Klax's fists flared with flickering flames, the aura of his System's power swirling around them like fiery serpents. Tara gripped her twin daggers in reverse, each blade shimmering with poisonous gleam. The black water churned beneath them, carrying their precarious island deeper into the twisting corridors of Griffon's Watch. Distant moans reverberated off looming stalactites. With the undead horde converging, the two Hybrids shared a resolute look—this fight would be far from easy.

As if in response to their unspoken resolve, the first wave of monstrosities lunged forward. A Hopla Corpse-Shambler, its amphibious form warped by death's embrace, leaped off a half-lowered cage. Its elongated limbs and melted flesh inspired fear, yet Klax showed no hesitation. With a growl, he pivoted on one foot, his claws extended, and raked across the Shambler's chest. The creature's sternum cracked beneath the impact, sending fragments of bone flying into the water below.

"Not bad!" Tara grunted. "But you think you can be a little bit faster than that?"

The Minxit whirled behind him. A Minxit Corpse-Shambler tried to ambush her from the side, but Tara's rogue instincts—and her enhanced speed—allowed her to sense the attack an instant before it connected. She ducked beneath a swinging limb, then stabbed her dagger upward, burying it deep into the undead Minxit's ribcage. Toxic energy pulsed through her weapon, and the Shambler's flesh sizzled, releasing choking steam. With a sharp twist, Tara yanked the blade free.

Despite the pair's responses, more horrors emerged from the cages and the depths. Half-shattered skeletons of Lycae Corpse-Devourers clung to rusted iron bars, their jaws stretching as if longing to devour living flesh.

"Agreed," Klax growled in fury. "Let's speed this up a little!"

The Drowned Dead rose en masse, waterlogged limbs dragging them across slick moss. Each new wave of undead looked more twisted than the last, as though the Doctor had fused different races' remains in his experiments. The tunnel ahead showed only darkness, promising an endless supply of abominations.

Klax roared, channeling all the energy he had into an uppercut that cracked the mossy ribs of two Lycae abominations before they could chomp their rotted teeth down on his arms. Focusing his monk powers, he drew on the flaming aura around his fists and, with a blow to the ground, sent a shockwave coursing through the stone beneath their feet. Several Drowned Dead reeled backward as the blast seared their skin. But these fiends were drenched in dark water that dampened flame, and they staggered upright again, hissing with zeal.

"How's that for sloppy?" he shouted back to Tara.

The Minxit let out a half-hearted giggle. "Not…bad."

Her daggers then glowed with renewed poison. She slashed them in a figure-eight, unleashing arcs of virulent green energy. Each arc hissed as it collided with undead flesh, corroding bone and tendon alike. One of the Hopla Shambler's arms fell off, landing on the wet stone with a slap. But the monster advanced anyway, snapping at her with a half-formed mouth. Tara gritted her teeth. She planted a kick against the Shambler's twisted kneecap and vaulted herself backward, out of range.

Back-to-back, they formed a circle of steel, claws, and flame. Klax's fists struck out in rapid combinations, each blow enhanced by his bestial strength. In a move, he slid under a Lycae Corpse-Devourer's wild swing, then retaliated with a powerful rising kick that shattered its jaw. Tara, for her part, danced between foes, daggers gleaming under the sparse torchlight. Whenever an enemy lunged, she met them with poisoned edges, striking vital joints or cutting through necrotic sinew until the abominations collapsed. Their synergy was undeniable—each covered the other's flank with precision.

As they fought, the island rocked, lurching from one side of the corridor to the other. They could feel the undercurrent tugging them deeper into Griffon's Watch, pulling them closer to whatever the Doctor had planned. Swinging cages passed overhead, some so low that the clattering bones of their former occupants nearly brushed Tara's ears. Now and then, an animated corpse would drop onto the island, only to be dispatched by Klax's crushing blows or Tara's lethal daggers. The air reeked of decay and rising fear, but neither Hybrid gave an inch.

Suddenly, a cluster of Drowned Dead surged up from the black water, groping for Klax's ankles. Their watery moans hissed with desperation. Tara spun around, narrowly avoiding a slash from a Hopla Shambler's webbed claws, and tossed one of her daggers past his shoulder. The blade plunged into the nearest Drowned Dead's skull, halting its grip. Klax seized the moment to stomp on another undead's outstretched arm, shattering it beneath his heel. In one smooth motion, he grabbed Tara's thrown dagger from the corpse's head and flung it back to her.

"That still counts as my kill, y'know!"

They fought on, sweat beading on their brows, breath ragged in their throats. The undead showed no sign of stopping, but for all the numbers arrayed against them, the synergy between these two Hybrids was fierce. Tara's footwork and ranged dagger strikes synchronized with Klax's devastating melee combos. Staggered creatures tumbled into the currents, their necromantic energies fading beneath the waves. Slowly, the island inched forward, passing the shattered ruins of cages and spilled bones. But the deeper they went, the colder the air became.

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At last, the swarm seemed to dwindle. The final few Corpse-Shamblers lunged in desperation, only to be scorched by Klax's flaming fists or cut down by Tara's poison-laced daggers. The chamber fell into a quiet, save for the rush of dark water and their own pounding hearts. In the flickering half-light, the broken remains of undead monstrosities littered the rocky surface. Dead eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, and the tang of rotting flesh hung in the air. Tara allowed a moment's pause to catch her breath.

Yet as they drifted farther, an ominous glow illuminated the far end of the tunnel. Their island careened onward, pushed by the same current that had delivered their undead foes. The glow resolved into a cluster of razor-sharp spikes jutting up from the tunnel floor. Many glistened with dark stains—blood or something worse—and tangled bones lay scattered among them. The sight brought a chill to both Hybrids. If their island continued on its course, they'd be impaled in seconds, and there appeared to be no convenient ledges or chains to grab onto.

Klax shot Tara a glance, scanning for options. The rock was too slick to climb, the walls too distant for them to leap to safety. Reaching the cage chains overhead might be a possibility, but they swung wildly, seemingly out of reach. Time was running out. The current pulled them closer and closer to the deadly rows of iron spikes, sharp enough to split armor, let alone flesh. The moans of undead echoed behind them, but a more terrifying silence emanated from the darkness ahead.

The final realization struck them both at once: there was no obvious path around this trap. They had a handful of heartbeats to decide if they would try a leap to a swaying chain or trust some improvised maneuver. Tara's grip on her daggers tightened, while Klax readied his burning fists, searching for any shred of hope. But as the island hurtled ever closer to its doom, they found no easy salvation. The shriek of the corridor wind, the rumbling water, and the echoes of the Doctor's laughter merged into a crescendo.

"I can't believe I'm asking you this," Klax shouted as he roundhouse-kicked another Shambler right back into the ocean. "But do you have any bright ideas?"

Tara sliced through the bony throats of two Shamblers at once before replying:

"One. But…you won't like it."

Klax snarled as the spike wall drew ever closer.

"Tell me something…I don't know…"

***

You really are something, you know that?

Ethan sighed as Haylock's voice bled into his ears. He was much more interested in the new Skills he'd just gained:

Ice Barrage (Grade B)

Summon a hail of eight ice-bolts that have a 45% chance of {FREEZING} an opponent. DMG 50 per bolt.

Winterbreath (Grade C)

Release a cone of winter air from your lungs, extinguishing any {PYRO} spells within melee range.

"Thanks Lysandus, for what it's worth," he murmured to the dead body of the King beneath him. "You'll prove more useful in death than you were in life."

Tut tut, Ethan Hawke, Haylock tittered. You wound me! What you see before you – and that power you hold within your hatty little bowels – is the result of my labors.

"If that's true, all the more ironic that I'll finish you with them," Ethan replied, scanning the metal platform and the choppy waters in the pit far below.

Come now, my good hat. Surely two civilized beings can have a nice little discussion before it comes to fisticuffs.

"You waived the right to a 'discussion' when you killed the men, women, and children of Sentinel. When you let those Hybrid…things…die up there – and who knows how many others in this den of yours."

Ethan took up Greybane and pointed it at the ceiling, where he knew the Blood Mage was watching.

"You know you can't win this, don't you? What's the point of all this madness? What do you get out of it? I met guys like you in my own world, y'know. Psychopaths. But even they believed in what they were doing. You – you just seem empty, Haylock. I know, because when I felt your presence in my blood back in the Triant forest, I could feel the mind behind it. A sad, empty little mind."

For a moment, the Doctor's cackles were all that filled the grim darkness of the cavernous chamber.

You're an entertaining Archon, to be sure. Not like your stuffy old predecessors. An Archon with some spunk! Finally! But – sadly – one who still can't be honest with himself.

The distinct sound of scratching suddenly announced itself at the edges of the room. Ethan whirred, hearing something like…claws…scraping against the side of glass.

Admit it, Ethan Hawke, Haylock whispered as though he were right beside him. You get as much pleasure from killing as any Lightborn or Archon does.

Ethan spat.

"I admit that killing you would be a pleasure."

At that moment, the sound of scrabbling claws on glass gave way to the shriek of smashed cages. Four distinct thuds sounded at the edges of the platform.

Ethan, I don't like this, Sys cautioned. Remember the games this madman plays. He seeks to distract you. To divert your attention.

Ethan was inclined to agree, so amidst the chittering that was now occurring all around him, he extended his arm and sent up a warning shot: a blast of Ice Barrage projectiles that flew from his fingers and crashed into the sides of the room, lighting up the entire cavern in the process.

And only then did he see what the Doctor had been keeping in this very room.

Ethan was surrounded by the twitching clones of his comrades: Tara, Fauna, Klax, and Lamphrey. Each one of them aiming their signature weapons at his face as they readied an attack.

No, Ethan, Haylock practically drooled. I'm afraid I can't let you come to me just yet. I've got so much more to prepare. So much to show you. Your speedy arrival, I must admit, caught me off-guard.

So let me leave you with some new toys for a while.

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