In a dark, dank cave, the dim glow of spent coals sent spiky shadows jerking across rough walls. The old forces sat in silence for a time, pondering the dismal morning to come. At last, however, one rose to her feet.
“I have done my best,” said Pain, “I have devised weapons that burn, that maim, that crush. My assistants Injury and Torture have worked without rest for decades. My creativity is at an end; I have no more ideas.” She sat back down on her chair of nails.

“All’s Fair”
Spinetinglers

About the story: On the day before the last battle, the old powers rally for a final effort.