One second, Skrakch was twisting and struggling to free himself from the constricted, fleshy embrace of the Chosen Shade’s tendrils and in the next his vision was suddenly completely clouded by black fire.

He screamed as the flames poured over him but, to Skrakch’s own ears, it was completely overwhelmed by the Shade’s own cacophony of anguish. The meat surrounding him from all directions rippled and squirmed as a high pitch shriek seemed to billow out from every inch of the tendril’s grasp.

With each passing moment, the Shade’s grip tightened and loosened erratically as the burning flesh jolted and tossed the Ratling from side to side as it went through its protracted death throes.

It only took a few seconds for Skrakch to realize that the black fire from the Placating Brew wasn’t actually burning him but that did little to dent his wild shrieking. Arguably worse than the feeling of burning, was the sensation of his body being pulled in different directions. He let out a particularly high-pitched howl as he felt his shoulder being yanked from its socket.

He was pretty sure that the only reason that he wasn’t being crushed like a grape was the fact that the tendril, despite burning alive, was still trying to drag him toward the main mass that made up the Chosen’s body.

No doubt it’s looking for a new host.

It was hard for the Ratling to stay rational when he could feel the panic and fear sweeping through his body at an alarming rate.

It was the oddest sensation, one that Skrakch might have enjoyed out of sheer novelty, if it wasn’t so incredibly visceral for the poor Ratling. Thankfully, the Pacifying Brew was quick acting and it didn’t take that long for the fleshy tendril to burn away completely, leaving him choking for breath on the blessedly cold stone floor.

“Well, well, the ugly fucker cut loose its tendril,” Zacharias’ filthy boots suddenly came into Skrakch’s view. “Gotta admire preservation instincts like that eh Squeakers?” He chuckled to himself and Skrakch could hear the sound of him dusting off his hands. “I’d say that was a resounding success. You can thank me later of course.”

Laying breathlessly and in considerable pain on the ruined floor, at first Skrakch couldn’t even muster a modicum of anger as he focused on sucking in as much of the cool air as he could manage. Eventually, he managed to roll to his feet and, gingerly clutching his dislocated shoulder, pulled himself up with as much dignity as he could muster.

“I fucking hate you, Zacharias.”

“Love you too Squeaks!” Zacharias grinned widely.

Shaking his head in an effort to clear his mind, Skrakch knew it wasn’t over yet. The Shade was still in the process of pulling Winifred and Meekknuckle toward itself. Worryingly, it seemed to be doing so a lot faster than before.

“It...it sped up?” He asked incredulously. He wasn’t really asking anyone in particular, more thinking out loud. But, of course, Zacharias being Zacharias, the meathead Halfling couldn’t help but reply.

“Aye, as soon as it bailed on absorbing you,” The Thief answered. He reached out with filthy hands to pat down Skrakch’s bandolier, fingers deftly checking pockets. Thankfully, the leather band had survived being dragged across the rough stone floor and was still mostly intact on the Ratling’s blood soaked chest.

“Got any more of that special fire shit? Probably best to get the other three burning. The sooner we get this shit over with, the sooner we can get back to the pub.” The Thief said in a joking tone, as if the lot of them weren’t inches away from death.

“Three?” Skrakch muttered, still feeling dizzy as his mind sputtered and stopped. “We just need Meek and Winifred, right? Leave the Ghast alone, better that it’s still asleep, no?”

Zacharias let out a loud scoff, pulling loose a shattered vial from Skrakch’s bandolier. “Yeah, because we -want- to let the Shade have a new body. There’s definitely no downside to combining the Shade and the Ghast’s strength together. Fuck me Squeakers, you’ve said some dumb shit in your time but I reckon that tops it.”

Feeling a shiver pass through his bones, Skrakch didn’t bother to agree, but instead began patting down his own chest and wincing at the sensation of broken glass. “Fucking… Fuck! The Shade’s destroyed so many of my potions. My hard work! Do you know how much gold I spent on that collection? Fucking hundreds, nay, thousands of coins?!” Skrakch moaned, mourning the loss of his livelihood.

Sure, he had some more ingredients tucked away back in his nest, but recreating those potions was going to take so -damned- long…

Even with as bleak as the Ratling was feeling, the anger burned at him and forced his hands into motion. Sure, most of his potions were rather minor in scale or effect, but each had its purpose. Dozens of vials had burst, including most of the Pacifying Brews, but there were still a few that were left intact.

It was hard for Skrakch to focus on counting his intact options as he was forced to slap away Zach’s probing hands. “Gods Below and Above, damn it all! I’ve only got two more, so… I guess it could have been worse. I’ll go toss one at-“

“Yeah, let me stop you there,” The Halfling said with a cocky shake of his head. He held up a gloved hand. “Give ‘em to me before you waste the bloody things. You couldn’t aim your bottle tosses -before- the Shade threw you around like a rag doll. Fuck knows what your shitty aim is gonna be like now.” The Halfling laughed, holding his palm out towards Skrakch.

One reluctant sigh later and Skrakch had passed over the last two vials of Placating Brew. “Make it quick, once we get Meek and Winnie loose we’re getting out of here.” The Ratling said, not even trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“See, that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said today.” The Thief hefted the vials, measuring his distances with a tilted eye. “Oh, and don’t forget to kill the Succubus.” He added offhandedly, barely paying attention to his companion.

Woozily passing a furry paw over his face and pulling at his whiskers, Skrakch arched a questioning eyebrow towards the Halfling. “Why the fuck would I kill her? We just rescued the poor thing.”

“She’s a Demoness. The Denmother is some kind of warlock. Do the math.” Zacharias let a little hint of annoyance leak into his voice as he turned a glare to Skrakch. “Seriously? The old crone can just summon her back to Dray’Mel once she’s back in whatever layer of Hell the Denmother pulled her out of. Gods Below, seriously now mate, how hard did you hit your head?”

Blustering slightly at the blatant disrespect, Skrakch couldn’t think of much of an answer to that, so he fell back on tried and true methods to move on from the subject.

“Just do me a favor and make sure the other two actually wake up, Zacharias. Maybe try not to immediately bail on us for once, eh?” Skrakch bit out the last word, his long tail lashing back and forth as he grabbed his dislocated shoulder and began to circle around the fully destroyed Arena floor to take stock of the situation.

The Ratling wasn’t exactly sure when the upper levels had begun crumpling downwards but the entire area looked less like a Noble’s basement, and more like a war torn battlefield. If anyone was planning on taking over the place following Rodyr’s death, they’d certainly have one hell of a rebuilding project on their hands.

A battlefield wasn’t far from the truth, admittedly. The amount of damage the two Chosen had managed to do to their surroundings was impressive, in the terrifying sort of way.

Still, the ruined bits of ceiling and crushed archways made for slow going as Skrakch was forced to scramble his way forwards. His claws helped him keep a steady grip as he climbed over ruined pillars, half-leaping from one piece of ruined architecture to the next. His injured shoulder screamed at him, but he pushed through the pain as much as he could. Every break he had to take was time taken away from getting the hell out of this hellhole.

Thankfully in his line of work, Skrakch was often required to make short work of traversing all kinds of terrain so the trip across the room was more of an annoyance than a true obstacle, even with his injuries.

Keeping his eyes peeled was second nature to Skrakch but as he reached the Demoness’ crumbled body, the Ratling couldn’t take his eyes off of her prone form.

The wall she’d collided with after the Shade had discarded her was covered in a cobweb of little cracks and dried blood. Just below lay the Demoness herself, her limbs twisted into inhuman positions from the force of the impact. Skrakch felt another wave of bile rise up in his throat at the mere sight.

Survix’ normally ruby-red skin was now a pale shade of pink, with little streaks of black sludge squirming beneath her flesh. Lying as she was, the Demoness was unnaturally still outside of the slightest rise and fall of her chest.

Originally, Skrakch hadn’t fully agreed with Zach’s plan to kill the poor captive, but with that much damage done to her… Maybe it would be a mercy after all. He highly doubted she’d be as in demand at the Denmother’s place anymore…

Sliding down beside her still form, the Ratling wasted no time as he pulled loose one of Zacharias’ blades and moved to press it against the Demoness’ throat… when Survix suddenly reached up to grab his forearm.

Skrakch wasn’t the most dextrious thug who’d ever lived, but in pure reaction time he could give Zach a run for his gold. So the brown Iskrin was well and truly surprised when the previously still Demoness managed to twist her broken body into a lunging motion and grab his arm before he could even blink.

Trying to flinch his whole body backwards and failing to escape the Succubi’s surprisingly strong grip, the startled Iskrin locked eyes with the now-staring Demoness.

Whatever semblance of awareness Skrakch had been expecting to see in her eyes, however, was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes were glazed over and unfocused but her grip was like steel. With a sudden wrench, she pulled Skrakch close and began to speak, each word spoken with more force than he’d expect from a half-dead corpse.

Her fingers tightening around his furred wrist even more. “Ahhh, excellent work Skrakch.” The Demoness said in a distinctly older voice. “I’ve regained my connection with the poor girl, but I think it would be best if she stayed unaware for a bit longer.”

“Some of what the Chosen had her doing would be disheartening, even for a Demon.” The familiar voice continued. “Regardless, you can consider your task completed. I’ll be able to summon her out of there soon enough.”

Caught off guard as he was, Skrakch took a few seconds to calm his racing heart before he pulled his arm loose. “So we’re even then, Denmother? I don’t know how much you saw but this was much more effort than expected. In fact, I’d say this makes us much more than even.”

Settling into as restful of a pose as the Demoness’ body would allow, the once more possessed Survix turned a sagging eye towards Skrakch before answering.

“Indeed, you’ve gone above and beyond what I’d hoped for, little Ratling. Truth be told, I hadn’t anticipated you managing to succeed quite so well.” The Denmother continued, her voice turning thoughtful.

“If I had known Winifred was a Chosen herself, perhaps I’d have planned things out differently. It is a genuine shame you most likely won’t survive long enough for me to reward you properly.”

Hissing in outrage, Skrakch tried to scoff in dismissal but only ended up letting out a wheeze as the motion jostled his shoulder. “It’ll take more than this to keep me down Ma, you know that. Though there’s no reason for me to stick around if we’re sorted, the fucking Shade will no doubt start moving soon and I’ve been there and done that. Once is more than enough.”

“You don’t understand Skrakch, I… I called in another favor. A much larger one than yours.” The Denmother’s voice sounded off to Skrakch, until he realized her voice had taken on a tinge of fear. The sick feeling was back again, his stomach churning. Never in all his time knowing her, had he heard Ma sound so scared…

“They normally wouldn’t bother to humor me, but the idea of killing another Chosen seemed to appeal to them.” Denmother explained, a deep sigh coming from Survix’ mouth. “If you want any chance of living, little Ratling, you need to get away from the Shade before they arrive. Go, now!”

Skrakch was many things, but even he could see the writing on the wall. Anything that scared Denmother wasn’t something he wanted anything to do with when he was at his very best, much less with his Mana drained and his body near-broken.

Bursting into a mad scramble, Skrakch didn’t even bother to spare a quick glance behind him as he felt a new strand of Mana burgeoning from the Demoness' body. It reeked of disease and rot, and was no doubt the Denmother’s handiwork, but the Iskrin didn’t waste time looking behind himself to confirm one way or the other. Survix was clearly the least of his problems now.

His task was done, now he simply needed to survive long enough to enjoy it. His claws skittered along stone as he pushed himself forward, making his way towards where he’d last seen Zacharias.

Eventually the Iskrin crested a tall enough pillar that he could make out the forms of his three companions, Winifred and Meekknuckle both seemed to be screaming at an openly laughing Zach.

Both Meekknuckle and Winifred looked worse for wear but the fact they had enough energy to yell at the Halfling boded well, and they’d even found the time to roll Ornn’s Core near their feet as well.

Running down a bit of marble steps towards the full group of Rogues, Skrakch began frantically waving towards them, urging them towards the door. “We’ve got no time for that, move!”

“Meek not leave without Ornn-“

“This wee shite tried to burn me to-“

“Squeaks, looks like we’ve about ten-“

Skidding to a stop, Skrakch didn’t let the bickering trio keep spouting their nonsensical drivel. “The Shade isn’t the only issue, there’s another Chosen on the way. We need to leave, now.” He ordered in as commanding a tone he could manage. He was feeling completely exhausted and the pain in his shoulder was relentless.

“Then me need help!” Meekknuckle yelled, rushing to Ornn’s inner Core and beginning to shove it. “Too heavy just me.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Skrakch turned a clinical eye towards his companions. Zacharias had a shit-eating grin on his face, but it was clear the Halfling was paler than usual and was favoring his left side.

Meekknuckle looked the best of the bunch, no doubt due to his healing magic but as he struggled to move what was left of Ornn’s body, it was obvious just how exhausted he was.

Where Zach and Meek looked worse for wear however, it was Winifred who was wavering on her feet and struggling to keep her eyes open.

Normally, the brunette looked like a brawler through and through, her arm muscles alone thick enough that they were larger than Zacharias’ legs. Now though, she looked worn down and haggard in a way that defied belief.

Pale as a ghost, her entire body looked like she’d aged thirty years. Her arms were dangling limply by her side, and she looked more like a kind old lady than a bloody Chosen. She was covered in patches of dried blood and already had numerous nasty-looking purple and black bruises blooming across her body.

“Gods Below, you look fucking awful” Skrakch let out a startled gasp, before shaking his head. Winifred opened her bloody lips, no doubt ready to severely rebuke him. “Wait, we have no time for this.” He continued.

The Ratling shot a worried look back towards the Shade, and the column of flesh that no doubt carried the Ghast towards it. “Zach, help Winifred get going. I’ll help Meekknuckle.”

He looked around for the clearest route through the rubble. Moving Ornn’s Core was going to be a massive pain in the ass but it wouldn’t do to leave the Golem behind. As much as Skrakch didn’t want to admit it, he was a vital part of their team.

He was about to turn around to order Meek about when suddenly, his arm was yanked into the air. There was a sickening popping noise and a fresh flare of pain and then, as quickly as it happened, the pain subsided to a more manageable level. Skrakch twisted around with a snarl as he wrenched his arm free, turning to see what had just happened.

Winifred grinned at him through bloodied teeth as she let go of his arm. “Ye can thank me for that later.”

“Well… that was heartwarming,” Zacharias said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. He offered his arm to Winifred in the perfect parody of a gentleman about to escort a lady. “C’mon on then Winnie love, let’s get outta here.”

“I dinnae need help from ye, ya wee fucker,” Winifred coughed out indignantly, before beginning to hobble her way to the exit. “Yer more likely to ditch me as help regardless as soon as the change presents itself.”

“C’mon Winnie, you wound me!” Zach said glibly, before stepping beside the slow moving fighter. “I’ve never disappointed a lady before.”

“Only cuz you’ve never met a proper lady, ye little shite-“

Ignoring the bickering duo, Skrakch hurried over to Ornn’s side, momentarily marveling at the much thicker layer of stone covering the orb-shaped Core of the Golem.

Though any wonder quickly fled the Ratling’s mind as he realized how much more weight they would need to get moving.

In fact, Meekknuckle himself barely seemed to be able to move the Core, straining heavily only to budge the fairly large boulder his friend had become.

Thoughts rapidly flickered through Skrakch’s mind as he tried to think of a clever way to speed up the process… before letting out a growl of frustration and trying to push Ornn across the broken ground. His formerly dislocated shoulder was still very sore so wasn’t really much help with moving the damn thing.

It felt like… well, like trying to push a boulder with only one arm. For every massive push the two smaller creatures managed, Ornn barely budged as his Core caught in random bits of debris.

As they accidentally wedged his Core up against the ruined rubble of collapsed podium, Skrakch let out an angry yell as he half-leaned, half-collapsed against the cold stone that made up Ornn’s exterior.

“This isn’t working Meek,” The Ratling finally mustered, turning around to eye the Shade. From where they were standing, Skrakch could actually make out the Ghast’s well-wrapped form as the Undead was dragged towards its eventual fate.

The damn thing had nearly killed the brown Iskrin in a single lunge, and now it was nothing but rancid meat on a chopping board. Just the thought of that made Skrakch seethe in anger and jealousy both, but he prided himself on making rational decisions.

And it was obvious they weren’t going to make it out of the estate, not while carrying literal dead weight.

“We need to run Meek. If we’re lucky, the damned Shade won’t bother with Ornn and we can come back for him. No sense in us all dying, right?” Skrakch said.

“Meek not leave Ornn behind.” The Goblin stated resolutely, facing Skrakch with a serious look on his face. “But me understand. You go, Meek figure out new plan.”

Skrakch couldn’t help the hiss of frustration from slipping through his lips as he considered turning away. “Gods Below, you’re an idiot Meek. You’ll get yourself killed…or worse!”

Lining up his sore shoulder with the Core, Skrakch tried to brace himself before muttering, “But I guess so am I.”

Slamming his full weight into Ornn, he nearly blacked out from the pain but grit his teeth and started shoving with everything he had.

It was a long, painful few seconds before the Iskrin felt the Core begin to move once more, dislodging and rolling once more.

Desperation fueled their bodies as Meek and Skrakch threw all they had into shoving Ornn, but they were only halfway to the only open doorway nearby when Skrakch felt a strange chill run down his spine.

Switching to shoving with his back against the stone orb, Skrakch watched as the Ghast finally reached the Chosen Shade.

He hadn’t fully known what to expect. The Ghast was a completely unknown factor, but as the Undead reached the massive lump of twisting flesh, it finally seemed to wake up in a sudden lurch.

The Ghast moved oddly tentatively at first, seeming confused by the tendrils holding it down. It began a slow struggle against the bindings, but it quickly seemed to gather steam as it began to resist the Shade’s grasp.

Mindless as it was, the Ghast had already shown just exactly what it was good at. Even as it was pulled inside the full, thrashing mass that compromised the Shade’s actual body, its long claws began to rip and tear with wild abandon.

Black blood sprayed freely across the Arena as the Shade’s tendrils struggled to keep ahold of the Ghast, both foes unrelenting in their ferocity. The Shade regenerated from any blow dealt to its mass but the Undead Abomination didn’t tire, didn’t need to breathe even as its chest was constricted, until one of its legs finally crumpled under the pressure.

As the Ghast was brought to its knees, more and more of the Shade began wrapping around the Undead’s body, its torso being punctured by slimy blackened flesh. When the Shade had possessed Survix, it had taken on her general form but with the monstrous Undead, it simply plunged itself deep into the Ghast’s body. Despite the Ghast’s huge size advantage, their deadly tussle was clearly going in favor of the Shade.

Bit by bit, the Shade’s tendrils wrapped about the Ghast’s bones, mimicking tendons and muscles. Before long, the Ghast’s left arm was covered by a skinless facsimile of a mortal arm, appearing more as a Giant’s mutilated limb than an Undead’s arm.

Rather than continue its relentless attack on the Shade however, the Undead’s left arm began to grapple and tear at its own flesh as it betrayed the Ghast’s body. Before long the only part of the Ghast that remained above the Chosen’s swarming mass was the Undead’s head, dagger-like teeth still ripping and tearing at everything within reach.

The sight of the Ghast being submerged was an image that would haunt Skrakch for years but even that paled to the sight that swiftly followed as the ‘Ghast’ took to its feet.

Now fully encased within black and burnt flesh, the Abomination no longer looked like a hollow shell of a man, but stood as a true Undead Giant.

Slowly swirling flesh adorned the Shade’s newest host and Skrakch felt his breath freeze in his chest as it let loose a roar so loud that the very ground trembled beneath his paws.

“Gods Above…” Skrakch could hardly think, pure panic pulsing through his body as he struggled to get his paws to move, to do anything but quake in abject fear.

Mentally willing his body to move, the Rune Mage struggled to think of anything that could save him, before he heard a distinct keening noise that rivaled the Shade’s own scream emanating from above.

“Move, stupid Ratman!” A sudden jostle grabbed Skrakch’s attention away from the Shade as he looked down at Meekknuckle, the Goblin still shoving against Ornn with a focused determination in his eyes.

The idea was so nonsensical that it nearly made Skrakch burst out into loud manic laughter. “There’s no point Meek, as soon as that -thing- wants to, it’ll kill us in a second!”

“You really stupid, Rat. You no feel Mana, feel where it go?” Meek mocked, taking a second to jab a finger upwards before redoubling his efforts. “Meek thought you Mage but Rat just blind.”

Tilting his head upwards, Skrakch hadn’t the faintest clue what the Goblin was yammering about. The only thing Skrakch could see through the ruined frame of the estate was the sky, the bright blue sky… in the middle of the night.

In the perpetually cloudy Dray’Mel.

Sucking in his teeth, Skrakch pushed the faintest trickle of his remaining Mana towards his eyes and felt his fear melt away in place of unbridled awe.

When Skrakch had first discovered his Core, before he even knew what his Core actually was, the young Ratling had opened his eyes to see Dray’Mel as in its full, terrible, glory.

No matter where he looked he saw the same sight, a thick cloying smog that clung to everything he could see. A horrific layer of depression that seemed to coat the buildings and the people making them appear ugly and twisted. Even when he would cast his own Runes, there was only ever a brief flicker of purple Arcane magic that was swiftly reclaimed by the ever present death that filled Dray’Mel.

He’d since learned that it was the Necromantic taint in the air, corrupting everything it touched, until it was the only naturally occurring Mana in the city.

Every time Skrakch had used his Mana Sight prior, the inexperienced Rune Mage had to parse through the unending haze to pick through what little remnants of other Mana was left behind as it slowly disappeared.

It was a known reality of any mortal Mage living in Dray’Mel’s limits, an unbreakable truth to Mana that Skrakch had never seen overcome, not even the Goblin’s Patriarch spellcasting could break through the ever present Necromantic energy for any lasting amount of time.

Which was what made the sight above Skrakch all the more impressive, as dozens of different aspect-tinged motes of pure Mana floated throughout the destroyed Arena.

Everywhere the new Mana touched swiftly became dyed with a different aspect, flecks of red painting a pillar red to Skrakch’s Sight. Another mote would soon land and create a dizzying mish-mash of colors as the motes blurred together.

If it was just that, Skrakch would have been suitably impressed no doubt, but as the colors intermingled, the aspiring Mage began to see hundreds of Runes being painted with an impeccable touch.

Before long, the entire Arena was covered in Runes of all kinds, each defying Skrakch’s knowledge and common sense. It was like an amateur bard watching a maestro at work, struggling to understand even a fraction of the notes, much less understand the flow of the melody.

It was a true feast for his eyes as the amateur Rune Mage tried to remember each little detail he could spot. Skrakch had always prided himself on his memory, but the Rune’s felt elusive to his senses. Each new Rune was a glimpse into another world of spell casting…

It was a bittersweet sight though, because if Skrakch had the time to study each Rune in detail, his own comprehension would progress through leaps and bounds. He itched to try and break down each and every one, to take his knowledge further than even The Patriarch could take it.

What little he could parse in the moment though, seemed to be a truly eclectic mixture of Runes. Some seemed to be created to speed up a target with Fire aspected Mana, then another would be to perfectly sear a hunk of meat.

A repeating Rune that the Ratling kept seeing was one meant to… teleport cattle? Honestly, Skrakch wasn’t entirely convinced he was understanding that one properly at first, but each Rune he struggled to understand even a glimmer of, just led to more confusion.

It was the largest display of Arcane might that he would probably ever see in his life and it was being used for baffling drivel. Why was someone casting a Rune to lightly vibrate laundry enmasse?

In fact… as his wonderment at the sight settled down, Skrakch began to see that almost -all- the Runes were simply a jumbled mess sprawled in a confusing mixture of perfection and carelessness. Truly, the very idea of them all activating at once was madness itself.

Once they activated, each Rune would at best feed into one another, and at worse…

Oh… shit.

The sheer madness -was- the point, each Rune hastily flung outwards without care for the end result. Skrakch couldn’t decide if it was brilliant or sheer madness, but as soon as the Runes were activated, only the Gods Above or Below knew what would occur.

On one hand, the aspect of Fire might win out and a blazing inferno would cook them all in seconds. Or the Light Runes would cascade beautiful with the might of the sun itself.

Living shadows might consume the city, or the fabric of reality would crumble as Gravity simply broke. Metal shards could phase into existence and turn the Arena into a hurricane of sharpened death.

Time itself could erode and they’d all be forced into an endless limbo where even death would be an escape. Or maybe the Naming Mana would take hold, and possibly all that would happen is that he wouldn’t -be- Skrakch anymore.

Even that wouldn’t be clear cut though. Would his name simply change, or would he -become- a different person. With that much wild magic spiraling out of control, one second he was the most handsome Iskrin around, the next he could be a human. Or a Halfling, or a bugbear, or a thousand different things.

It all came down to a roll of the dice, and Skrakch had a front row seat to unadulterated-

Chaos…

To Skrakch’s eye, it was like the beautiful blue sky above him simply cracked. A huge fissure running from one end to the next. As the first of the Runes activated an invisible pressure came down on him and Meekknuckle, the Goblin dropping to his knees as Skrakch collapsed beside him.

The cascading energies kept swelling, the Mana-tinged air shifting colors as Skrakch struggled to keep his eyes open. One moment the Ratling could smell burning, the next a refreshing meadow, and then a sensation of falling.

For a confusing few seconds, Skrakch could distinctly feel time moving backwards, his mind struggling to reconcile the fact his existence was being rewound. Then time slammed back into place and he felt his heart skip a beat, before his skin began to melt. Little bubbles began bursting out of his body, each metallic orb a dizzying mixture of clashing colours.

Grabbing onto Meekknuckle, he stopped moving Mana to his eyes and just tried to hold on as The Ratling finally closed his eyes and prayed…

After the longest five seconds of his life, the turbulent storm settled into a dull thrum. Whatever the final result had been, the Mana that remained seemed almost as prone to fluctuating as the madness that had presided over it.

“Me not dead!” Meekknuckle called out, joyously, shaking Skrakch from side to side as the Ratling cautiously cracked an eyelid.

All he could do was let out a choked sob as Skrakch struggled to his feet. Part of him was amazed but most of all, he was confused. Right up until he spotted the elephant in the room, an idiom that felt oddly fitting.

Looming above them was a creature unlike any Skrakch had seen before, its massive form dwarfing the Arena itself as it struggled to keep its head from bashing in the little bits of ceiling that remained.

It was, without a doubt, the most deeply concerning creature Skrakch had ever dreamed of. Not only because of the sheer size, but because of the wildly contradicting elements that made up its body.

Eight long thick black legs stabbed into the floor, bristling with little bits of hair that looked sharp enough to gut someone with. Each leg was long enough to raise to the ceiling before dropping down and connecting to the monstrosities back.

It’s furred back specifically, the torso of the beast looking oddly reminiscent of a Houroun’s brown fur, which might explain the dangling pair of arms that ended in sharp claws. But curiously, it’s back resembled something closer to a turtle shell, domed and hard with spiny nubs adorning it.

Interspersed amongst the spider-like legs were wings, each one pointing in a different direction. Confusingly, they were all of varying sizes and so thin that Skrakch couldn’t imagine them actually helping the monster fly.

Its head was at the bottom of the creature’s torso, where it seemed to twist and turn as its massive slitted eyes peered out from thickened scales, the head resembling some kind of lizard, long tongue lolling out of its mouth in a decidedly uncomfortable manner.

Finally, stabbing down into the stone floor was a massive horn, the entire length of the blade-like appendage a warm crimson color that clashed with the rest of the creature.

The Chosen, because what else could it be, was wrong. Everything about it made no sense to Skrakch, the combination of what could only be random animals making up the form of a truly nonsensical creature.

The bear-like arms are too high up to reach anything down on the floor, the horn is too damned long to move around naturally. The fucking wings are just… decoration?

For all its size, Skrakch honestly couldn’t imagine the new arrival squaring up against the Shade possessed Ghast, right up until Skrakch watched gobsmacked as hundreds of different coloured eyes began to open on the creature’s torso.

Each eye was a uniquely-shimmering color as they peeked out from the entity's furred body, each glowing with a different kind of Mana as the entire room began light up with an increasing variety of Runes as the pressure built up in the Arena once more.

The Ratling’s mouth was hanging open as he stared in shock when a massive roar brought him back to reality.

Compared to the looming Chosen monstrosity, the Shade’s new form seemed severely lacking but the mindless Undead didn’t seem to notice. Dashing towards the nearest spider leg, it screamed out in anger and began to claw into the other Chosen’s flesh with ease.

Each swipe of its claws was thrown out with such rage that the wind itself cut through the Arena walls, and-

“Nope.” Skrakch turned back to Ornn and rammed his weight into the Golem’s Core. “Nope, nope, nope...” He muttered the litany as he pushed against the stupid inert Boulder.

Hopefully Zacharias had helped Winifred out of this place because there was no way in all Hells that he was going to turn back. Not now. Not ever.

Fuck this for a load of Wraith-shit. I’m going to get out of here, and then I’m going to drink an entire pint of piss-ale until I pass out.