The hallway stretched before me. Each step caused the floor to shift and buckle, the walls flexing like they were breathing.

  "Gwen," I whispered her name again. My mother. A person Mikkel had butchered and left in this pocket hell.

  I moved forward, the worms beneath my skin humming with nervous energy. They'd tasted her memories, her knowledge, and were processing it all. I could feel them organizing all of the data like tiny living computers, sorting through her final gift.

  The pocket dimension shuddered.

  A crack split the ceiling, revealing a void of absolute nothingness beyond. The hallway tilted, then righted itself with a sickening lurch.

  "That... can’t be good," I muttered, picking up my pace.

  Without Gwen anchoring this place—whatever she'd been doing all these years—the structure was failing. The Trial dimension wasn't just unstable; it was dying.

  The hallway ended abruptly at a rotted door hanging from a single hinge. I pushed it open and stepped through.

  I'd emerged into an ancient graveyard under a blood-red sky. The ground was black earth packed hard by centuries of foot traffic, dotted with headstones. But these weren't ordinary markers—each grave was topped with a weapon rather than a cross or stone.

  A javelin pierced the earth, its shaft worn by time but its point gleaming sharp. A battle-axe, its handle wrapped in leather that might once have been human skin. A halberd stood sentinel over a mound of fresh dirt. Plate armor hung on stands, arranged like silent guardians.

  Hundreds of graves. Hundreds of weapons. All arranged in concentric circles around a central location.

  And at that center, atop a throne made from compressed human remains, sat the most grotesque creature I'd ever seen.

  "What the hell is that," I whispered.

  The thing was vaguely humanoid but impossibly bloated. Rolls of putrid flesh cascaded down from its torso, each fold containing partially formed faces that moaned and wept. Its arms were thick as tree trunks, ending in hands tipped with yellow talons.

  Its head was three faces merged into one, and constantly shifting positions. An old man with a beard of maggots. A beautiful woman with hollowed eye sockets. A child with teeth like twisted metal. They took turns being dominant, the others sliding beneath the skin to emerge elsewhere.

  The Bloated King. The name came to me unbidden, knowledge from Gwen's memories.

  It hadn't noticed me yet. It sat perfectly still, watching the graveyard with six eyes—two for each face. Waiting.

  I took a cautious step forward.

  The ground erupted.

  From every grave, bony hands clawed upward. Not just hands—claws, paws, talons. The earth split as creatures pulled themselves into the world.

  An undead beast hauled itself up first, ancient armor still clinging to its desiccated form. It reached for the sword planted above its grave, gripping the hilt with skeletal fingers. Behind it, another emerged, its elongated limbs unfolding like some nightmarish insect, it's mouth opening to reveal row upon row of needle-like teeth.

  More followed.

  A Wraith materialized, its semi-corporeal form flickering like a bad transmission. A zombie dragged itself from the earth, single-minded purpose evident in its blank eyes. Mummified abominations unwrapped themselves, bandages falling away to reveal preserved horror beneath.

  "Fuck me sideways," I breathed as the army assembled. Each creature claimed the weapon marking its grave. The undead hefted its sword with the ease of a warrior who'd been fighting for centuries. The Mummy wrapped gnarled fingers around a spear, the weapon becoming an extension of its body.

  The Bloated King remained motionless, watching.

  I had seconds before they noticed me. I called to the worms, feeling them respond eagerly under my skin.

  "Show me what you can do," I whispered.

  My right arm bulged as worms surged through muscle and bone. They erupted from my palm, twisting and compressing into the shape of a dock worker's hook—one of the tools I'd used every day for years. But this was no mere hook. It was alive, a writhing mass of worms packed densely into a functional shape, connected to me by a tendril of the same material.

  I focused on my left arm, imagining a shield. The worms responded, flowing out to form a circular barrier. I tested it with a tap. Solid.

  One of the skeletons turned its hollow eye sockets toward me. It raised a rusted axe and let out a harrowing scream.

  As one, the undead army faced me.

  "Well," I said, "this is gonna fucking suck."

  The first wave rushed me—five skeletons and a Ghoul. I swung the hook, catching a skeleton's skull and ripping it clean off its spine. The body kept coming, blind but determined.

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  The zombie lunged, claws extended. I raised the shield just in time, feeling the impact reverberate through the shield. The creature couldn't penetrate the living barrier.

  I kicked it back and swung the hook again, catching a second skeleton through its rib cage dragging it to the floor.

  But there were too many.

  A blade sliced across my back, drawing blood. Bony fingers clutched at my legs.

  I dissolved the hook and forced the worms to reshape.

  They formed a spear in my hand, vibrating with hungry intent. I hurled it at an approaching Wraith. The living weapon pierced its ethereal form, somehow connecting with whatever passed for its substance. The Wraith shrieked, dissolving into mist.

  The spear returned to me, worms flowing back along the connection between us.

  But for every creature I dropped, three more took its place.

  A Mummy's bandages wrapped around my ankle, holding me in place as a skeleton's blade bit into my shoulder.

  I was losing ground, being driven back toward the edge of the graveyard.

  The Bloated King watched, still unmoving, its three faces cycling through expressions of amusement, sadness, and boredom.

  The worms sensed my danger.

  They flowed from my body in greater numbers, sacrificing my own mass temporarily.

  My shield expanded, curved, becoming a dome that protected me on all sides.

  Weapons bounced off it, but I could feel each impact draining my strength.

  Through the translucent barrier, I saw the next wave approaching—bigger, stronger undead. Some kind of Death Knight leading them, blackened armor creaking as it raised a massive sword that trailed shadowy tendrils of smoke.

  I couldn't hide in here forever. I was losing strength with each hit the dome took.

  I dissolved the dome and split the worms into twin weapons—a sword in one hand, a barbed whip in the other. The sword was crude, more cleaver than blade, but it would cut. The whip extended twenty feet, each barb a tiny mouth filled with grinding teeth.

  The Death Knight reached me.

  Its sword moved faster than something so massive had any right to move. I parried with my blade, the impact sending shocks up my arm. My whip lashed out, wrapping around the knight's leg. The tiny mouths began to feed, chewing through its ancient armor.

  The Death Knight didn't flinch. It swung again, forcing me to a knee. I wasn't strong enough to keep tanking its blows. Not yet.

  A demonic vampire spawn—a leech in human form—slipped behind me. I felt its cold breath on my neck before I could turn. Its teeth sank into my shoulder—

  Then it screamed.

  My blood filled its mouth, but my blood wasn't just blood anymore. The worms in my body surged toward the wound, flowing into the leech’s mouth. It staggered back, clawing at its throat as worms devoured the creature from the inside.

  I let the next attack hit me—claws raking across my chest. It hurt like hell, but the wound exposed writhing masses of worms. They leapt from my flesh to the undead's hands, swarming up its arms. The creature shrieked as they burrowed into its putrid flesh.

  I was still outnumbered fifty to one, and each attack, while feeding my enemies to the worms, drained me. Blood loss. Pain. Exhaustion. I couldn't keep this up.

  The Death Knight pressed forward, driving me back with relentless strikes. Another flanked me, its cold touch aging the skin of my arm by decades in seconds.

  I fell to my knees, worm-weapons dissolving as I lost focus. Blood pooled beneath me, my own and the ichor of those I'd managed to kill.

  The Death Knight raised its sword for the killing blow.

  I plunged my hands into the blood-soaked earth.

  The worms flowed from my arms, spreading through the ground beneath the undead army.

  The earth liquefied as worms converted it to a feeding ground. Undead sank to their knees, then waists.

  The worms consumed the ground, creating a quagmire that immobilized my enemies.

  The Death Knight struggled, sinking to its chest in the transformed earth.

  I staggered to my feet, blood running from a dozen wounds. My body felt lighter—I'd sacrificed too much mass to the worms. I needed to recall them, to rebuild myself.

  The worms flowed back, bringing nutrients extracted from the earth and the monstrosities that they had consumed. My wounds closed. Strength returned to my limbs.

  But I'd missed something critical.

  The Bloated King had finally moved.

  It rose from its throne with surprising grace for something so massive. Its triple-faced head swiveled toward me, all six eyes focusing at once.

  The creature descended from its dais, each step causing the ground to shudder. My quagmire solidified wherever it touched. It approached with the inevitability of death itself, three faces all smiling at... me.

  I tried to back away, but my legs wouldn't move.

  The Bloated King stopped ten feet away. It was even more horrific up close. The faces in its fleshy folds weren't decorative—they were people, dozens of them, partially absorbed into the creature's mass. Some were weeping. Others simply blinking, mouths ajar in silent mumbles.

  It reached toward me with one massive hand, its talons extended.

  I tried to raise my arms, to form a weapon, a shield, anything. The worms responded sluggishly, my fear affecting their performance. A pathetic spike extended from my palm, barely sharp enough to pierce skin.

  The King's hand closed around my throat, lifting me off the ground. Its grip was surprisingly gentle, like a parent handling a small child.

  I struggled, kicking uselessly in the air. The worms writhed beneath my skin, desperate to help but lacking direction.

  The King's child-face pushed forward, becoming dominant. It spoke in a high, sweet voice that made my skin crawl.

  "Will you be different, Fischer?"

  It spread its arms wide, exposing its bloated torso with its cargo of half-absorbed faces.

  The woman-face emerged, beautiful despite its empty eye sockets. "Why do you think you were given this gift?"

  I thought of Rell, torn apart and devoured. Of Gwen—my mother—split open and left to suffer for decades.

  "To balance the scales," I said. "To. make. him. pay." I wheezed out.

  The Bloated King's hand remained tight around my throat. The faces embedded in its flesh stared at me with hungry eyes.

  "Balance the scales," it repeated, voice shifting between child, woman, and ancient man. "Is vengeance what you seek, little-worm?"

  I clawed at its grip. "What else is there?"

  The King's grip tightened. "Purpose. Power. A place in what comes beyond."

  "After what?" I choked out.

  All three faces smiled simultaneously but didn't respond.

  It released me suddenly.

  I dropped to my knees, gasping for air. The undead army had stopped moving, frozen in place like a garden of grotesque statues.

  "Do you understand what you've become?" The King said, its child-face dominant.

  I looked down at my arms, where worms writhed beneath translucent skin. "A monster."

  "No." The woman-face pushed forward. "A weapon."

  The old man emerged next.

  I struggled to my feet, worms gathering strength as my fear subsided. "What does that mean?"

  The King reached out again, but this time to touch my forehead with one yellowed talon. "Allow me to show you."

  Images flooded my mind—memories that weren't mine.

  Sacred with worm Origins throughout history. A woman in an ancient suit of worm-armor, she was commanding legions of bone-white serpents. A man whose body could dissolve into thousands of burrowing creatures that consumed cities. A child whose tears became parasites that infected minds.

  It turned away, walking back toward its throne.

  The headstone weapons began melting into the ground, the undead crumbling to dust.

  The King's form started to fade.

  Its final words came as whispers as the Trial dimension collapsed around me.

  Until we meet again little-worm