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“Thog? THOG?!”
His voice had gone hoarse fifteen minutes ago and he was amassing more and more cultists running behind him the more he yelled, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was Thog had disappeared in a throng of cultists and Markus had to find him.
His legs burned as he ran through tiled corridors. His body was screaming for him to stop, to take a break, to give in.
That wasn’t an option, not when Thog could be alive.
He turned a corner and skidded to a halt, cape whipping behind him before gently lowering.
Inside the circular room, stood about thirty or so cultists, just standing, staring at him. In front of them stood Thog, slightly turned away from Markus, scratched up, but wholly alive.
Markus beamed. “You’re alive! We have to get out of here! How have they not killed you? Not to say you’re not a good shot but-”
Thog took a step forward, none of the cultists moved.
Markus glanced behind him, the sound of the cultists footsteps echoing behind him.
“Come on, Thog, there’s more coming!”
Thog opened his eyes. He looked at him, dead-eyed.
Markus’ smile fell. “Thog… what’s going on.”
Thog raised his gun and pointed it at Markus. Only now did Markus realize his magic senses were going off the charts as he stared at Thog.
“Oh, Thog. Please no-”
Thog pulled back the hammer.
Markus’s eyes widened.
“Sometimes I forget how genuinely deadly you are with that six shooter.”
“Thog-”
Thog took the shot.