Nick stood there with his pistol still up, watching the wendigo hit the ground, twitching as the last bits of life ebbed from his muscles. He'd shot in self-defense, but it didn't feel right. This hadn't been a raider, or a criminal, or hell, even a monster. This was someone who'd been cursed by the gods, another person.

Or he had been a person, which was more than Nick could even say for himself. He sighed, and once he was sure the wendigo wasn't getting back on his feet, knelt by the corpse, eyeing the dog tags hanging from his emaciated neck.

"... Shit." That didn't encompass all that he felt at that moment, but it was a start.

There was only one thing left for him to do: take the body to the temple and see if Hope really could do something, anything. Maybe the so-called "god" wasn't as powerless as the rest of them.