Oldred was lying in the kitchen.He was thrown through the rotting wooden wall, slamming into a pile of old pots and pans hanging on the wall.
The deafening sound of KLANG! DENTANG! mixed with the groans of splintering wood and choking plaster dust.
He lay sprawled on the filthy, sticky floor, surrounded by the debris of the ruined house. The pain from his dislocated shoulder, the stab wound in his side, and the gunpowder burns on his thigh and other shoulder screamed out in a single, overwhelming chorus of suffering. With great difficulty, suppressing a groan that nearly escaped from behind his mask, he forced himself to his feet.
Oldred: "focus....focus..." he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse, hot steam escaping from his mask's respirator.
Meanwhile, in the ruined living room, Grog roared. It wasn't just a roar of anger, but also of stabbing pain. He looked at his knee. The bear trap was embedded deep, its steel teeth piercing his thick skin and biting into his kneecap. With a hand that was both strong and trembling with adrenaline, he crushed the trap's steel frame and forcefully tore it out.
SKRRCHH!
The horrific sound of rusted metal tearing flesh and bone. He threw the now-destroyed trap aside, ignoring the blood pouring freely from his wound.
Oldred blinked in the dimly lit kitchen. Suddenly, the pain was gone. The foul smell of the kitchen, the smell of rust and blood, vanished.
Where was he? He was standing in a room. Warm, golden afternoon sunlight shone on his face... his face? Where was his mask? The air smelled of lemon polish, expensive wood varnish, and clean linen.
What was real and what wasn't? The line was blurring.
Nabelia Gilsa:
"Big brother! what happened? look, y-your clothes are dirty! here, let me clean them!"
The figure before him was the little girl with corn-yellow hair, her innocent blue eyes filled with genuine concern.
Just as Oldred, Uzha, was ready to accept the figure's presence, ready to sink into this warm lie, ready to finally rest... suddenly that hoarse, rusty voice returned, tearing the peace apart.
The Dog:
"It's all... A LIE!"
The illusion cracked. The glass in the room's window exploded inward. Nabelia's face melted like hot wax. Reality slammed back into him in the form of Grog's pointed hammer handle, shooting toward his eye.
Oldred dodged at the last split second. Before Grog could pull his hammer back, Oldred pulled at his bionic arm.
HSSSS-KLAK!
A pneumatic hiss. The arm detached from his shoulder with a satisfying mechanical click. Before Grog could react to this insane act, Oldred swung his heavy bionic arm like a sledgehammer.
DENTUM!
Metal slammed into Grog's chin. The jaw beneath the deer mask sounded like it cracked. Grog was thrown back. Oldred kicked Grog's badly injured knee, destroying the giant's balance. Then, desperately, he punched Grog's partially exposed face with his human hand.
CRACK!
Fresh blood sprayed from Oldred's knuckles. It was his own blood. Not Grog's. So hard, what happened? Grog's skin felt like stone. Grog seemed to feel nothing. He tried to grab Oldred. Oldred grabbed a kitchen knife from the table and stabbed Grog's hand.
SSHK!
The blade sank to the hilt. Grog just grunted, showing no significant reaction.
This was insane. Oldred then reattached his bionic arm with a hard jolt (KLAK!) and ran quickly to the left, creating distance. Grog caught the edge of his coat before swinging and throwing Oldred in a brutal, spinning motion, like an athlete throwing a hammer.
KRAASSHHH!!
The sturdy wooden dining table shattered. Plates, glasses, and scraps of rotten food exploded in all directions as Oldred was thrown into the corner of the room. He then stood up with difficulty. Their two silhouettes—the battered Steel Man and the wounded Deer Giant—could be seen by the cultists from behind the broken window, like a shadow play from hell.
Cultist 1:
"What do we do? They're both... crazy! Grog could kill him! could we just sit our asses here?"
Cultist 2:
"J-Just shoot! Grog will dodge! Shoot the one in the iron mask! Quick!"
The Cultists then raised their hunting rifles.
BANG! BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG!
They showered the room with hot lead. Oldred felt hot lead tear into his side, burning the skin beneath his coat. Desperately, he lifted a remaining wooden chair and used it as a one-handed shield. Wood splinters exploded from the chair like fireworks. But, as if ignoring the hail of fire, Grog strode through the shots, roared, and grabbed Oldred by the neck.
His grip was like a hydraulic clamp. Air was cut off. Oldred was lifted off the floor. Fresh blood trickled from behind Oldred's mask respirator, not from the outside, but from within—internal injuries from the brutal impacts and choking.
Oldred then used both his arms. He didn't try to break the grip. He broke Grog's fingers.
KRAK! KREK!
The sound of thick bones snapping like dry twigs. Grog roared in pain, but his grip didn't loosen.
In an inhuman fit of madness, in a pure act of desperation, Oldred stopped fighting the grip and started attacking Grog's hand. He slammed his face/steel mask into Grog's hand. Repeatedly. Very fast.
DHUK!DHUK!DHUK!DHUK!DHUK!
His figure became a blur to the normal human eye. It wasn't a headbutt anymore; it was a jackhammer powered by hatred. Oldred's own blood splattered everywhere from the wounds on his face behind the mask. He could hear the sound of his own skull cracking against the now-dented steel plate of his mask.
Grog's hand was mangled, his fingers crushed and bent at wrong angles. The grip finally loosened.
WHAM!
Oldred punched Grog's chin with his bionic arm. He grabbed a bottle of liquor from the remains of the broken table and smashed it over Grog's head.
KRA-SHHH!
Glass and cheap alcohol exploded everywhere. Before Grog could react, Oldred punched Grog's face again with his bionic arm.
DENTUM!
Grog remained bowed there for a few moments, staggering, finally feeling the overwhelming pain. He realized his opponent's madness. Meanwhile, Oldred stood, coughing up blood, breathing heavily. He realized his opponent's inhuman strength.
Grog:
"Completely insane..." he muttered, his voice now hoarser, blood dripping from his torn mask. "But that's how it should be... everyone goes insane at the moment of life and death."