Oldred patted down the remains of his coat and his trousers. Small flames that had been licking at the fabric, remnants of Grog's burning embrace, finally died out with a soft hiss. He stood in the middle of the burning hellscape, surrounded by the ruins of the house that had become his funeral pyre. His ears were still ringing, his world nearly silent, leaving only the roar of the fire and the heavy, pounding drum of his own heart.
Across the room, he heard a loud crash, followed by the sound of breaking wood and a groan. THUD-KRAKK. It seemed Grog was just as dazed.
Oldred stepped forward, his legs pushing through the gaping hole he had just created in the wall. His steps were slow and somewhat dazed; the severe concussion made the world sway like a ship in a storm. He entered the next room—a small bedroom—which was now also fiercely ablaze from a lantern Grog had knocked over.
In the midst of the dancing flames, Grog stood. His form was colossal, a giant silhouette against a wall of fire.
SKRRRRRCH-KLANG!
With a low growl, Grog roughly ripped the bear trap from his face. The steel teeth tore through flesh and his shattered mask, sending a spray of blood and metal shards onto the burning floor.
It was then that they both felt it. Their Sin Marks pulsed. A foul, black, rancid fluid began to ooze from their gaping wounds, hissing as it touched the flames, releasing a nauseating stench of ozone and sulfur.
Oldred stared at Grog, and his one functioning eye narrowed. Strange, when did he get this tall? Grog seemed bigger than before, as if his very skeleton was stretching. His gaze then fell on Grog's wounds—the gaping hole in his stomach, the hand mangled by the chainsaw, the shattered knee. Those wounds were beginning to crust over, coated by a layer of glistening, jet-black exoskeleton, like insect chitin, patching the torn flesh in a grotesque, unnatural way.
Meanwhile, Grog's gaze fell on Oldred, and his wounds.
They should have been dead. They both knew it. Wounds like these were fatal. What was happening? Grog watched as the hole in Oldred's side, where the antler had pierced him, stopped bleeding. The flesh twitched and knitted itself back together. Oldred's left fist, which had been shattered from punching "stone," was now slowly healing, the small bones within shifting back into place with faint, wet clicking sounds.
Oldred:
"(Something's wrong here. This body... it's not mine anymore. It feels... stronger.)"
Grog:
"(I understand. The power that drove Father mad... The Sin... the cause of the world's ruin... it's finally blooming in us. We are monsters now.)"
Ignoring the spreading fire, which was now devouring the ceiling, they both slowly walked toward each other. Black smoke billowed from the mark on Grog's forehead. The Dog mark on Oldred's neck burned with a searing heat. They seemed to be exuding an invisible energy from their bodies, a raw spiritual pressure that radiated outwards like a dark beacon, spreading everywhere.
Outside, the few remaining cultists were either preparing to storm the building or, more likely, just hiding.
Cultist:
"Cih, should we just shoot blind from here?" he said, his voice trembling. He aimed his rifle at the house, which was now lit up like a giant torch, ready to pepper it with bullets.
Cultist 2:
"Agh, I don't know! You go in there if you're so brave!"
Cultist 1:
"Are you stupid or something?! You want me to die?! Those monsters will tear me apart—"
Suddenly...
WHOOSH—
A silent wave of pressure exploded from the house.
—SHATTER!!
CRASH-CRASH-CRASH!!
The glass in every building around them shattered simultaneously. Windows, bottles, lanterns... everything exploded outwards, sending a deadly rain of glass shards everywhere.
Cultist 2:
"I'm just going home-"
He didn't even get to finish his sentence. Suddenly, blood burst from his body. Not just from his nose, eyes, and ears. Blood seeped from the very pores of his skin.
Cultist 2:
"Agh?!?! What's happening?!"
Cultist 1:
"Hey, what's going on?! My eyes! I can't see!"
Cultist 4:
"My head... it feels like it's gonna explode... Huegh!!"
He vomited the contents of his stomach, which was mixed with thick blood. They couldn't withstand the invisible pressure. One by one, they collapsed, writhing like maggots in the mud, drowning in agony, their brains feeling like they were being boiled inside their skulls from the overwhelming spiritual pressure radiating from within the house.
Inside the burning house...
Oldred slammed the remains of the steel hammer into Grog's fist, which was now coated in exoskeleton.
KRA-THOOM!
The sound was like a sledgehammer on an anvil. The hard layer cracked, but it didn't break. Oldred was only able to wound, not stop him.
Grog's fist, now as hard as steel, smashed directly into Oldred's mask.
TIIINNNGG!!
Oldred was thrown backward, staggering violently, his world dissolving into painful white noise. Before he could process anything, Grog snaked his giant bicep around Oldred's neck in a powerful, charging lariat, sending Oldred flipping backward (back spin).
Oldred lay sprawled on the floor, which was now beginning to burn, coughing violently.
Oldred:
"Ugh! cough! cough!"
Blood and fragments of teeth (whose, he didn't know) sprayed from his respirator.
But he wouldn't make the same mistake. While still on his back, he kicked out, smashing the back of Grog's badly injured knee. Grog groaned and was forced to one knee.
In an instant, Oldred spun his body and slammed his bionic elbow into the back of Grog's head, sending him sprawling face-first onto the burning floor. Oldred leaped, like a wounded predator, preparing to punish Grog's head with his bionic elbow like an MMA fighter finishing a match.
Grog, despite the pain, rolled to the side. Oldred's elbow smashed into the burning floor.
BOOM!
The floorboards splintered into pieces.
Oldred tried to get up, but Grog's giant boot pressed down on his head, pinning Oldred's steel mask to the burning wood.
Oldred:
"Agh!!!"
The metal heated instantly. Oldred could feel his own facial flesh sizzling inside the mask.
He tried to strike Grog's groin with his bionic arm. Grog caught the bionic arm in mid-air. With a roar, Grog began to lift Oldred above his head while also grabbing his left leg. He pulled, trying to rip him in two.
Oldred's body screamed in agony, he could feel his spine stretching, about to snap. Desperate, he detached his bionic arm—HSSS-KLAK!—freeing himself from Grog. As he fell, he pulled out the shotgun he had hidden and fired it point-blank into Grog's face.
BOOOM!!
Grog was knocked back by the blast, his shattered deer mask completely disintegrating. Oldred fell heavily to the floor.
The enraged Grog moved forward with terrifying speed, his face now a ruin of exposed flesh and shattered bone. He grabbed Oldred's mask and slammed his head into the collapsing ceiling, then into the wall.
Oldred, having no other way to penetrate Grog's hardening exoskeleton, resorted to one final, grotesque act. He saw the gaping hole in Grog's stomach—the wound from the chainsaw, not yet fully sealed by the exoskeleton.
With both hands, he grabbed Grog's still-exposed and steaming large intestine. With a muffled roar, he tore it loose with a brutal pull.
Grog froze, his eyes wide with shock.
Before Grog could react, Oldred smashed his fist—now slathered in the contents of Grog's own gut—into Grog's face, momentarily blinding him in a smear of agony, filth, and darkness.