Every Grimrunner has their own reasons for walking into the dark.
Some are simply here for coin. Vulgar, we know, but refreshingly honest. Others chase power, revenge, redemption, knowledge… Any number of darling little delusions, really. Such noble words to justify obsession.
But that’s what makes it so charming, isn’t it? For every Grimrunner, there is a tale of woe. And no two lives are ruined in quite the same way.
Take Marcus Wickham: once a preacher and pacifist. A man convinced—and do try not to laugh—that no soul lay beyond redemption.
Then one little scuffle with the dark forced to revise his theology. Terribly inconvenient, isn’t it, when a monster rips apart what you love?
Now forgiveness has been replaced by a truly industrious appetite for revenge. He insists he no longer puts stock in the old creeds, despite wearing their symbols so openly on his coat. After all, mercy becomes quite useless when one is ripping evil out by the root.
It’s simply a pity he can’t quite convince himself of that.
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Human Rites
Marcus doesn’t believe in salvation anymore, but he still carries it in his pocket. A little black book from his preacher days, worn soft at the edges. Ask him about it, he’ll just say the past is dead. I think it’s more complicated than that.
We were clearing out this old farmhouse once. A Wormkin colony had fixated on the family, and the mom was still barricaded in the nursery. I figured she’d been chased up there, left her kids to fend for themselves. Survival drive’s a bitch.
We were trying to talk her out, but she was sobbing too hard to listen. And it was getting dark. The rest of the colony might come back to finish the job. So we started trying to break in.
Except Marcus. He stood there, head tilted, listening to her. Then he went up to the door and whispered something.
Sure as shit, five seconds later, it creaked open.
The woman was bloodsoaked, huddled in the corner, wearing a ruined bathrobe. We hung back while Marcus knelt beside her.
“Kill me,” she begged. “Please.”
Her face caught my flashlight through the strands of matted hair. The veins around her temples had gone black. Some of them were already squirming.
That’s when I realized what Marcus already knew. She hadn’t locked herself away from the monsters. She’d locked herself away from her kids.
Now, Marcus has a thing about Wormkin. A major thing. I don’t know the details, but it’s the kind of hate that runs deep. So personal you don’t want to ask.
This woman was beyond saving. The parasites hadn’t completely eaten her mind yet, but she knew what she was becoming. Marcus knew too.
I went to secure the perimeter, thinking he’d end it.
When I came back, I expected a wriggling pile of chunks. Instead, the lady was still alive, lying with her hands crossed over her chest. Marcus knelt beside her, reading from that little black book.
When he finished, she exhaled. “Okay. I’m ready.”
I hoped so. A worm was already pushing through her eye. Marcus nodded and stood.
I did the nasty part. Figured I’d spare Marcus from having to gib his new best friend. Afterward, he covered the remains with a sheet and said a few more words. I’ll admit, I kinda side-eyed him for that.
“Yeah?” he asked. Like, Go on. I dare you.
I shrugged. “Didn’t think you were actually religious.”
“I’m not.”
“So…why?” I grinned. “You think these things have souls?”
He packed his kit in silence, and I regretted saying it. Still do.
“She was scared,” he said after a long time. “And she was a person.”
Marcus says the past is dead. Sure. He still carries its rites and symbols. He still keeps a little black book in his pocket, a bloodstained old photo pressed between its pages.
I believe him when he says it’s not about faith. Not even redemption.
But resurrection? Maybe. Maybe bringing back the dead is how he keeps himself alive.
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Stay vigilant, Grimrunners,
— Studio Ellipsis Team