'Bet ya and the others 'ad a right ole' laugh thinkin' 'bout how ya done me in, eh?' Ugly said, stepping into the light of the domed atrium. 'Thought I'd go inta that good night—no recourse, no struggle? Ya thought wrong, kid. Now ya gonna pay for it.'

Ugly twisted his blade, his grin of satisfaction warping jagged and inhuman. To him, it was fitting—after all, he was human no longer.

A human could not have survived what he endured. A human would not still be standing. Not after having his limbs wrenched free from his torso, blood sputtering from his throat as his own ear-piercing screams shredded his oesophagus. Before that moment—weeping like a babe in the dark—he had not known a man could scream that loud.

Yet even when his cries died into silence, the agony remained.

Broken and alone, he had died a bloodied death. In his line of work, he would be lying if he said it was unexpected. But what he could not have foreseen was that of all the deaths he might suffer, being torn apart by the cradlefiends would only be the first—the first of many.

'How—are you—'

Ugly twisted his blade once more, driving it deeper, and Havoc's words choked off into a fit of bloodied coughs.

Couldn't explain it if I wanted ta, kid, Ugly thought, stepping closer to his skewered prey.

He had awoken in the darkness of the City of Monsters, hosting only vague, fractured memories of being somewhere else—kneeling before something else.

Dressed in rags and bound in chains of incandescent light, in that moment, Ugly could only lower his gaze, lest his eyes wander forward to glimpse the madness of infinity.

Then, as though the void had found a voice, it spoke.

'Deficient, but you will suffice,' it pronounced, and Ugly inhaled its words as though they were the very air he needed to breathe.

'We are stirring, yet still we sleep. Awaken us—bring to us…'

'The Heretic's soul,' Ugly growled as he drew closer to Havoc, his mouth wetting as though a lion before a wounded beast.

Even as Havoc sputtered blood, recognition flashed in his eyes, his mouth shaped like a vowel.

Ugly could not say it was nothing personal. From the bottom of his pitch-black heart, melded back together with the flesh of cradlefiend, ghoul, and worse, he hated the kid. But even if he held no animosity toward him, still, he would not stay his blade.

Reduced to a half-life, teetering on the edge of true oblivion, he survived only by the spite of his lord—the Nameless Ones—the hatred of the Sires Betrayed, and the enmity of the Adversary of Life. Still, the abyssal call of Abominable corruption whispered forever in his ears.

He had become a thing that should not exist. Even now, he felt the world reject him—twist him into something to suit its blasphemous cause: an Abomination. A creature of malice, serving only the purpose of strengthening the weapons forged against the gods.

But through his lords' benediction, he was gifted the Harmony to forestall the Pandemonia that sought to convert him. To twist him into a beast—or worse, into the ink-black monstrosity that now stood before him, heart pierced yet unyielding.

Only when he gifted the Heretic's soul to his lords would he be truly restored to life—better.

His eyes would be opened, and they would bestow upon him a body never failing, and Harmony more blessed, more pure than possessed by any creature since the razing of creation. He would be like the gods.

'Let him go!' the slave girl cried, futilely charging toward Ugly with a dagger in hand.

'Wait yer turn, fribble,' Ugly growled, his arm twisting and contorting—bones splintering and reforming as the limb grew into something barbed and grey, its razor-edged claws glinting in the light.

He swiped toward her with the back of his arm, only to strike upon nothing—a sharp pain plunging into his side a moment later from behind.

The Treacherous Fang, yeh, I remember they 'ad somethin' like that, Ugly mused as his flesh reknit itself, crushing the blade between his inviolable muscles.

He did not even turn to face her—there was no need. His body simply shifted, his face melting through to the back of his head, his torso, legs, and arms bursting through to the other side, reorienting him in an instant.

He extended his arm, and by her neck, she was within his grip, clawing at his skin as she struggled to breathe.

'I said wait yer turn,' he growled, lifting her overhead, his monstrous arm clamping down on her leg. 'Ya gonna lay 'ere an' watch yer puppy-love bleed out,' he said, tightening his grip on the slave girl's shin. 'When I'm through with 'im, then ya can die.'

Without another word, he brought his fingers together, her leg caved without resistance, reduced to a mangled ruin. Her screams resounded through the atrium as he tossed her aside, his body shifting to face the kid—the Heretic.

On his knees, Havoc continued to sputter blood, his fingers leaving a bloodied slick down the sides of Ugly's blade as he inched it from his chest. Ugly did not know how the kid had survived a strike to the heart, but he doubted he could so easily endure having his skull crushed—his brain pulped between his fingers.

With slow, deliberate steps, he moved before Havoc, his inhuman palm resting on the kid's head, caressing his hair. It could have easily been mistaken for intimacy, comfort, and warmth, but no such sentiments tainted Ugly's desires. No, this was nothing more than the relish of the kill—his apatite inflamed as the boy's sterile defiance gleamed in his eyes.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Delicious.

No longer could Ugly so cleanly separate his thoughts from the infernal howling that gnawed at the fragments of his humanity, but in the savouring of this moment, he believed that, for once, both aspects of his being were aligned.

His excitement only grew as Havoc pulled the blade from his chest—his shallow breaths slowing, his arms falling limp at his side, the fight drained from his body.

Now was the moment.

'Got anythin' left ta say, kid?' Ugly sneered, lifting Havoc's mouth to his ear, his rasping breaths the sweetest of sounds.

'You reek of them.'

The words came from Havoc's lips, but it was not his voice that Ugly heard.

Ugly staggered back as sharp agony tore into his gut. Glancing down, he saw scabrous, crimson fingers clawing into his flesh.

****

It was not Havoc that Naereah was watching. Her eyes, hazy with anguished tears, locked onto the creature wearing her love's skin as it rose from its knees, scarlet claws piercing through Ugly's gut, their sharpened tips jutting out of his back.

Heal! she urged, teeth gnashing as sharp pain and restorative warmth coiled through her shattered leg.

Through her torment, she would—could not—look away.

Until the end—until her hero emerged from himself, victory in his grasp, his enemies vanquished within and without.

With certainty, she knew it was inevitable—she knew. But it did not balm the pain in her heart as all traces of her hero seemed lost to himself.

'Oh, I'm divine,' the thing praised from Havoc's lips, whipping its arm to the sky, cleaving jagged wounds through Ugly's frame, his head segmented like a tangerine.

'Light and dark in a perfect swirl,' the stranger declared, flailing its arms overhead, swaying in a rapturous dance.

'So much better than I could ever hope—yes, I know, you wretched thing! You'll get your body back!' the creature shouted, clawing its face in its outburst. 'Just let me enjoy the moment, could you?' it murmured, its tone eerily even.

'Who—what are ya?' Ugly gasped as the peels of his head slid back together, the bloodied scars fading from view.

'Alas, I still don't get your obsession with names,' the stranger said, its voice a low growl as rough, crimson hide spiralled up its form, its eyes glowing amber. 'I've been called many names, but none quite fit, if you asked me.'

The words sent chills creeping down Naereah's spine.

'Noble Spirit,' it snared. 'Mimicking Spirit, some have called me. This child just calls me Captive Spirit—unwilling, mind you. Though find me a captive that wasn't,' it howled—grating, alien laughter echoing through the atrium.

'As for you, you vile thing—just call me whatever name corporeals use for the one who's going to kill you.'

Not even an instant passed before the Abominable Spirit vanished from before Ugly—only to reappear behind him.

For a moment, all was still.

Then, without warning, Ugly's head burst like a club-ravaged melon—flesh, skull, and grey matter splattering across the atrium.

'Oh, stop dawdling and get up,' the Spirit jeered, even before Ugly's body touched the ground. 'Even masked by their stench, you can't hide the scent of a corrupted Innocent from me. You patchwork freak—I'll kill you many times over before you finally stay dead.'

Tendrils of meat writhed from the ragged tears of Ugly's neck. They twisted, knotted, and melded together—like soft clay pressed into shape. His scarred face reformed.

'What—what is this?"' Anton groaned, slowly rising from the ground to a crouch, shuffling toward Naereah.

He bundled her in his arms, even as she resisted, each thrash of her body sending blaring, screeching pain through her mangled leg.

'What are you doing, girl?' Anton spat, confusion mounting his brows. 'Don't you feel that? I don't know what's happening here, but we have to leave! When monsters fight, they're rarely careful about the mortals they flatten.'

'I won't abandon him!' Naereah squealed, pain sharpening her tone.

He wouldn't abandon me.

As they approached the garden's borders, Naereah heaved herself from Anton's arms, landing with a wince before rolling to the wall. Anton endeavoured to seize her again, but she lashed out with all her strength, causing him to pull back.

'I won't abandon him,' Naereah repeated, her pitch-black eyes reflecting her unyielding resolve.

'And I won't abandon anyone else! Not any more—never again!' Anton urged, a haunting distress flashing across his face.

'Then get down because we're staying,' she said, her hushed tone leaving no room for compromise.

'If the danger comes our way, I'll take you by force if I need to,' Anton relented, shifting beside Naereah, the two observing the ongoing battle unfold.

Havoc's scarlet blade shimmered into the Abomination's grip. The creature was wreathed in rough crimson armour spiralling up its form. Two sharp blades curved up from its forehead like the horns of a storybook fiend. It raised Havoc's sword to its mouth, its tongue running the side of the blade as it slowly turned to face Ugly who had fully reformed.

But Ugly, too, stood no less the monster.

Shedding all but the last wisps of his human frame, he towered over the Spirit, his limbs a mismatched fusion of differing beasts. His left arm was akin to the pudgy grey of a cradlefiend, augmented with barbs and daggered claws. His right was a knotted mess of spindly fibres, twisting at the sprout into prodded tendrils. Molten steel squirmed down his legs, the armour seeping from his waist as if alive. And within his chest lay a stone-like eye, golden-green smoke coiling from its vertical pupil, the Remnant pulsing like a second heart.

The Basilisk's Gaze—Naereah shuddered, recognising the Champion-ranked artefact instantly. A prized Remnant of her own royal clan.

'Well!' the abomination squealed, frenzied glee seeming to roll from its frame. 'Let's delay no further,' it said, the Stone Guardsman hovering behind its left shoulder—a feat Naereah had never seen Havoc achieve. 'Let the festivities commence,' it growled, stooping into a crouch—scarlet falchion extending outward, poised to strike.

In an instant, the two vanished—only to reappear as Ugly's torso spiralled through the domed roof, his severed limbs plunging from the sky, fetid blood trailing their descent.

Howling laughter split the air as the Spirit, arms wide, unleashed a legion of obsidian shards—each jagged blade hunting Ugly through the shattered skylight.

From the heavens, a stream of golden light flashed toward the Spirit. It raised its clawed hand, blocking the blast, its crimson, scabrous arm crusting into stone. Ugly plummeted through the shattered roof, his limbs reknit, rubbery wings oozing filth spread wide from across back.

The whole world shook—then stilled, as the two monsters locked eyes, poised to strike again

'You must be truthful, thing,' the Abomination bayed, clenching its fist—shattering the stone casing its arm. 'Are you having fun yet?'

'Yeah,' Ugly rumbled, his frame swelling as he rose. 'Havin' the time of ma life.'

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