The collapse of the Deep-Barrow mines should have been Fizz’s end. Trapped beneath three tons of shale with a leg pulped into a red ruin, he didn't pray to the goblin gods—he knew the screaming abyss that awaited his kind. Instead, he found a spool of phase-spider silk in his pack and a rusted upholstery needle. With a clinical, terrifying focus born of pure ego, he stitched his own muscle, nerve, and skin back together while humming a nursery rhyme to drown out the sound of grinding bone. He didn't just survive; he mastered the 'Doctrine of the Fragile Meat,' realizing that life is merely a series of poorly tied knots waiting to be tightened.
Now, Fizz traverses the world’s most diseased pits and ancient ossuaries, driven by a frantic, academic terror of the afterlife. He joined the Way of Mercy not to soothe pain, but to delay the inevitable soul-reaping of the goblin pantheon. He has since recovered the 'Suture of St. Severin,' a needle carved from the finger-bone of a martyred saint, which allows him to knit flesh with necrotic efficiency. To Fizz, a patient is simply a biological clock he is trying to stop from ticking, and his 'Mercy' is often more painful than the injury it treats.