Descending amongst the chaos of the falling rafters, Skrakch could barely make out a burly form amongst the shower of wooden splinters. The Ratling narrowed his eyes to focus, barely making out the shape of a human figure, though it was twice the size of Ornn and coated in a similar dark stone pattern. Powerful limbs flexed as they struck the floor, a segmented tail flicking left to right, with deft cutting motions.

But where a typical monster’s head would be instead rested a humanoid torso, sporting blackened leather armor awkwardly hanging off an emancipated frame. Standing like some form of demented Centaur, the Undead looked like a cross of a Gargoyle and a Ghoul if someone went at them with an axe then mashed them together. Still, for a Ghoul, the creature looked remarkably well preserved, even if the Undead’s face was frozen in place. The face of which was horrifyingly familiar, Skrakch absentmindedly noticed as his instincts screamed at him to flee.

There were numerous paintings and prints that depicted what Fang’Mel had looked like in his fighting prime. The ancient Monks of Dray’Mel had poured over illuminated manuscripts with carefully inked depictions of the Gray Fox, all of which had been reproduced in the books that Skrakch liked to read on his frequent library trips.

But this beast…this beast looked exactly like the Gray Fox himself…aside from the gargoyle-like bottom half that was. Just like the pictures that he’d studied, the twisted version of Fang’Mel standing before him had thick chocolate brown hair, cut short in a soldier’s style and dappled with gray. His pure violet eyes stared blankly around the room, his beard as neat and styled as it must’ve been when he was alive.

But the deformed creature before them was deader than a bloody doornail, open wounds crisscrossing it’s beast-like form. Each cut revealed diseased flesh and thriving maggots, eagerly eating at the rapidly regenerating blood and bones.

Still, it wasn’t any of those things that stole Skrakch’s breath away as he tried desperately not to panic, but rather the realization of just -what- was staring down at them. One of the three pillars of the Tomb-Makers loomed above them all, the Undead Chosen’s aura pressing down on Skrakch like the invisible hand of an angry God.

Just looking at the Gray Fox was starting to give the Ratling a headache, and his vision was beginning to blur. Necromantic energy was roiling off the Half-Elf, in a unconscious display of power that had Skrakch’s gut practically seething in envy, not that he was keen to admit it.

“Oh we are fucked,” Skrakch murmured to himself, dropping into a low stance with his claws at the ready.

The newly arrived Undead calmly stretched itself to its full height, looming over the mortals in the room, as if dropping through the roof of a building was a normal thing to have done. It cast its gaze over the Sykes’ headless corpse and flickered to Skrakch’s companions before finally settling those deadened violet eyes on Zacharias.

Fang’Mel slowly pointed one of its Elven fingers in the Halfling’s direction. “Explain. This is not what I had expected to find here. I had assumed that it was Sykes that was Chosen. You’d do best to explain this situation to me,” The monstrous figure's calm voice belied its actions, as a spear of pure silver coalesced into existence in his palm. One look with his Mana Sight was enough to get Skrakch’s fur to puff up, as power wafted off the weapon in troves.

“You what mate?” Zacharias stuttered. Skrakch could see that the Halfling was overwhelmed but was trying his best not to show it. “I ain’t sure exactly how this shit happened either, to be honest with ya…Sykes wanted me dead so we kinda killed him first… you know how it is” He finished rather lamely, eyeing the door with longing.

“It’s the woman,” Skrakch spoke up, pointing at Winifred’s body. Fang’Mel’s eyes slid sideways and focused upon him. He could understand why Zacharias had felt so on the spot. It was pretty unnerving to have the eyes of a legend staring down at you. “She’s Chosen and we are her companions,” He continued to explain. “We’re definitely her friends so it would be a good idea to let us live. Uh… Sir?”

Turning indifferent Elven eyes downwards towards the comatose brawler, the abomination of a man lifted Winifred by her arm into the air with a single clawed hand, its Gargoyle-like front claw holding her up closely like she was a chicken to be slaughtered. Seemingly satisfied, the ghastly creature hefted her body over its shoulder with ease, before turning back to Skrakch, a bored look crossing his deadened features.

“I shall be taking this one into custody, as per the Living Act, Article Twelve. She will be permitted to walk free after agreeing to Rath’Mel’s terms,” Fang’Mel announced, with all the enthusiasm of a bored bureaucrat. The Elven torso bowed before them stiffly. “On her behalf, I shall look the other way over this case of mortal against mortal violence.”

“Sykes was being monitored by the Tomb-Makers already, so we shall call this an unfortunate misunderstanding,” Fang’Mel continued. “Am I right in assuming the Chosen was the one to kill him?” The Half-Elf-Gargoyle hybrid asked, a dangerous gleam suddenly lighting up its deadened eyes.

“Yes, yes!” Skrakch nodded emphatically. “Winifred killed Sykes. Gods Above and Below strike me down if I’m lying, that’s what triggered her Pact, I’m sure of it,” He babbled, feeling as though he was wilting under the creature’s pressure.

“Then I see no need for further involvement of the Tomb-Makers. A good day to you both.”

With a curt nod, the creature dismissed the both of them before raising its monstrous wings high.

For a moment, Fang’Mel closed his violet eyes, before more Mana than Skrakch had ever seen before began pouring out of its Core. Flinching at the sudden outpouring, Skrakch watched as the Mana reinforced the Tomb-Makers wings and the Gargoyle’s legs, before it braced its body and prepared to leap.

With one large swoop of its bat-like wings, the creature thrust itself into the air, alighting through the hole it had created with its unannounced landing.

Skrakch stared mutely upwards for a moment before turning to look at the equally confused Zacharias.

Scoffing, the Halfling collapsed back into the metal chair that he’d been previously tied to, shaking his head in disbelief. “What in the Nine Hells was that thing?”

“Are you serious Zacharias?” Skrakch demanded. “That ‘thing’ was Fang’Mel, the Hells-damned Grey Fox of Dray’Mel and one of the leaders of our fair prison. I’ve told you before, a new Chosen pops up in Dray’Mel and one of the Tomb-Makers is dispatched to get them.”

“You think I listen when you start wittering on about that Chosen stuff?” Zacharias said with a roll of his eyes.

“We should just be glad it was the Grey Fox. If it was the Burned Husk or the Eternal Demise, we’d both be dead. They don’t exactly play nice with us mere mortals,” Skrakch continued, his whiskers trembling with a mixture of fright and excitement. It made him wonder who would be the one to collect him when it was his time, because -obviously- he’d become a Chosen in no time.

“Well fuck me,” Zacharias replied with an impressed nod. “Here was me thinking that it was just some bollocks told to kids like a fairy story. I had no clue they were real fucking things. I mean one’s called the Eternal Demise for fuck’s sake. If anything sounds like a kid’s story it’s that!”

Shaking his head, and clapping himself on his cheeks, Skrakch focused on the present as he scoffed in Zach’s direction. “They don’t choose the names, they just have them. Hells, Winifred will have one soon too. Listen, we need to go. I’ve got no clue how long this place will stay safe, so help me grab Meekknuckle, and let’s get the Hells out of here.”

The two of them quickly strapped their gear back on before Skrakch pulled Meekknuckle over his shoulder. Staring at the door, the two of them barely glanced back as Ornn wobbled onto his two feet, plodding along behind them once more.

“One Ratling, one unconscious Goblin, one broken Golem, and a bloody Halfling,” Zach swore. “If this was the start to a joke, I’d swear it would end in blood.”

“Doesn’t every good joke?” Skrakch laughed, before opening the door and darting through it. Thankfully, it appeared that the Wraiths had dispersed, and taken the corpses of the thugs with them. In fact, the street they wandered through was like a ghost town, empty of everything but them.

Still, there were enough splashes of blood on the cobblestone to keep Skrakch wary. The Ratling was sure Meekknuckle just needed a few hours of rest to recuperate, but Zach still looked like he’d shoved his face into a dozen freshly sharpened blades. And from the way he was wobbling on his feet, neither of them were going to be useful if a scrap broke out.

No, it was time to lay low and rest up. Thankfully, Skrakch kept a few hideaways in The Slums, so he’d have some supplies on hand. And once he had his companions back on their feet, it would be time to parse out the implications of Winifred’s newfound Chosen status.

...After all, what was the point of making friends if you didn't exploit them for their knowledge and powers?