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Grim Wolf
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Sweet mother of Christ, but Will's grip was tight! It was all Alex could do to keep the gun from pointing at him, and then-

And then.

He saw Crowe hurtling forwards, something sparking in his hand and stabbing towards Will's hand and



Electricty spasmed out along Alex's body, tightened him, chilled, him warmed, him made him feel strange and lopsided, his nerves all janky and out of order, like his fingers were toes and his his toes fingers, nothing firing quite right. He rolled away, gasping, his body tingling. The large sword burned against his back, digging into his shoulder blades. Everything felt wrong. Everything hurt.

Death and madness and pain, and Alex hated every moment of it. But he had to survive here. He had to thrive here. That was the role he'd cast for himself.

He rolled, and kept rolling, so he somersaulted to his feet, and he reached for that gargantuan, ridiculous sword that Lizzie Luz had granted him those days, months, lifetimes ago atop the cliffs where he and she had Tara had talked when he had imagined he could be a hero or

(had the Announcements said Tara? Had he heard that right? But what did it matter now, in the thick of the fight?)

But there was no time for practical concerns or memories or hope or anything but focus. The war had begun again, and Alexander David Tarquin had to win it.

He drove forwards, slashing down with his enormous sword.
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V6 Players

Tara Behzad: "They don't get to decide how I die."

Lizzie Luz: "I don't want to go."

Alex Tarquin: "No more masks."

V5 Players

V4 Players
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Lord of Lunatics · Water Treatment