weakly, his head lolling against Mitch’s shoulder. His sunken eyes cracked open to meet his eyes.

  “Fookin’ red-ringed orcs.” Hathgar grumbled as Mitch held him up.

  Mitch’s chest tightened. His lips twitched into a small, weary smile as he exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. After everything, Hathgar’s spirit hadn’t been broken.

  Mitch held Hathgar tightly as the relief waved through him. For days, he’d feared finding nothing but a broken husk–or worse, an empty pod. But Hathgar was alive.

  The fight was far from over…but this was a victory.

  “Yeah,” Mitch said softly. “Fookin’ red-ringed orcs.”