Henry strained against the leaden weight that seemed to pin him in place, his lips pulling back in a silent snarl of anguished denial. But his body refused to obey, the lingering shock of his injuries rendering him as helpless as a newborn babe.

Across the clearing, Bob fought with renewed desperation, his blade a blur of motion as he sought to bypass his opponent and reach Lisa's side. But the beast matched him step for step, its bestial cunning denying the warrior any chance of breaking free.

Then, like a thunderclap, Nick's power detonated outward in a maelstrom of elemental fury. The spirit's crimson robes billowed in an unseen gale, his cowl thrown back to reveal a visage carved from elemental ice.

The six remaining beasts froze in their tracks, their expressions twisted into rictus masks of terror. Tendrils of frost crept outward from Nick's outstretched hand, sheathing their forms in crystalline cocoons of ice. For a heartbeat, they hung suspended, trapped in the moment of their impending oblivion.

Then, with a sound like a thousand panes of glass shattering at once, the ice shattered, reducing the beasts to so many jagged shards that clattered to the loam.

Even as the last remnants of his foes crumbled to dust, Nick wasted no time. His free hand swept up in a broad arc, conjuring into being a javelin of solid ice larger than a man. Without hesitation, he launched the frozen missile streaking across the clearing to impact the cyclops square between its single, ruined eye.

The behemoth had just enough time to register the threat before the spear punched through its skull in an explosion of frozen matter. Its knees buckled, its mace slipping from its nerveless grasp as it collapsed backwards in a shower of icy shrapnel.

Then Nick was in motion, his strides devouring the distance between himself and Lisa's fallen form in the space of a dozen heartbeats. The remaining beast was no match for the giant, one hit more than enough to crush it into pulp.

Nick knelt by Lisa's unmoving form, his hand hovering over the grievous wound that marred her abdomen. His brow furrowed in concentration, his lips moving in silent incantation as tendrils of energy coalesced around his fingertips.

The air thrummed with power. The energy intensified, building to an almost unbearable crescendo before lancing outward to envelop Lisa's broken body.

But even as Nick tended to Lisa, a new threat loomed on the horizon. Rustling in the underbrush heralded the arrival of a fresh wave of beasts, their bestial snarls echoing through the forest like the baying of hellhounds.

The four scouts reacted without hesitation, forming a defensive ring around Nick and the girls. Their blades rasped free of their scabbards, the air thrumming with the tension of drawn bowstrings as they prepared to sell their lives dearly.

Henry watched the unfolding scene through a haze of pain, his every shallow breath sending lances of agony lancing through his battered body. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to rise, the world tilting crazily around him as he staggered to his feet.

He would not be a passenger in this fight, not while those he cared for were in peril. With grim determination, he scooped up his fallen blade and limped toward the maelstrom swirling around Bob.

The former captain fought with the fury of a man possessed, his greatsword carving great rents in the loam as he fended off the relentless onslaught of the beast. Yet for every blow he landed, the creature countered with two of its own, its scythe-like appendages weaving an impenetrable web of death.

Henry hurled himself into the fray, his blade a blur of motion as he sought to draw the beast's attention away from the embattled warrior. A glancing blow staggered him, nearly driving him to his knees, but he refused to yield ground. This was his fight, too, his pain and his rage fueling his every strike.

Side by side, he and Bob battered against the beast's defenses, their blades ringing like gunshots in the stillness of the forest. Blood flowed freely, mingling with the loam until the ground beneath their feet was slick and treacherous.

Yet still the creature fought on, its bestial tenacity denying them any chance of respite. Its scythes lashed out in a blinding flurry, scoring deep furrows in Henry's flesh and opening a ragged gash along Bob's thigh.

The grizzled warrior staggered, his guard wavering for the barest instant. It was all the opening the beast needed. Its blades lashed out in a brutal cross-cut, the wicked edges shearing through muscle and bone alike.

Bob's sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he crumpled to his knees. The beast loomed over him, its jaws gaping wide as it prepared to deliver the killing blow.

Henry moved without thinking, placing his body between the downed warrior and the towering monstrosity. His blade lashed out in a desperate bid to drive the creature back, but his strength was waning, his movements growing sluggish as blood loss took its toll.

Bob let out a guttural roar, his eyes blazing with a feral light as he seized the momentary opening. Ignoring the agony lancing through his body, he hurled himself at the towering beast, the razor-sharp scythes punching through the meat of his left shoulder in a welter of crimson.

Yet the grizzled warrior didn't so much as flinch. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his bone claymore, the battered blade rising in a ponderous arc as he poured every last ounce of his waning strength into the blow. The massive weapon came crashing down upon the beast's skull with a sound like a thunderclap, the sheer brute force of the strike enough to stagger even the creature's towering mass.

But it wasn't enough.

The beast shook its head, shrugging off the glancing impact as one might brush away a gnat. Its single eye burned with feral malevolence as it angled its scythe-like appendages for the killing stroke.

Henry watched the unfolding scene through a haze of desperation, his mind racing as he weighed his dwindling options. His blade hung heavy in his hand, its edge dulled and notched from the brutal onslaught. It would never penetrate the beast's thick hide, not with the flagging strength that remained to him.

A flicker of movement in his periphery drew his gaze, his eyes going wide as he registered the pulsing runes etched into the flesh of his forearm. The intricate markings throbbed in time with his racing heartbeat, their eldritch light beckoning to him with a siren's call.

He didn't question it, didn't hesitate. Letting his blade clatter to the ground, Henry reached deep within himself and grasped hold of that inner wellspring of power. The runes flared in response, their luminescence intensifying until he was forced to squint against their brilliance.

Reality bent and warped around him as he wove the eldritch energies to his will. The very air seemed to thicken, becoming viscous and resistant as he shaped the power coursing through his veins. Bones and sinew knit together, forming a towering edifice of ossified matter that dwarfed even the hulking beast.

The hammer materialized in his hands, its haft as thick around as a tree trunk and nearly as tall as a man. Its head was a misshapen amalgam of skulls, their empty sockets seeming to bore into Henry's very soul as he gripped the weapon's length.

Letting out a bellowing war cry, Henry swung the hammer in a ponderous overhead arc. The sheer mass of the weapon lent it a terrifying momentum, its passage through the air leaving a vacuum in its wake that tugged at Henry's clothes and hair.

The hammer's skull-wreathed head slammed into the flat of Bob's blade with a thunderous impact, the shockwave rippling outward in a visible distortion. For a fraction of a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath, the forest falling eerily silent in the wake of that deafening concussion.

Then the claymore punched forward, the beast's scythe-like limbs parting before its unstoppable momentum like a hot knife through butter. The razor-edged blade sheared through muscle and bone alike, cleaving a ragged furrow through the center of the creature's skull in a welter of viscera.

The beast's eyes went wide, its jaws working soundlessly as the realization of its mortality sank in. Its limbs twitched and convulsed, scattering gore in wide arcs as it thrashed in its death throes.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the spasms ceased. The creature slumped forward, the dull thud of its mass hitting the ground shaking the loam beneath Henry's feet.

A ringing silence descended over the forest, broken only by the harsh rasp of Bob's labored breathing. The grizzled warrior slumped to his knees, his blade slipping from his grasp to clatter against the loam as the last vestiges of his strength finally deserted him.

Henry let the hammer dissipate, the eldritch construct unraveling into wisps of ethereal energy that quickly faded from sight.

A piercing cry sent a shockwave of dread rippling through the clearing. Henry whirled, his stomach lurching in visceral horror as his gaze fell upon the ghastly scene unfolding behind him.

One of the scouts stood with a wicked bone blade gripped in both hands, the jagged weapon punching clean through Nick's broad back to erupt from his chest in a crimson fountain. The spirit's face contorted in an agonized rictus, his mouth working soundlessly as he struggled to draw breath past the foreign object impaling his vitals.

Before Henry could so much as register the betrayal, two more scouts fell upon the stricken giant. Their own cruel blades lashed out in a blur of motion, the wicked points sinking deep into Nick's abdomen with sickening ease. Fresh geysers of blood erupted from the new wounds, the crimson tide quickly soaking into the spirit's crimson robes.

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Nick swayed on his feet, his eyes going wide as he registered the full extent of his injuries. His hand clutched feebly at the blade protruding from his chest, his fingers slipping in the warm wetness of his own life's blood as he sought purchase.

The fourth scout seized the opening, his own blade rising in a high guard as he prepared to deliver the coup de grace. The wicked point traced an inexorable path toward Nick's exposed throat, the razor edge glinting malevolently in the forest's filtered light.

Then Aby was there, her slender form interposing itself between the towering spirit and the would-be assassin. Her bone dagger lashed out in a desperate bid to deflect the lethal stroke, the wicked point skittering off the makeshift blade to plow a ragged furrow along the curve of her shoulder.

Aby let out a strangled cry, her knees buckling as the full force of the blow drove her to the ground. She landed in an untidy sprawl at Nick's feet, a crimson blossom rapidly unfurling across the fabric of her tunic.

For an endless heartbeat, the forest held its breath, the only sounds the harsh rasp of Aby's pained gasps and the wet, sucking noise of Nick's grievous wounds. Henry could only stare, numb with shock, as the brutal scene played out before his eyes.

Then, with a sound like a thunderclap, Nick's power detonated outward in a maelstrom of elemental fury. The air crackled with icy tendrils of frost that coalesced into wicked shards, slashing through the scouts' flesh like razors. The four unfortunate souls were sent ragdolling through the air, their bodies encased in a frozen prison, before exploding into a thousand glittering motes of ice that dissipated on the wind.

Henry seized the opportunity to dispel his bone creation, the three impaling swords disintegrating into ethereal motes that swiftly dissipated. But his hasty action proved a dire mistake. With the foreign objects no longer stemming the flow, Nick's grievous wounds erupted in a torrent of crimson that cascaded down his towering frame in thick rivulets.

The spirit swayed on his feet, his face a rictus mask of agony as he clutched feebly at the ragged punctures marring his torso. His legs buckled, driving him to one knee with a bone-jarring impact that sent tremors rippling through the loam.

In that moment, like a thunderclap, a massive form came crashing through the treeline. Trunks as thick around as a man's torso shattered like kindling, the sheer, unstoppable momentum of the creature's passage flinging shards of wood and frozen detritus in all directions.

Krampus emerged into the clearing, his bestial visage twisted into a sadistic leer of savage delight. His burning gaze swept over the scene, taking in the fallen forms of the scouts and the battered remnants of the beasts' onslaught.

Then his eyes fell upon his brother's crumpled form, and his smile widened into a maw bristling with fangs the length of daggers. With a sound like boulders grinding together, he lumbered forward, each ponderous footfall shaking the earth.

Nick tried to rise, to muster what remained of his flagging strength in a bid to face his ancient adversary. But the spirit's wounds were too grievous, his lifeblood still pouring from the ragged holes punched through his flesh. He managed a single, faltering step before his legs betrayed him, driving him back to his knees with a sickening crunch of bone on loam.

Krampus didn't pause, didn't hesitate. His clawed hand lashed out, the wicked talons punching through the meat of Nick's shoulder in an explosion of gore. The beast's jaws split in a sadistic leer as he wrenched his arm back, tearing a ragged hole through sinew and bone alike.

Nick's agonized scream split the stillness of the forest, a sound so primal and raw that it sent a shockwave of visceral dread rippling through all who heard it. The spirit's hands clawed futilely at the ever-widening wound, his fingers slipping in the warm torrent of his own blood as he fought in vain to stem the relentless crimson tide.

Krampus' laughter rolled over the clearing like a peal of thunder, deep and resonant. He leaned in close, his fetid breath hot and rancid against Nick's face as he drank in his brother's torment.

"This time, you lose, brother," the beast purred, his tone a perverse parody of gentleness.

Then, with one last brutal heave, Krampus tore free the tattered remnants of Nick's heart in a welter of gore. The spirit's scream was cut short, his eyes going wide as the realization of his own mortality sank in.

The clearing fell deathly silent, the only sounds the wet rasp of Nick's dying breaths and the obscene smacking of Krampus's jaws as he savored his brother's torment. Despair hung like a pall over the survivors, a visceral miasma of hopelessness that seeped into their very souls.

Lisa lay crumpled amid the detritus of the battle, her body a broken thing of twisted limbs and weeping wounds. Every shallow breath sent fresh lances of agony lancing through her, the jagged ends of her shattered ribs shifting beneath the torn flesh of her abdomen. She tried to move, to crawl away from the horror unfolding before her eyes, but the simple act of twitching a finger sent shockwaves of torment radiating through her ruined form.

A thin keening whimper escaped her bloodied lips, the pitiful sound lost amid the rumbling thunder of Krampus's laughter. Tears traced twin rivulets down her cheeks, mingling with the tacky crimson mask that had once been her face. She could only watch, helpless and broken, as the beast turned his malevolent gaze upon them.

Bob lay nearby, his battered form all but unrecognizable beneath the horrific trauma he had endured. His breath came in pained, wheezing gasps, each exhalation sending fresh gouts of blood bubbling from between his ruined lips to trickle down his chin in thick rivulets.

It was to Henry that Krampus turned his attention, his smile widening into a maw bristling with fangs as long as daggers. The dreamwalker stood his ground, ignoring the throbbing agonies that wracked his own battered form. Fear had abandoned him, consumed by a blazing pyre of rage that burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.

He met the beast's gaze head-on, his own eyes cold and flinty as they bored into the bottomless pits of Krampus's. In that moment, death held no sway over him. He had witnessed its cruel finality too many times this night to harbor any doubt as to its inevitability.

They would all perish here, in this forsaken glade amid the twisted remnants of the horrors they had endured. Henry knew this, accepted it with a strange sense of tranquility that suffused his very being.

Yet even in the face of their inexorable demise, he refused to simply roll over and expire. If they were to die this night, then by the gods, he would ensure that Krampus bore the scars of their defiance for the rest of his wretched existence.

With a sound like a thunderclap, Henry's bone sword materialized in his grasp, the wicked edge glinting malevolently in the forest's filtered light.

Krampus's grin only widened as Henry charged forward, bone sword gripped tightly in his hands. The dreamwalker's eyes burned with determination, his jaw set in a rictus of grim resolve. But before he could close the distance, a towering form interposed itself between him and his quarry.

The lion-like beast seemed to materialize from the shadows, its rippling musculature and razor-sharp talons marking it as an apex predator. Its maw split in a bestial snarl, revealing rows of dagger-length fangs as it dropped into a low crouch, powerful haunches tensing in preparation to pounce.

Henry didn't pause, didn't falter. He met the creature's charge head-on, his blade lashing out in a blur of motion as he parried the beast's wicked talons. Bone and flesh met with a resounding clang, the sheer force of the impact sending shockwaves rippling up Henry's arms.

The beast disengaged, circling warily as it sought an opening in Henry's guard. Its eyes burned with feral cunning, drinking in every subtle shift of the dreamwalker's stance as it plotted its next attack vector.

Then it struck, a whirlwind of slashing claws and snapping jaws that drove Henry back a step. He managed to deflect the worst of the assault, but one wickedly curved talon still found its mark, opening a ragged furrow along the curve of his ribs.

Henry grunted in pain, his face contorting into a rictus mask as he fought to maintain his grip on his blade. He tried to disengage, to create some distance so he could unleash his eldritch powers, but the beast refused to relent. It pressed the attack, raining down a relentless barrage of blows that forced Henry onto the defensive.

More shapes began to materialize from the shadows, their forms indistinct and shifting until they resolved into a pack of slavering, feral beasts. They fanned out in a loose semicircle, cutting off any avenue of retreat as they closed ranks around their prey.

Henry's breath came in ragged gasps, his brow beaded with sweat as he fought to maintain his guard. His injuries were taking their toll, each shallow inhalation sending fresh lances of agony radiating through his battered form.

Yet still he refused to surrender, refused to simply lie down and let the darkness claim him. His gaze swept over the encroaching horrors, assessing each subtle shift of their bestial forms as he plotted his next move.

Then, with a sound like a thunderclap, he lashed out, his blade carving a wicked arc that opened a ragged furrow along the flank of the nearest beast. The creature let out a shrill scream of agony, staggering back as its lifeblood sprayed in a crimson arc.

Henry didn't pause, didn't hesitate. He pressed the attack, his blade becoming a blur of motion as he wove an intricate dance of death. Each stroke found its mark, opening fresh rents in the beasts' hides as he cut a bloody swathe through their ranks.

The path to Krampus beckoned, a narrow corridor of opportunity carved through the seething mass of nightmares by the inexorable momentum of Henry's assault. He didn't question it, didn't pause to consider the ramifications of his actions.

With a bellowing war cry, he charged forward, bone sword leading the way as he closed the distance to his ancient adversary. The beasts tried to rally, to interpose their mass between Henry and his quarry, but it was too late.

The dreamwalker was upon them, his wrath given form in the wicked edge of his blade. Bone and sinew parted like a curtain before his unstoppable onslaught, clearing the path for one final, desperate charge towards the towering horror that awaited him.

Henry didn't falter, his grip tightening on the hilt of his bone sword as he closed the final few strides separating him from the towering monstrosity that was Krampus. The beast's mocking laughter rolled over him like a physical force, its sardonic tones dripping with disdain.

"Impressive but useless," Krampus remarked, his tone a perverse parody of gentleness as he brought his towering figure forward.

The beast slammed into Henry with the force of a freight train. Yet Henry didn't try to dodge or evade the brutal onslaught. Instead, he absorbed the brunt of the impact, letting the sheer force of Krampus's charge accelerate his own forward momentum.

He shot past the startled beast like a cannonball, his boots chewing up great clods of loam as he hurtled toward the crumpled forms of Nick, Lisa, and the fallen Aby. Krampus tried to react, his clawed hand lashing out in a bid to snare the dreamwalker, but Henry was already beyond his reach.

He hit the ground in a sprawl beside the grievously wounded trio, his sword clattering from his grasp as he fought to retain his equilibrium. Without hesitation, he brought forth his cursed power, his shifting anatomical tattoo flaring with an incandescent light that bathed the glade in an eldritch radiance.

Pain lanced through Henry's body, a searing agony that drove him to his knees as he fought to maintain his concentration. Sweat beaded on his brow, his muscles corded with strain as he shaped the ethereal energies to his will.

Massive blades began to materialize around them, each one over twenty feet tall and composed of gleaming bone. They erupted from the loam in a rippling wave, their wicked points forming the apex of a towering pyramid that isolated Henry and his wounded comrades from their enemies.

Darkness closed in around them, the only illumination the pulsing glow of Henry's shifting tattoo. He slumped forward, his strength finally deserting him as the last vestiges of his cursed power bled away into the aether.

His eyes found Lisa's battered form, taking in the horrific extent of her injuries with a pang of visceral anguish. Aby lay nearby, her once vibrant features now a pale rictus mask, her lifeblood slowly seeping from the ragged wound along the curve of her shoulder.

Even Nick seemed diminished, his towering presence reduced to a broken husk, his lifeblood staining the loam in thick rivulets as it poured from the grievous wounds marring his torso.

Henry's lips worked soundlessly as he fought to give voice to the words burning in his throat. At last, with a monumental effort of will, he managed to force them past his bloodied lips.

"I've done my part," he rasped, his voice little more than a strangled whisper.

A mocking chuckle rolled over him, the sound reverberating through the darkness that pressed in around them. "Good job, kid," the disembodied voice purred, its tones thick with sardonic amusement. "Now, leave it to me."