He was wounded. Most of the burns had been healed when he had, briefly, gained access to his full power. But still the pain remained, and he was still far from optimal shape.

Clutching a particularly nasty cut on his side, Genocide grimacingly pushed his way through the swamplands. The Seal was close, he could feel it. If events had unfolded as they had before, then it would be unguarded. If he could open up this Seal without the more powerful forces in the Multiverse taking notice, he would be able to plunge this universe into annihilation. A Daemon would be his first target for transport, of course, but eventually more creatures could be moved through. An army of Daemon drawn from an alternate universe, beings of immense power and yet utterly incapable of transporting themselves through the universal barriers. They would be slaves to his whim without ever realizing it, and he tore apart the very basis of-

Suddenly, Genocide stopped in his tracks. The cold tip of a steel blade was softly pressed to his throat. While he had been internally monologueing, he had failed to observe the canine being that had now managed to catch him unawares. This was Strygwyr. But that made no sense. Strygwyr was supposed to have already died.

Slowly, Genocide raised an arm.

"I surrender?"