Beowulf crossed the threshold into the Architect's inner sanctum. Here, the white marble of the Labyrinth seemed to have been corroded by a mineral disease. Veins of black quartz pulsed beneath the floor like the arteries of a gargantuan, sleeping beast. At the center of this cyclopean hall rose a monstrosity that defied all reason.
The Throne.
It was not a simple seat, but a mountain of human skulls, thousands of empty sockets staring into the void. The bones were not merely piled; they appeared fused, welded together by a milky, resinous substance that recalled dried sap or ancient marrow. Some skulls seemed to still be "growing," budding from the mass like ivory sprouts in a garden of death.
And atop it sat Grendel.
The aberration was immense, possessing a skeletal gauntness that rendered every movement obscene. His skin had the texture of ancient porcelain, a translucent, milky white that revealed not blood, but moving shadows flowing through his veins. He was naked, yet his body was etched with fine runic scarifications that glowed with a sickly, pale light. His fingers, unnaturally long, ended in claws of obsidian that seemed to drink the surrounding light.
Grendel did not move. He fixed Beowulf with his pupil-less eyes, two slits of pure, hollow white.
— "The Hound is finally in the kennel," Grendel whispered. His voice was no longer a laugh, but a dry hiss, the sound of a scalpel scraping against dry bone. "Do you smell that, Beowulf? It is not death. It is the end of the lie."
Beowulf stopped a few paces from the throne. Odin's Vision screamed in his skull, a golden agony commanding him to spring, to crush, to tear. But for the first time, the Titan resisted. He stared at the monster, his bloodshot eyes meeting the Architect's milky gaze.
— "You are nothing but a tumor, Grendel," Beowulf growled, his voice vibrating through the skulls beneath the throne. "And I am Asgard's cure."
Grendel tilted his head, a jerky, mechanical motion.
— "A cure?" he sneered. "Look at yourself, you titanic fool. You are made of the same clay as I. Odin did not create you to protect men; he created you because he needs a monster to kill a monster. We are two sides of the same coin, tossed into the mud by a one-eyed, jaded god."
The confrontation began there, in a silence heavy with existential weight. It was not yet the clash of muscle, but a collision of wills. Grendel projected a wave of psychic pressure, a vision of Beowulf growing old, broken, and cast into a mass grave once his task was done. He showed him the emptiness of his loyalty, the "leash" that strangled his lingering humanity.
Beowulf felt his knees buckle. The weight of centuries of massacres performed in Odin's name crashed down upon him. Every death, every scream, every drop of blood spilled became a leaden chain.
— "You think you are free in your labyrinth?" Beowulf countered, struggling to keep his head high. "You are just a prisoner who decorates his cell with the bones of those who failed. You are not a king. You are a mistake."
Grendel stood up. His stature equaled Beowulf's, but where the Titan was a mountain of red flesh, Grendel was a razor blade made of ivory and shadow. He descended the stairs of skulls, each step causing a dry crack, a moan rising from the depths of the throne.
— "Mistakes at least have the merit of existing for themselves," the Architect hissed as he approached. "You? You are but an echo. A shout uttered by Odin that refuses to die out."
The two predators were now face to face. The Titan of red clay and the Spectre of white porcelain. The air between them crackled, saturated with a static electricity that made the hair on Beowulf's arms stand. Odin's Vision reached a crescendo, blinding Beowulf with golden flashes, while Grendel opened his clawed hands, ready to transform the hero into a new piece for his collection.
Time seemed to stretch. In the mirror of Grendel's eyes, Beowulf did not see a monster. He saw his own reflection, distorted, monstrous, and terribly alone.
— "Come, Hound," Grendel murmured with a fetid breath. "Let us see if your master taught you how to die for nothing."