One bite at a time. That was how Havoc saw it. Whatever crisis might come, he would face it then. For now, there was only this—one obstacle, one adversary he must overcome.

The Abomination moved with ponderous steps, turning from where Sedrick and the priestess lay, their lives hanging by a thread, while Naereah strained to heal them. Havoc would meet it head-on, holding nothing in reserve.

Its footfalls stopped near the far wall of the colosseum. The Dungeon-Spawn cowering there scattered like beads torn from a string, scrambling in wild disarray—leaving only the two monsters to their inevitable clash.

'You are more accommodating than I'd expect from an Abomination,' Havoc mused, stepping back into stance—mist curling at his heels, blade levelled.

The creature tilted its skull, as though perplexed. The wide point of its greatsword pierced the stone; gauntleted hands rested lightly upon the pommel. It took no guard, made no move to strike—content, it seemed, to linger in stillness.

'I stand Abominable, for certain. Yet you have found no Abomination,' it said—its tone composed, unshaken, at odds with its dreadful form.

Black flames flared within its sockets. They fixed on Havoc's chest, flickering like candlelight caught in a gale before settling into steady blaze.

'I would never have believed—' it faltered, the fire trembling. Then, with sudden clarity: 'Empathy—no… Envy—is that you within this child?'

Havoc raised a brow. No voice came, yet his Captive Spirit rattled within its cage—stirring through him, the numbness pricking like pins pressed into calloused flesh.

'However did you come to such ignoble ends?' the monster pressed.

Why not come inside and find out, you egotistical churl, the Spirit snarled.

'It says it doesn't like you,' Havoc relayed, his gaze drifting over the creature's Abominable form—lingering a moment on the sheared plates of onyx armour, the dents and dimples marring its surface. 'Personally, I have nothing against you. But I doubt you'd just let me take what's mine and leave.'

'Would that I could, young challenger,' the monster sighed. 'But I am as much a tool of the Makers' vengeance as those of your kind who choose to Inherit Their bitter enmity. But you—'

It paused, then stepped back, its gaze sweeping downward—an interrogating blaze that raked the length of Havoc's form.

'—You, I see are different. You suckle from both breasts, yet find them equal on the tongue.'

Yet again, the monster tilted its head as if confused. Its iron-clad pinch caressed its chin as though deep in thought at stranger things. Then, without warning, laughter rippled from its frame—mirth genuine and strange, rolling out like a ciphered scroll. Havoc's brow furrowed, his face caught between puzzlement and disdain.

'You are becoming what we were meant to be,' the monster laughed, the flames in its gaze roaring within their sockets, breaking their banks like a breached dam, licking its scalp like horns set ablaze. 'Your guest abhors names,' the monster said, whipping its black gaze to Havoc's chest. 'But I hold mine as treasure—Pride Godsborne—firstborn of the Noble Spirits; last of my kind to come undone.'

It spread its arms wide, chin lifted to the domed vault above, skull sweeping as though to seize the world entire.

'So come—let the old and new contest. Let us see if Their perfection can match Their failure.'

Havoc only smiled as the Dreamwalker's Mask slipped into place, the spiritual mist coiling about his form until he stood engulfed. He emerged an armoured demon—Catharsia seething like molten fury within.

Around him, countless forms rose from the stone. Red and white, their scabrous scales slid into being; their heads split open like tender flesh torn apart, fibres stretching to snap as rows of needled teeth unfurled within.

The Truecourse never wavered from its mark. A stillness settled—like a held breath before the world exhaled. Havoc and Pride held their ground a moment longer. Then, in the same instant, they moved. The greatsword fell. The Truecourse rose.

The impact came as a thunderclap. A concussive wave tore through the arena, the bones of the world seeming to quake from their clash.

****

Anton readied his stance—feet planted, arms spread wide—as the Dungeon's will came down, twisting its Spawn into grotesque new shapes.

Bones snapped and reformed. Leathered hides split and stretched, muscles swelling beneath. Noxious might rippled from their colossal frames—a Soldier's Inheritance, dark, twisted, and defiled.

The world trembled. Anton snapped his gaze toward where Havoc fought, throat tightening around swallowed dread. He drew a heavy breath, forcing calm through the storm inside him—his face set, his heartbeat slow and heavy even as adrenaline spiked his nerves.

He wanted to go home. To feel his wife's embrace. To hold his daughters close and never let go.

Each day carried him further from that dream. Every crisis seemed conspired to keep him from it. The chill spreading through his chest could only be warmed by their love—but still, duty bound him here.

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In the Forest of Desire, he had failed his oath—those in his care meeting grim ends. He would not fail another soul. Not again. Not while breath remained in him.

'Don't worry about me, good chum,' Sedrick groaned where he lay, the whites of his eyes bloodshot and burning. 'The stove's burning still—but I'm long past cooked.'

Blood flecked from his lips as heavy coughs wracked his body. He clutched his stomach with both hands, heaving thick gore onto the stone.

'Harper's… she's a good egg,' he wheezed, saliva and blood streaking down his chin. 'Save her if you can. Leave me—'

Anton knelt beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to stay still. His gaze flicked toward Naereah: her palms pressed to the priestess's chest, sweat glazing her brow as new skin knitted across the woman's trembling frame.

Anton's throat tightened. He almost called to her, to redirect her efforts—but the words died before they could form. He would not raise one life above another's, even for a friend. He had made that error once before—it had failed him then, yet the shame clung all the same.

'Stay focused. They're coming,' Naereah warned between heavy breaths. She wiped her brow with her sleeve, breaking contact with the priestess to shuffle beside Sedrick.

'Keep me protected,' she sighed, pressing her palms to Sedrick's chest before lifting her gaze to meet Anton's.

'I won't let myself be his distraction,' she said. 'Hold to your task—and trust me to hold to mine.'

Anton's eyes lingered on Naereah, then swung toward Havoc—his jaw slackening as the latter slammed his boot into the ground. A stone slab burst upward, and with a single, brutal, kick, Havoc sent it hurtling toward the Abomination.

His companions had their tasks. He would see to his with equal measure.

He turned toward the first hulking Spawn as it crept forward, tentative yet drawn. The muscles of his beast-born frame swelled, greater than before. The creature loosed a guttural cry. He answered with one of his own.

It leapt. He rose to meet it. Gripped in the air, he tore it apart.

****

Palm pressed to palm, Naereah held her hands against Sedrick's chest. Harmony bled from her Core, but her patient bled faster still. His bloodshot eyes wept his life away, crimson trails slipping down his chin. He coughed a pool of blood, his face growing paler by the moment.

She could not save him—but she would strain to all the same.

His breath came ragged, his chest collapsing beneath her touch. She forced Harmony into his lungs, willing them to hold. For a heartbeat they obeyed—his eyes flickered open—but as she refocused her power, they failed again.

It was as if Sedrick himself strained to die. Every patch she made came bleeding open anew. Where she mended his heart, his spleen faltered. When she willed the flesh to live, his kidneys withered to dust.

'Godsdamnit! Stay with me!' she cried, surging healing might through his failing frame until colour returned to his cheeks.

It would not last—but it would hold for now. She tore her gaze from him to the priestess nearby, Harper's chest rising shallow, her grating breaths slowing with each second.

A howl split the air. She knew that cry—it was Havoc's, the very same that had rattled the sky when he warred against Wolf's Requiem. His anguish seized her attention, her heart rising to her throat as the Abomination spewed black flame across his side.

Naereah's legs had already tensed to drag her toward him, yet the priestess's waning groan held her fast.

She watched with tightened breath as Havoc's blade came down upon his own frame, cleaving from shoulder to hip—rending through his hardened mist-shell to cast away the seething corruption. For an instant she forgot to breathe. Then air rushed back to her lungs as dense vapour pooled from the sundered break, reforming his construct anew.

To her soul, she hated seeing him like that—more monster than man, yet still the one she loved. But worse than the sight itself was the knowing: the torment he wrought upon his own being, the anguish she knew he felt even now.

She had stayed by his side when he first unleashed that terrible strength. She would do so again, if fate allowed it twice. But her heart ached like a rotting tooth, even as she clung to his claim that his soul had grown strong enough to weather the storm he brought upon it.

'Our boy's a fighter,' came Sedrick's wheeze. 'Should've—should've seen him best that tribe of Squarrels.'

His coughs came low and rumbling, wet with blood.

'N—nasty things,' he managed. 'All bite and no bark… n—never even saw them coming.'

'Save your strength,' Naereah hushed.

'Save y—yours,' Sedrick shot back, before collapsing into a fit of blood-flecked coughing.

His eyes shifted to where Harper lay, her breaths weakening by the moment.

'The living need a h—healer,' he rasped. 'The dead just want to have mattered. You… cannot save us both. I can't be saved at all.'

Naereah's tear-brimmed eyes lingered on Sedrick a moment longer. By will alone she held back the tears. She turned aside, eyes clenching shut as her breath caught—but then she faced him once more, gaze sharpened, lips drawn tight with resolve.

'No,' she spat. 'No,' she said again. 'No,' she said a third time, pressing her palms firm to his chest as healing power flared across his failing flesh. 'We will save you both—not only me, but the three of us fighting here.'

Anton caught the edge of her sight—his beast-born arms locked against a monster's claws. She watched him brace against the stone, roars tearing free as he drove the creature back.

Her eyes shifted to Havoc, though she caught only flashes of his form. Moving with such speed as to beguile the eye, she could scarcely tell one strike from another—his blade and the Abomination's meeting in blinding rhythm.

'You said Havoc's a fighter? Then follow his lead,' she snapped, desperation and anger coiling in her voice. 'He wouldn't have asked me to keep you alive if there wasn't a way for you to stay that way.'

She steadied herself, then sent another wave of flesh-knitting power into Sedrick and rose.

'Not another word,' she commanded. 'Just rest—and wait until I'm back. This time—if only once—not another will die a pointless death.'

No answer came. She turned to the priestess, stooping beside her and pressing her hands to her chest to steady her fading breaths.

Battle raged to her right; to her left, a bitter war. But none of it mattered. Anton—she knew he would do what was right.

And Havoc?

She trusted with everything.

She would do the part entrusted to her. Unyielding. Unfailing. Giving all that she had.

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