Havoc's sweat soaked into the amethyst blood that painted every inch of his body. It dampened the gore, keeping it slick and wet against his skin. The pungent copper stench saturated his senses, clawing down his throat and tightening around his unquiet stomach. Each breath he took carried more of the fetid reek, a haunting miasma that followed his staggered paces like a phantom aggrieved.

His boots crunched the rocky path as he drove himself forward. Though the shattered Abomination appeared to have retreated, like the receding tide before the tsunami it would not be long before it would crash down upon the group once more. Drained of all but the last wisps of Harmony, rationed frugally by Myra to aid their escape, every breath felt like a battle and each step a war. Yet he could not slow. Wherever the survivors chose to stop, it would not be for long. Hounded by the Abomination, they would have no more than three days before facing the last of the Dungeon-Spawn. Time was a precious commodity—he would not waste a second.

Recovering his Harmony was his most pressing concern—the lurching shadow of helplessness that came with his depleted reserves was too oppressive to ignore—but then there was Aaron.

Havoc's breath caught as his gaze settled on the receding back of the bastard atop Lucia's summoned wolf. Fresh adrenaline surged through his veins, quickening his pace.

He tried to kill me! he seethed, his fists clenching as his arms pumped like pendulums, driving his momentum forward.

In the heat of battle, Havoc had not seen who cast the flaming bolt that had struck him, but he did not need to. Among the group, only Franklin possessed the Remnants for such a feat. The perfidious snake may have launched the attack, but Havoc had no doubt whose order he had followed.

Noble bastard! he simmered, his teeth clenching as his stomach churned violently. Whether it was the stench flooding his nostrils or the bitter pang of vengeance stirring within, he could not say—but the feeling burned all the same.

Light dimmed in the sky as the day-sun sank below the horizon, giving way to the pale ascent of the night-sun. Havoc's breaths came ragged and strained, his, legs dragging like lead weights. He could not say how many hours had passed, but even with his Inherited constitution, his body was near its braking point. Comfort and rest were a distant memory, and only the burning urge to survive and his seething rage kept him upright. Yet even that had its limits.

The two stiff-necked lordlings had long vanished from sight, taking with them the barbed urgency that had driven him onward like a merciless rider with crop in hand. As the fire of his ire dimmed, Havoc's exhaustion surged to the forefront, clawing at the edges of his resolve.

His staggered steps slowed, his breath ragged and uneven, until a faint wheeze of words pricked his ears. At first, their meaning was lost in the haze of his fatigue, but as the message passed from survivor to survivor, growing clearer with each repetition, it ignited a flicker of hope.

'Just around the corner,' he rasped, relaying the message to the few struggling behind him. His legs screamed in protest, but he quickened his steps, pushing his body beyond what he thought it could endure.

He rounded the corner of the mountain passage, the barren terrain giving way to a field of bioluminescent fungal-grass, its indigo hue painting the ground in otherworldly light. Though still enclosed by the mountain walls, the path widened significantly, opening into an expanse that resembled the Forest proper. A lake rested within a deep groove to one side, its still waters reflecting the faint glow of the fungal-grass. Woodland creatures gathered at the edge, their heads dipping cautiously as they drank. Across the expanse, a soft, steady glow flickered from a cave dug into the wall, its faint radiance a beckon signalling respite.

A figure emerged from the cave. Even from a distance, Havoc did not mistake the shimmer of pale light upon Annalise's gold-threaded hair. She raised a hand, motioning for him to approach, then offered a graceful curtsy before retreating into the shadows of the cavern. The flickering glow of the firelight danced over the stone as her form disappeared from view.

With ragged breaths and trembling hands, the strain of his flight from the fractured Abomination crashed into Havoc. His knees sank into the damp, spongy ground, the soft squelch of displaced soil rising to his ears as he rested his palms on the earth. Sleep gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, pulling at him like a tether.

Though the breeze carried a biting chill, frosting the air with his breath, the exertion of the journey left warmth radiating through his body. Slumber nearly claimed him as he knelt, his heavy eyelids drifting closed. But Havoc forced them open, shaking his head before the veil of dreams could fall completely.

His body yearned for rest, but something burned deeper—a need blazing through his veins to ignite his heart aflame. With gritted teeth, he stood and made his way toward the cave. Entering, his gaze swept across the survivors settling around a campfire. Apart from the group, leaning against the stone wall, he found Aaron.

The bastard glanced up, a smirk etched across his face, before turning his attention back to Franklin, who stood beside him.

Without hesitation, Havoc marched forward, ignoring the glances, sneers, and sleeve-covered noses of those he passed. He stopped in front of Aaron, who wrinkled his nose and recoiled slightly, his pale face tinged with green as Havoc stepped closer.

'Good heavens, man. Go bathe this very moment!' Aaron snapped, his sleeve draped across his features.

'Is that all you have to say?' Havoc growled, voice more biting and cold than the air outside.

'What could possibly be of greater import? Your odour offends all reason,' Aaron said, flailing his palm dismissively as though chasing away a buzzing nuance.

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Havoc's head bobbed in mock contemplation, and he turned to leave. But then he stopped, his fist clenching so tightly that his knuckles whitened. Without another thought, he spun on his heels, his fist connecting with Aaron's chin with a satisfying crack, slamming the noble's head into the wall.

'By the Stewards, what—' Franklin began, stepping forward. But he did not finish. Havoc's fist struck with equal ferocity, breaking Franklin's nose and leaving him crumpled on the ground, blood streaming from his face.

'Have you lost your mind!' Anton shouted from behind, his boots scraping against the stone as he rose from his place around the fire.

'"Settle your disputes later,"' Havoc shouted back, mimicking Anton's words with biting mockery. 'Well, here we are at "later," and this is how I'll be settling our disputes.' His voice dripped with scorn as he stomped his boot through the barrier of Aaron's crossed arms, driving it down onto his chest. Aaron gasped, the air bursting from his mouth in a strangled wheeze.

'Remove this feral creature from me!' Aaron wheezed, his voice thin and desperate. The words had barely left his lips when Havoc's boot struck his ribs, the sharp impact forcing a strained gasp. A heartbeat later, Havoc's sole landed heavy on Aaron's stomach, once again driving the air from his lungs and leaving him retching on the ground.

Havoc pulled back his leg like an executioner's blade, arced and ready to swing down with devastating force. But before it could make impact, muscular arms clamped across his chest and yanked him backward. His legs flailed in the air, the strike lost to the sudden interruption.

'Stop this madness!' Anton shouted, his voice sharp with authority as Havoc thrashed in his grasp.

Though Anton's presence was commanding, Havoc, as a Servant of the third step, was the stronger of the two. He strained against the hold, his muscles burning with effort. Anton grunted, his grip faltering as Havoc wrenched free. With a final heave, Havoc tore Anton's arms apart, sending the man stumbling backward with a frustrated gasp.

Aaron staggered to his feet, one hand braced against the wall. A scarlet globule hit the floor as he spat, his lips curling into a sneer. Reaching into the inside pocket of his tailcoat, he withdrew a black cloth and dabbed at the blood staining his mouth. His gaze turned to Havoc, now restrained by a number of the gathered survivors, his chest heaving as he struggled against their hold.

'Let 'em fight!' one of the survivors chanted, his voice carrying over Havoc's grunting. 'Bout the most entertainment there's been for an age!' The man threw his head back, roaring with laughter that echoed through the cavern like a jeering spectre.

'Do you even know where you are?' Anton shouted, pulling himself to his feet. 'Everything out there is already trying to kill us! We can't turn around and start killing each other!' He stepped in front of Havoc, his back to Aaron, blocking him from view. His shoulders squared, his voice carried a mix of frustration and command.

'Tell that to the bastard sons of bastard's sons who tried—and failed…' Havoc snarled, spitting the words with venom. His gaze bore into Anton as he drew out the last phrase. '...to kill me.'

'This child is insane!' Aaron spat, his voice sharp with indignation. 'I have done nothing to deserve being set upon by this uncivilised clod!'

From the floor, Franklin stirred, his movements sluggish as he pushed himself upright. His back scraped against the wall as he stood, a pained hiss escaping his lips. Dragging a palm across his face, he smeared the blood beneath his nose before wiping it on the wall. He rubbed his hands together, scraping away the sticky remains as his eyes darted toward Havoc.

Stepping forward, Franklin raised his palms, his movements slow and deliberate, a gesture of surrender. His expression was unreadable—calm, almost disarming—as he spoke.

'The fault is mine,' he said, his voice steady and low, each word carefully measured. 'I saw you struggling against the Dungeon-Spawn and sought to provide my assistance. It shames me to know that my efforts to help instead endangered your safety. I deserve your ire, but I implore you, do not misdirect your frustrations toward our most gracious patron.'

'Did you hear him?' Aaron spat, his tone dripping with scorn. 'You slander my name, jeopardise the cohesion of our group, and set upon me like a wild beast—for what? An honest mistake?'

Pushing Anton aside, Aaron strode toward Havoc, who no longer strained against the arms holding him, his body limp yet tense, his arms stretched wide as though crucified.

'No, this cannot be allowed to stand!' Aaron declared, holding out his open palm as though for dramatic effect. 'I demand the right to combative restitution.' Without hesitation, he clapped his palm across Havoc's face, the sharp sound echoing through the cavern.

For a moment, all was still. Gasps rippled through the gathered survivors, whispers rising like dry leaves rustling across stone. A few exchanged wary glances, others stepped back, their unease palpable.

Havoc stood unmoving, his head tilted slightly to one side. His cheek stung faintly, but it was the insult, not the pain, that burned deep. Inhaling deeply, his chest rising as he held his silence. When he finally spoke, it came as low rumble, a growl reverberating through the cavern.

'Fine,' he said, his gaze burning into Aaron's, his voice low and edged with menace. 'Whenever you're ready.'

Aaron's lips twitched in a faint smirk, but the tension in his posture betrayed his unease.

'No!' Anton commanded, stepping between them. 'Get a hold of yourselves. We don't have time for this!'

Aaron ignored him, glancing briefly at Naereah before turning back to Havoc. 'The night after we face the next Dungeon-Spawn,' he declared, his tone icy and resolute.

'Idiots! There's no telling how many foes we'll face before reaching the temple! If you're going to tear each other apart, at least wait until we leave this godsforsaken Dungeon-Cell!' Anton demanded, his plea drawing murmured support from the bystanders.

Havoc could understand his stance. Under different circumstances, he would have agreed. But he and Aaron were always going to come to blows. One of them would surely die—while the other's death was only slightly less certain.

As Havoc and Aaron held each other's glare, a silent accord settled between them. Aaron's challenge was not a threat, they both understood that much. It was an armistice—a grudging promise to hold arms until the external dangers had passed and they could settle their score without dooming them both.

'No games,' Havoc growled.

'No games,' Aaron repeated, his face stern, his voice steady, his gaze unflinching.

'No tricks', Havoc said.

'No tricks,' Aaron replied again.

'What about him?' Havoc asked, tilting his face toward Franklin.

'Only you and I. The better man takes all' Aaron assured, his tone resolute.

Havoc's scowl shifted to a faint smile. Then there's nothing to worry about, he thought. Even in the company of wife beaters and brothel-keepers, he still wouldn't be the better man.

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