Chapter 10: Cocaine Owlbears

"The sleep of reason produces monsters."— Francisco Goya, 1799

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The promise was simple.

Stronger. Faster. Better.

But somewhere in the recesses of Thalmar, someone decided that better wasn't good enough.

Deep within the mountain, something has gone terribly wrong.

There are broken restraints. Twisted iron. Claw marks carved impossibly deep into solid stone. And scattered across the floor, a peculiar white powder, tracked through blood and disappearing into the darkness.

Then comes a sound.

Ragged, frantic breathing. Feverish scratching. The bone-rattling impact of something massive throwing itself against stone.

And then another.

Whatever lurks ahead knows no fear. It feels no pain. Its fury seems limitless, its strength unnatural, its movements impossibly fast. Whatever lurks ahead knows no fear. It feels no pain, and strikes without hesitation. Its fury is limitless, its strength unnatural, its speed blinding. Even grievous wounds barely slow it down. And when its body finally gives out, something inside refuses to accept the fight is over.

Perhaps the most frightening thing isn't what these creatures have become.

It's that someone thought this was a good idea.

And somewhere, buried beneath the wreckage of ambition, lies a question no one thought to ask: What happens when you create the perfect killing machine… and forget to give it an off switch?

The mountain has always been full of monsters.

Now, some of them have been improved.

Welcome to Chapter 10.

COCAINE OWLBEARS.